A/N: Just a note about this chapter. This was an especially hard chapter for me to write, and I debated telling you all this, but decided to anyway out of hope that it may help any of you that may be struggling with abuse. A lot of Pam's story is taken from my older sister's personal story of abuse. These kind of things happen every day to so many people. It's a sad truth, there's just no way around it. If this is happening to you, I urge you to get help. If you know someone this is happening to, I urge you to help them get help. You're never alone in abuse.

Thanks for the reviews, you guys! If you're not reviewing, please try to! It really helps me write and with this fic being so character driven and I have no idea where I'm going, I'll be able to honor more requests. So please, leave me your feedback and enjoy!.

Warning: Adult language, Violence.

Talking was exhausting. Pam had never realized how exhausting it was; she'd never appreciated before how easily it came to people. She'd been silent for four days and now talking seemed to take every fiber of strength in her body. She'd never thought talking would be a use it or lose it tool. She'd thought it would be so easy to open her mouth and speak, but it turned out that she wanted to keep silent more than she wanted to speak.

Part of her was sad she'd broken her vow of silence. In the past four days, she'd felt so in touch with Jim, and with herself. Her communication levels had seemed to skyrocket when she didn't use her voice. She could look around her and tell if something was wrong. She remembered Jim telling her a long time ago about how when you lose one of your senses the others become more sensitive. She could see now how that was true. She was beginning to understand the language of Jim's body, and she was sure he was understanding hers.

She was scared that would go away. But she knew they couldn't live like this. They couldn't live with communicating only through their bodies. They had to speak. They had to use their words. Otherwise, something may be lost.

She thought about how special it was, though, that she and Jim could communicate without words. She'd read in one of her trashy romance novels that silence is the best predictor of a strong love. Couples and friends who loved each other deeply could sit in silence for hours without it being awkward, still communicating with each other. It pleased her to know that she and Jim could do that.

It had been such an effort for her to break that silence. To speak out loud. It was as if sound was trying to force itself out of her mouth, so hard, but there was a barrier. A barrier that nobody could see. And then it came slowly, weakly. "Jim." And she gained momentum, she gained strength. And she finally uttered the words she'd been dying to say since the moment she met him. "I love you."

He was ecstatic she'd spoken. He'd missed the sound of her voice. The sound of her laughter. He'd missed everything about the way she spoke to him. He knew they'd been speaking the entire time, but there was something about that soft voice that comforted him and made him feel at home. It wasn't even the words she'd said that had excited him so much, although that was part of it. It was more that she had opened her mouth to speak.

He remembered learning about the parts of the brain in high school. There were two parts that were focused on language and speaking. Broca's area was involved in speaking language, where Wernicke's area enabled one to understand language. He thought about her. How she'd understood what he'd said, but she wasn't able to reply. He thought about these sections of the brain, how close they were to the frontal lobe, which was the part of the brain that dealt with all emotion. He understood, then, that she couldn't speak because of her emotions. They were blocking her completely. This wasn't just psychological… This was neurological.

When she'd spoke, he'd understood. It was her way of getting out rage. She'd learned to trust him. The rage, hurt and anger that had inhabited her had started to fade away and now she was talking to him, speaking to him. He could hear her voice. He had hoped he would.

He was sitting on the couch, holding her in his lap. Pulling her into his arms. She'd stopped talking after she uttered those three little words. It had been fifteen minutes since she had said anything, but to Jim this felt like a huge step. Fifteen minutes was miles shorter than four days. And then he felt her gaze on him and he looked down, keenly aware of how much he could sense her presence.

"Do you want to know what happened?" She asked him. He looked at her, his eyes taking in her beauty. He wanted so badly to know what had happened to her. He wanted to know what had inspired that scrape across her face. He wanted to know why the most beautiful girl in the world had a bruise on her cheek. He longed to be the guy that could answer 'only if you want to tell me.' He wanted to be a gentleman with her. But he couldn't lie to her. Not again. He could have stabbed himself for being so insensitive to her.

"Yes." He replied, his throat seeming to close up.

"Okay." She said softly, pulling out of his lap and resting on the arms of the couch, her feet sill resting in his hands. She took a deep breath and paused, and he could tell she was thinking. Thinking, perhaps, of how to tell him. How to start this. How to open up this can of worms. He sat watching her, waiting. He could wait forever for her.

"I guess I need to start from before the beginning," she said softly, wiping a stray piece of hair from her eyes. He reached over to her and took her hand.

"You know you can tell me anything," he said, softly, as if there was no question that she didn't know that, but if by some glitch in the universe she didn't, this was her reassurance. She could tell him anything. He would love her through anything. She nodded at him and smiled.

"My dad," she stated, looking at him. "He wasn't ever home when I was little. He worked a lot, I think… I'm not really sure." He listened to her, unsure where she was heading with this tidbit. "When he did come home, it was never the way he liked it. He liked the house quiet and tidy… Dinner on the table… Kidless." Her voice wavered slightly and she stopped for a moment to regain composure before continuing. "We were always in the way. Dad had a saying, 'Kid in the way, beat them 'til they're on their way'." He gasped inside, anger and sadness welling up inside of him, but on the outside, he simply squeezed her hand.

"He always told me that women were supposed to be controlled by men… They were supposed to submit to men. And I guess I believed him. Nobody ever told me otherwise. And if I didn't believe him, I'd just get beat again… I grew up thinking the way he treated me and my sisters and my mom was just normal… That all men were like that and all women were treated like that. Nobody ever really told me otherwise.

"Then, one day… When I was twelve, he came home really mad and angry. I was downstairs doing my math homework, and he saw me there… He grabbed me by the arm and kept yelling at me, telling me I wasn't allowed to do that downstairs. Telling me how dirty and ugly I was." Tears were falling down her cheeks now, her voice clouded with them.

"He took his belt off and hit me hard with it. Twenty times on the back until I just fell to the floor." She took a deep breath, pausing. "Kicked me a few times… Then he yanked me back up and…" she stopped, looking at him. He looked back at her, a look of sadness sweeping over him for the pain she had to bare. She pulled her shirt off slowly, sitting in front of him with just her bra and jeans on. She pointed at a burn on her chest, a few of them actually. "He…" her voice wavered as she stared at him, suddenly aware she'd just exposed most of her body to him. "He put his cigarette out on me…" Jim gasped and squeezed her hand, unsure of how to react to this news.

"My mom came in then, screaming at him to get off me and to leave me alone… I was bleeding everywhere… It was awful. He picked up my mom and threw her on the ground, and that's when we heard the sirens… My sister had called the cops on him." She stopped crying now, and he knew it was because the worst part was over. She wasn't imagining him anymore. She wasn't imagining his voice or his face. She was back to just simply telling a story.

"I never really forgot that… And I knew he was wrong, in the back of my mind I did know it… But nobody ever sat me down and told me that… And I kept hearing everyone telling me to listen to my parents and to obey my parents.. and my dad had always told me it was okay to beat the shit out of people… It was expected even. As a woman, that was my job… To do whatever it is my husband, boyfriend, fiancée.." her voice trailed away for a moment before coming back. "said..

"And then a few years later, I met Roy… My dad was in prison, still is actually…" He saw her stop for a minute and mutter something under her breath that he was sure was a pretty strong expletive. "Roy was sweet and charming…. He didn't hit me or treat me badly… He was always hugging me and touching me, which I didn't really mind. I'd never really had anyone hug me or hold me before. It was new… Daddy…" She corrected herself quickly. "My dad always hit my mom if she held us or hugged us. He said it was spoiling us… But Roy did, and I don't know… It made me feel loved and accepted."

"Other than when he left me at the hockey game, he was really great… Easily the type of guy you'd fall in love with… And I did fall in love with him. I really did." Jim's heart hurt as she said this, but he knew that it was true. He knew that hadn't changed.

"And he really didn't change much the first year… He was a good guy… I was the lucky girl, all the girls in school wanted to be with Roy. But then around the second year we were dating, he started getting more manipulative… Demanding we go where he wanted to go… Wanting to be more physical, maybe a little sooner than I did… But I didn't want to lose him. So I went along with it…. I was supposed to be submissive, right?"

He knew it was a rhetorical question, but it took every bone in his body to keep him from standing up and shouting 'NO!' at her.

"And eventually he started to hit me a bit… Never bad though.. Just a slap on the face or the butt every now and then. I didn't really mind… I mean, it didn't feel good. It stung when he did it, but it was nowhere near the belt my dad used on my mom… And I thought all men did this to their women… I thought I was lucky to only have a slap on the face."

His heart broke.

"And then things really started to pick up… I told him about my family and where my dad was, and all of a sudden, he became a lot more violent, like it was his right to own me and mutilate me. He started to call me names like my dad used to… Started to hit me more, harder… He used things other than his hands. And I guess my self-worth just really deflated even more…

"I started thinking that this was it. He was the one for me. The one I was going to marry. What was different about the other relationships where people hit each other? Nothing really. I was lucky to have Roy. He was handsome. He could be charming and thoughtful if he wanted to be. I felt lucky to have him.

"And then I met you…" she said, softly, looking at him. His heart leapt inside of his chest. She squeezed his hands softly. "And it really confused me… Because I'd grown up thinking that men were dominant and should be all over women and should control them, but you were nothing like that… You were kind and thoughtful… You cared about me and what I thought…" She chuckled to herself lightly. "My dad would have called you weak."

Your Dad's the weak one. He thought to himself.

"Things simmered down a little bit the first few years I worked at Dunder-Mifflin… I think one time you mentioned to Roy about some bruise I had on my arm that you noticed or something... He started getting paranoid because you paid so much attention to me… It didn't have anything to do with you loving me," she looked in his eyes. "He wasn't jealous of our relationship. He didn't care, I was just property to him…" She looked down at her lap. "He just didn't want you to find out.

"After casino night, when you left… I guess he found out about it somehow. About what you said to me. I don't think he found out about what you did… When I went to go break up with him, he was really angry. He wouldn't even let me speak.. He…" she trailed off slightly and looked down at her feet. He reached out his finger and touched her chin, raising it to look at him. Begging her to continue.

"He broke one of our china plates over my head." She said softly, tears starting to fall once more. He could feel the sharp intake of breath he'd taken as he'd heard her declaration. How dare he. "Afterwards he said he was sorry. He didn't mean to hurt me. He loved me… He wanted to marry me…

"I took him back, foolishly… Because by that time you were already in Stamford. I knew you weren't coming back, and I thought… I thought you'd just let go of me when I told you I couldn't." Fresh tears were falling down his face as he realized what he'd put her through. He had thought it was painful having to move, having to lose her. He had no idea that she had been in even more pain. She'd had to deal with losing him and being horrifically abused, all at the same time. He was shaking; he was so upset.

"When you came back, he was addicted… He couldn't stop hitting me… It wasn't every day, just sometimes. It broke my heart. The one person that could always save me wasn't even paying attention… I wanted, so desperately, for you to say something to me about it. To say something to Roy. To scare him into stopping… But you kept silent."

The guilt was overwhelming him. He could hardly take it anymore. She seemed to notice and she touched his face softly, "Hey…" she whispered. "You did save me. It's okay. You came." He bit his lip and looked at her, wondering what to say, but she beat him to it, knowing she had to continue her story.

"Thursday night…" she started, trailing off, and he could tell she was trying to conjure up the images. The images of desperation, of loneliness, of pain. Those images of him beating her to the point where she was almost unrecognizable. Those images that must have been too familiar, having grown up how she did.

"I was having cramps," she started. "And I got out of bed around two to take a hot bath. Roy still wasn't home, he was out drinking, as usual. I had my eyes closed and I could feel him hovering over me, watching me with disgust. I can always feel it when he's disgusted with me." She wiped the back of her hand over her eyes, wincing as she touched her cut.

"He grabbed my foot and tried to yank me out of the tub. I hit my head on the inside of the porcelain, but he didn't care. He yanked me again, up in the air. When he realized I was wet, he jumped and dropped me. My head hit right where the bathtub hit the tile." She looked up and saw him, tears falling down his cheeks. She wanted to stop. So badly she wanted to stop, tell him she didn't have to go on, take his tears away. But she couldn't now. She needed this. She needed to continue. And he needed her to continue.

"I started bleeding, but he didn't care. He held me by my toes and dragged me across the tile. There were jagged pieces sticking up through the cracks and the cut me hard, but he didn't stop. Even when I screamed, he just screamed back. He picked me up over his shoulder and pushed me hard against the wall and he…" she stopped, looked down and brought her knees to her chest, as if trying desperately to keep from it happening again. To keep from having to expose herself again. In any way.

Jim watched her for a moment. When it looked like she wasn't going on, he finished for her. "He raped you." She nodded, and Jim sighed. He took her hand and moved her face so she was staring in his eyes. "You need to say it."

"No." She whimpered softly, shaking her head, trying to avoid his glaze. "No…" He reached up and touched her cheek, looking in her eyes.

"You need to say it." He said softly, squeezing her hand, trying to let her know it was okay to air out her feelings. He wouldn't hurt her. He was different. She could trust him. "You need to say it, Pam. It's the only way you'll get better."

She paused for a moment, her words stuck in her throat. Finally, he heard a small whisper, so quiet he was sure she couldn't even hear it, but he did. "He raped me." The words sounded like the wind. You could feel them; you could feel the consequences of them, but you couldn't hear them. You just knew they were there.

She looked up at him then, the tears falling down her cheeks fast and swift. She knew they wouldn't stop now. There was too much to cry about. Through the tears, she managed to continue, but it took her much longer, sobs interrupting every sentence. "I tried to fight back... I tried so hard, Jim… When he'd gotten what he wanted, he dropped me… Just left me on the floor. He kicked me and cursed at me for making it so difficult for him… When I opened my mouth, he picked up the chair from across the room and threw it at me… It hit me in the face and I think I passed out. That's the last thing I remember."

Jim looked at her, in awe of all she'd been through. When the last word escaped her lips, her crying stopped. It was like it had turned off. There was nothing left for her to cry over. There was nothing left for her to do. She looked up at him and gave him a weak, forced smile, but he could tell she was trying. She wanted to show him her love. She wanted to show him that she was okay. He knew she wasn't okay. He knew that she would never be completely okay with what had happened to her. But he wanted to help her. He wanted to help her get there. He desperately wanted to help her. She crawled over to him and cuddled up in his lap, her breaths deep and her eyes closed.

"Tell me something, Jim," she whispered into his chest.

"What's that?" he asked, trying not to let her hear the sobs that were permanently lodged in his throat.

"Tell me they're just jerks… Tell me not all men are like that… Tell me it wasn't me." She pleaded softly.

He leaned down and kissed her on the top of the head. "They're just jerks. Not all men are like that. It wasn't you." He looked down at her and realized she'd already fallen asleep in his arms. He pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and laid it over her, laying himself down and resigning himself to another night on the couch, holding the broken woman he loved.

A/N: Review!