After she destroys him, he drives home and sits on the edge of his bed and just cries like the fucking pathetic mess that he is.
He can't even maintain himself enough to cry respectably; he cries until he stops breathing and then he chokes on it, pushing out strangled high-pitched noises and then trying to suck them back in. He cries in a way that he's only ever seen in other people, and even as he does it he thinks about how overdramatic he is, how totally fucking ridiculous he's being, and he hates himself for it. People only cry like this when someone's dead, he thinks angrily at himself, but then he's crying harder and thinks maybe he's dead, he's dying, something in him is certainly dying at this moment. He puts his head in his hands and thinks about how he's completely out of control, he doesn't even know what he's doing anymore, doesn't know why he's doing anything, he's just puking out all of his emotions and everyone's getting bogged down in the mess of it. He's a madman and he's ruined everything.
He's interrupted by a knock at the door, and then Mark's voice – "Hey man, you okay?" So he straightens himself, wipes at his face like he has any intention of actually opening the door, and chokes out, "Yeah man, I'm just tired. I think I'm gonna go to bed." Mark stands outside the door and Jim knows he's considering, debating on whether a good friend leaves you alone when you're clearly having some form of breakdown or if a good friend knocks until you open to up make sure you don't get all dramatic and weepy and try to off yourself. Eventually Mark throws a heavy sigh at Jim and just says, "All right, man, good night." And he walks slowly down the hall and Jim is alone again.
So Jim picks up where he left off because apparently he's incapable of not just disintegrating all over himself. The tears reemerge as he lets his head fall to stare at the floor, but instead he sees the sleeves of his sweater and they touched her, they were somehow closer to her than he'll ever get to be, and he's just so fucking devastated that he wants to burn the goddamn thing. Instead he rips it off and throws it across the room, but that isn't enough, so he gets up and crosses the room to and picks it up and throws it in the trash. He thinks that he has to get out of here, that he has to leave before his mind just goes completely, so he rips open his closet and starts wildly pulling things out to pack, nevermind that he's not supposed to leave for weeks and he doesn't have anywhere to go anyway and he's hasn't even told anyone he's leaving, nevermind that he's only leaving at all because every day he stays he grows a little more desperate and a little less in control of himself. He's packing anyway. But he realizes belatedly that he doesn't have boxes yet, so now there's a pile of clothing laying on the floor and his sweater is in the trash and he's standing there in middle of the room like the madman that he is, hands in his hair and still choking on his tears and totally helpless against the hopelessness that is his life now.