I highly suggest everyone listens to Can't Be Held Responsible by The Wallflowers. Amazing band. Amazing song that kind of pertains to this story. I have been listening to it like crazy.
And I want to thank the people who review. I know this is a very different story and hard to read because of material but its called fanfiction for a reason. It's going to be different. And I plan on following through with this story until it's done. Okay?
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"What's in the bag?" Pam passed him at the doorway as she came down the stairs out of her shower. She was wearing a pair of his sweats that were way too big on her and an old t-shirt she had dug out of his closet.
He raised an eyebrow at her appearance. "That's an interesting look."
She rolled her eyes but he still noticed the blush that crept up her cheeks. "Well, it's all I have until we go back to my house."
He noticed she still used the word my.
She plopped down on the couch and brought her knees up to her chest protectively. She eyed the bag he had clenched in his hands again. "What's in the bag? Are we going camping?"
He smiled slightly and brought the bag over to her, dropping it on her lap. She let out a breath with its weight.
"Jesus. What is it?"
"Your stuff."
He fell into the couch next to her, putting his legs up on the coffee table.
"My stuff?" Pam started, confused. She unzipped the bag and looked inside, a dazed expression on her face.
"I thought you said you were going to the grocery store." She stated quietly, her voice a whisper.
Suddenly he felt embarrassed and upset, like he had done something wrong. Like he had broken some promise by going over there by himself.
"I just thought-"
"Thought what?" She interrupted him harshly. She looked up to meet his face and he saw anger flash. He sank back in the couch.
"I just thought it might be easier if I go to your house by myself. I figured you didn't need to be there."
"Was-" She lost eye contact and looked at the floor, twisting the zipper between her index finger and thumb. "Was Roy there?"
"No." He said it immediately, not giving any thought to the question. She looked up at him.
"Jim, seriously, don't you think I can tell by now when someone is lying to me, especially you."
He heaved a sigh and looked away. "Yeah, Roy was there."
"How was he?"
"Is that a serious question?" He asked incredulously. How could she possibly care what he was like? He had just spent the past year physically and emotionally berating her. He had beaten her down until there was almost nothing left. And here she was, asking how he was.
"I asked it, didn't I?" She was still looking intently at the zipper, gliding it back and forth gently.
"Pam, are you mad at me for going over there?"
She let go of the zipper and heaved a sigh, putting her hand to her forehead. "No, I'm not mad. Just a little surprised is all. I figured we would go together."
" Is-" He hesitated slightly. "Do you think it's best for you to go over there?"
"It's my house, isn't it?" She looked up at him and he saw her eyes glistening with moisture. "I mean I've been living there ten years now. Just because there are bad memories doesn't mean it isn't my house. Every house has bad memories."
She was tired of crying, so tired of crying. She had been crying for too long now. So long that she almost forgot what it felt like to not cry. To not have the moisture on her cheeks and the searing pain in her chest. Her heart had been breaking steadily for a while now. It was never a simple, clean break. She couldn't mourn and move on. It was slow and devastating. It was killing her.
And he was watching her break in front of him. Watching her crumble into a small heap. And it was killing him.
"Pam-"
"No. That was my house. My things. All my things. My life." She looked at him with frantic eyes. "My life Jim!"
His eyes softened and he reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. She tensed at his touch and he removed his hand sheepishly. "Well, I got some of your things. If you want, we can go over later and get the rest. I'm sorry I went without telling you first."
She looked at him, wiping her tears away from her cheeks, still mindful of the bruise. "Okay." She opened her bag and looked inside. "Okay." She whispered again, calming herself.
He stopped looking at her and stood up, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it by the door, aiming for the hook. It fell to the ground in a pathetic heap with the rest of his long ago neglected clothing.
He left Pam on the couch, walking past her into the kitchen. His hands were shaking again and he clenched them tightly to stop them. He didn't know what to do,
She was still on the couch in the same position when he walked back in an hour later. She didn't even look up. She just continued to clutch the bag to her chest with her chin resting idly on top. She looked like a small girl clutching her teddy bear.
He coughed to get her attention and when she looked up at him, he gave her a tentative smile.
"Why don't we go put your stuff upstairs, in Mark's old room?" She looked at him curiously. "I think it might be better than the couch."
He held out his hand and she took it, letting him lead her up the stairs. The bag bounced off the stairs as she dragged it behind her.
He tried not to concentrate on their intertwined fingers. "Here you are."
She peered past him into the room and looked at it carefully. There was a medium sized bed in the middle of the room with the typical furniture surrounding it. There was a dresser on the far wall with a short nightstand next to the bed. She took a few steps in and dropped her bag on the bed.
"Do you want to unpack or just leave your stuff in the bag?"
"I'm fine."
His eyes lingered on her back. They squinted together as he studied her shoulders. There was something on the shirt she was wearing, at the top, between her shoulder blades. He took a step towards her.
"Pam, what's on your-" He stopped completely. Just froze. It was blood on the shirt. Blood from a cut, obviously, on her back. He had cut her? He hadn't just beaten her, he had cut her too. Were the bruises not enough? He felt the familiar spark that accompanied anger.
He reached out a hand and touched the area gently. She let out a sigh and slumped forward. The area of redness was growing slightly. Not big enough to cause any worry but still a fair amount of blood.
"You should put a band-aid or something on this."
She turned her head to the side slightly. "I've tried. I can't reach. The shower always reopens it. The bleeding will stop soon."
"How'd this one happen?"
"What?"
"How did he do this?"
"Oh." Her cheeks reddened and she moved away from him, turning around so he could no longer see the blood. "I fell."
"Come one Pam. Don't you think I can tell by now when you are lying to me?" He mimicked her words from earlier back to her. She smiled slightly, only slightly.
"I did fall. After he hit me, I fell back into the dresser. The corner hit me in the back. I'm fine Jim."
"Let me put a band-aid on it at least?" He pleaded. "You're getting one of my favorite shirts all bloodied." He smiled to show he was kidding and she tilted her head to the side and gave him a terse smile.
"Alright."
He nodded and backed out of the room, grabbing another washcloth and bandages from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. He came back in to find her sitting on the edge of the bed with her legs folded under her.
She turned around when she saw him enter so that her back faced him. He swallowed hard.
"You're gonna have to lift up your shirt."
"I know." She said quietly. She then let out a sigh and tugged at the hem of her shirt, steadily bunching it up towards her shoulders.
In any other circumstance, Pam taking off her shirt on his roommates bed would be fulfilling one of his many fantasies but now all he could do was watch in sadness and horror as skin covered in bruises was steadily exposed. She held the shirt just above where the cut was but he was too mesmerized by the broken skin to do anything about it.
"Pam-" He started quietly and reached out a shaky hand to gently touch one of the bruises. "I'm so sorry." He traced the yellow and blue ribbons of skin carefully down her back and she let out a shaky sigh. She was so close to crying again. She blinked hard.
"Can you just put the band-aid on please?"
He blinked and tore his eyes away from her lower back and up to the top where the cut was. It wasn't very large, and was in the process of healing, but the warmth of the shower softened her skin and allowed the cut to reopen.
He wiped away the blood and put on the bad aid, fully covering the cut. He removed his hands from her back and she let her shirt drop to cover the wounded area. She turned to him.
"Thanks."
He smiled. "No problem."
It was strange to him, that in the course of a day, their friendship had morphed into an incredibly strange relationship where he covered the wounds her fiancée had inflicted upon her. It was a relationship he couldn't quite name. One he wasn't sure yet would be beneficial to both parties. But right now she needed someone, she needed him. She had come to his door hadn't she?
So, for right now, he would help her as much as necessary. He would be there to make her smile every time those tears threatened to spill. He would keep her mind off all things Roy. He would try and rebuild her world to what it was when he first met her, maybe even a little better. Maybe he could even encourage her to begin to paint again.
But today he would take it slow. Make her dinner, make her laugh, make sure she got some sleep.
Yeah, for right now, he would protect her against anything. Like that was ever questioned in the first place.