Jim sat there, holding Pam in his arms as she slept. He'd been in this position for over nine hours, just sitting there, watching her, holding her. Every now and then she stirred and he thought she might wake up, but a soft groan would escape from her lips and then she'd settle back in and go to bed. The first few hours he'd watched her, he'd wondered if he should have taken her to the hospital. She hadn't moved at all. It hadn't taken her long to fall asleep, and it had been a few hours before she moved again. Around six, when she still hadn't woken up, he'd reached for the phone and called in sick to work, for both of them. He'd called Toby, explained that there had been a personal crisis and they would both be out. Toby had promised to tell Michael they'd called individually. Jim didn't want anyone to know what had happened to Pam, or what had happened with him and Pam.
Not that anything had really happened with him and Pam, but at this point in time, he knew he needed to be there solely for her. Regardless of what had happened, Jim had decided to be there for her, completely. It hadn't taken long for him to decide this, which was why everything he'd done since he found her lying naked, bruised on the floor this morning at four am had been for the sake of preserving her dignity and convincing her that she could trust him.
He'd been over the events in his head all morning. He had to fill in many of the parts, but he could piece together most of them. He didn't care as much what the details were that happened as much as he cared about understanding Pam, being there for her, loving her. He had pieced together as much as he could, until he was left with one fairly solid idea of what had happened.
He hadn't had much of a look at her apartment when he'd burst through the doors. He'd wanted to get her out of there as quickly as he could. He didn't want to risk anything else happening to her. He had noticed the floors were dripping wet. There was a shadow on the wall in her shape, he presumed it was from the same source as the dripping wet floors. There was a broken chair lying near her body, one of the legs stuck in the wall. He'd noticed her, most of all. On first glance, all he'd noticed was a few random scratches on her legs, arms and face and one huge bruise on her stomach.
After taking her in his arms, he'd realized how awkward she would feel knowing he'd held her naked in his arms. He pulled a comforter off the bed, cursing that it was the one she shared with Roy, and draped it over her body, careful to cover her while still holding her safely. He'd quickly walked downstairs and placed her carefully in his car, a pillow under her head. He'd driven slowly to his apartment, knowing that the most important thing in the world was riding beside him. He didn't dare put her at danger.
When they'd arrived at his apartment, he'd carried her upstairs quietly, nearly tripping on the steps in the darkness. It was four in the morning now, and he'd been up ever since he'd gotten that call from her. That call. She hadn't identified herself; she'd used her home number, so he hadn't even recognized it in his caller I.D. If he had, he still would have picked up. But when she called, all he could hear was her faint breathing, her sniffling before the hang up. And he'd known. From her sniffling and her breathing, he'd known it was her. And he knew her well enough to know that she was in trouble if she called him that early. If she didn't say anything. If her breathing was that shallow. He'd jumped out of bed and driven to her house, not caring if she was actually fine. He just had to make sure.
He'd been surprised when the door had been wide open, and he knew this meant trouble. It was December in Scranton, and there was no reason for their door to be open. If anything, he should shut the door. With a forecast of snow the next morning, he didn't want her to catch a cold or have to deal with snow in the house. As he'd walked to the door, he hadn't heard anything. Not even the rustling of sheets or Roy's clamoring footsteps. What he had noticed through the open door dared him inside.
He saw a broken bottle on the floor, the shards of glass all over the place. Her house smelled like liquor, and it scared him. He knew Roy drank, and he knew she did too. But he knew she didn't drink like Roy drunk. He knew she wouldn't tolerate this much alcohol. And he knew that a broken glass, left on the floor, meant more than just a casual drinking. This was serious.
He stepped around the shards, silently cursing to himself as one jabbed into his foot. As he made his way upstairs, he thought how awkward it would be if she was okay. If one of them were up and had caught her. And that's when he heard her. Sniffling. The same sniffling he'd heard on the phone. And he saw the phone, lying on the ground, the soft repetitive click that came when someone else hung up before you. And he saw her fingers, lightly curled and facing upward, just out of reach of the phone.
He raced towards her, his feet heavy on the wood floors, nearly slipping they were so wet. He could see her shivering, her teeth clattering. As he looked at her, he noticed the wounds on her back and they made his heart drop. He noticed the finger-shaped bruises on her legs and his heart raged. He could have killed Roy at that moment. He could have literally thrown him against a wall and killed him, but Pam was most important. She was it. She was the reason he was here, and he was going to take care of her first.
As he approached her, he could see her body tense. She knew someone was coming towards her, but it hurt him to know that his footsteps sounded so much like Roy's. As he bent down to pick her up, he lightly touched her shoulder in what he hoped was an assuring way, scooping her carefully into his arms. She kept her eyes away from him then, until he went over to her bed and pulled the comforter off it, draping it over her body. She looked up at him then and whispered in such a shy, vulnerable voice, "Do you love me?"
He hadn't really thought about it until that moment, but the words escaped his lips so fast he knew it was true. "Yes." He'd replied. Not a second had passed between her question and his answer, and it was as if both he and she were finding out about his love at the same time. He'd always known he cared for her, strongly. And he'd always known he would jump in front of a moving bus for her if that's what it took, but he had never equated that with love, until now. It was surreal, out of his mouth so fast there was no question that he'd said it just because she needed to hear it. There was no question that wasn't how he felt. It was a simple declaration, and it was true.
He'd driven her to his house, silently, looking back in the rearview mirror as many times as he could to make sure she was okay. He'd carried her up the stairs to his bedroom, placed her on the bed and slowly dressed her in his t-shirt and boxer shorts. He'd noticed the many bruises then. Bruises on her chest, her legs. Dried blood on her upper legs that made him wonder if Roy had raped her.
And now, after sitting for nine hours, running over the details he'd picked up and trying to piece together the imperfections and inconsistencies, he'd come to this conclusion: Roy had come home in a drunken rage. He'd guessed she'd just had a shower or spilled water over the floor or something to that effect. He'd fought with her some, then raped her. When she'd fought back, he'd thrown the chair at the wall, accidentally hitting her, and left her sprawled on the floor to die.
As Jim watched her, she began to shift in his arms and he could tell this was different. Her breathing was less shallow and her eyes were fluttering lightly, longer than most do… He thought maybe she was trying to open them but couldn't, her face was still extremely swollen. He looked down at her, not knowing what she would remember or what she would say when she woke up. Her face was on his shoulder, her hand lying on his chest, her feet sprawled across his lap. His arms were wrapped around her protectively, as if it was possible that by relaxing his arms she'd fall away.
Her hands reached her eyes and she rubbed them, a soft groan escaping her lips. If it wasn't for the fact that she was so sore and miserable, he would have thought it was cute, the eye rubbing. And then she looked up at him, an obvious look of confusion on her face. He could see her trying to remember the night before, her mind going through the events that had taken place. Finally her eyes widened and a spark flew into them, and he knew she knew. She remembered.
She looked up at him and opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it. She reached down for his hand and squeezed it lightly before climbing out of his arms and giving him a look that told him she wasn't ready. He could see the tears in her eyes, and he wondered if they were because of last night, or if there was something more she couldn't tell him. Something more she wasn't ready for.
He nodded. "Hey, I'll leave. You can stay in here and get ready, sleep, take a shower, whatever you need to do." He slowly slid out of bed and walked over to her. He kissed the top of her forehead, tentatively, unsure of whether he should. She looked up at him, no facial expression changed but her eyes had a different spark.
He started to walk out of the room before turning to look at her. "By the way, it's Thursday. I called in for us for the rest of the week. Told Toby we had an emergency. He said he'll make it seem like a separate thing. I'll make you breakfast." He glanced at the clock. "Lunch. Come down whenever you're ready, okay?"
She nodded, her expression not changing in the slightest. He left the room, lingering by the closed door. It was only a few seconds later when he heard something hit the wall with a thud. Only a few seconds after that, he heard something clang against the door, and the obvious sound of a piece of jewelry hitting the floor rang in his ears. He knew what it was without having to think. It was her engagement ring.
As he made his way down the stairs, he could hear other things hitting the wall with an impressive force. He didn't know what she was throwing. He knew it was something of his, but he didn't care. Whatever she threw, it was fine. If she broke something, it was fine. Whatever she needed, he wanted to give her.
He thought about her eyes as she searched him. As he searched her when she woke up. He sensed an embarrassment in her eyes. It was as if she was ashamed that this had happened to her. Ashamed that he had found her. That he knew how her life was spiraling downhill. He knew how timid and shy she was. He knew how much he'd broken her. He'd expected he had done so physically, verbally, emotionally. He hadn't expected sexually. But he knew he couldn't call her out on it. All he wanted was for her to escape it. To come to him if she needed something. To come to him with her problems. To trust him. To rely on him. He wanted her to see herself as he saw her. To see her beauty. The beauty that radiated out of her if she let it.
He understood the need for her to be. And he wanted, more than anything, for her to heal. And if he could be a part of that, he would be. He wanted to be. He just wanted her to be okay. To find herself. To learn how to be complete in herself. He knew he wanted her. He knew he wanted to grow old with her. He knew there was nobody else for him, but her. Which is why, standing in the kitchen, flipping a grilled cheese sandwich and making tomato soup, he decided something.
She was it. He was committed to her, for the rest of his life. If she never committed back to him, that was fine. But he was either going to grow old with her, or grow old alone. And the thought didn't scare him at all.
A/N: let me know what you think. I have no idea what's coming up, so I can't even tease you. I just go where my fingers move... Where the spirit takes me... whatever.
Oh, I don't own the characters, just the abuse.