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When he disappeared around the corner of the building, Pam slumped against the wall, suddenly dizzy. She braced her hands against her knees and took slow, deep breaths. What had just happened? What had he said? What did it mean? What had she done?
She didn't want to be here, didn't think she could work in such close proximity to him without falling apart completely, but she hadn't brought her car and wasn't about to go find Roy and ask him to take her home. He would ask too many questions, demand too many answers, find out the source of her tears or make one up that suited him, and God help Jim if Roy were to fill in the blanks on his own.
So she gathered herself as best she could and went up to the office. It was a wonder no one else seemed to notice the tension, so thick and heavy Pam could feel it pressing against her chest until she could hardly breathe. She didn't look at him and he didn't look at her, and that in itself was unbearable. Dwight seemed thrown off-balance by Jim's refusal to trade jibes, first cocky, then uneasy, finally suspicious. At one point he claimed to know exactly what Jim was up to and to and just couldn't wait for him to make his move.
Jim's response was an uncharacteristically snappish, "Cut it out, Dwight, Jesus," before returning his attention to his computer screen.
Roy came in at lunchtime and asked Pam to come eat with him downstairs. From the corner of her eye, Pam saw Jim throw his pencil down so hard it bounced to the floor several feet away, shove his chair back, and head toward the break room.
To his credit, even Roy noticed. "What's Halpert's problem?" he asked, a touch of a sneer at the corner of his mouth.
Pam shrugged casually, though she felt as if someone had reached inside her and squeezed her stomach and heart together into one fist. "Let's go," she said.
It was almost the end of the day before she officially couldn't take it anymore. She waited for him to gather his change and head to the vending machines for his late-afternoon candy bar, and she got up and followed him. He pretended he didn't know she'd entered the room behind him, studying the rows of snacks with much more concentration than they warranted.
"This is horrible," she said, and her voice came out weak and broken. "It's horrible and I hate it."
He didn't even turn around. "Me too," he said.
"So stop?"
He took a deep breath before responding, his back still to her and his eyes somewhere on the ceiling. "You think this is fun for me?" he asked. "You think this is how I wanted this to go?"
"Jim—"
"No," he interrupted. "Please don't give me any more excuses, or reasons for staying with him. I can't take it. Please. What I said to you this morning—everything I said—it was no easier for me to say than for you to hear. And having it said doesn't change anything, not really. Everybody gets hurt here. Everybody except the one person who deserves to."
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Finally he turned around, leaning against the snack machine and fixing her with a piercing gaze. "For what?"
"For all of this, for not being strong enough, for not being—"
He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a frustrated sigh. "God, Beesly, don't do that."
She broke off, surprised by his harsh tone.
"Don't make this about strength of character or not being brave enough. When you do that you sell yourself short, and I'm not going to stand here and listen to it. That's his doing, you know. He's made you believe you need him to tell you who you are and what you can do. But I'm telling you now, Pam, that is bullshit. And it's just one more reason he's not fit to breathe the same air as you."
He started out of the room but froze in his tracks when she touched his arm. Their eyes met and locked, hers filled with tears, his with raw emotion that couldn't quite be named. Her mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. He waited, hoping she would find whatever words were escaping her, but when her hand slid limply from the crook of his elbow and her shoulders slumped, he knew she'd lost them.
He walked away from her for the second time that day, and it was not a bit easier than the first.
Roy took her to Poor Richard's that night, with the excuse of toasting their surviving another relationship "close call." Pam was not at all surprised when his brother Kenny showed up halfway through her second round and Roy's—sixth? Also, two of the warehouse guys happened to be there, and so their ill-conceived little "date" quickly became crowded and loud, crude and marginally offensive. She stirred her Apple-tini and watched the liquid swirl around in the glass.
She thought it couldn't get much worse. And then Jim came in with his roommate Mark, Mark's girlfriend, and some girl Pam had never seen, and she remembered why you should never assume things are as bad as they can get. Jim guided the girl into a booth with his hand on the small of her back, and Pam watched in horror, pretty sure she was going to throw up bright green Apple-tini all over the tabletop.
He hadn't spotted her, or else was pretending that he hadn't, but their tables were diagonally positioned and afforded her a much-too-clear view: Jim framed perfectly between Roy's and Darryl's biceps. He was smiling—smiling. And the girl—blonde, pretty—kept giggling as if he were the funniest, most charming guy she'd ever had the pleasure to date. Which, Pam realized with a pang, was entirely possible.
She drained off the rest of her drink and told Roy she was going up to the bar to get another.
"Grab me another Bud while you're at it," Roy said, indicating his three-fourths-full mug. As a thank you, he pinched her on the ass, a little too sharply to be as playful as he meant it to be.
When she passed Jim's table, their eyes met for the briefest of moments, and she heard him falter midsentence. But then he recovered, continued his oh-so-funny-and-charming story, and she was past them, leaning against the bar and wondering if the room was suddenly spinning because of the alcohol in her system or something else. She ordered Roy's beer and another neon-green concoction for herself even though he didn't need it and she didn't want it. She put it on Roy's tab, which God help them, would most likely stay open until closing time. Why had she let him talk her into coming here? After the day that wouldn't die, all she wanted was to curl up in bed and cry in peace and without interruption. But Roy had insisted. Roy usually got his way when he insisted.
Halfway back to the guys, Pam stumbled and both drinks went flying from her hands. The thin martini glass exploded on the stone floor, and the heavy beer stein just thunked and skittered to a stop against—of course. Jim's foot.
Horrified, Pam fell to her knees and started picking up shards of glass. She didn't realize he was kneeling next to her until his hands grasped her wrists, gently but firmly.
"Hey," he said softly. "Hey, easy. Put it down; you're going to cut yourself."
And then she realized, also belatedly, that tears were coursing down her cheeks. He gingerly plucked the glass shards from her hands and placed them back on the floor, then stood up, drawing her with him with a strong hand cupping her elbow. Catching the eye of someone behind the bar, he called, "Hey, Mike, we had a little party foul over here; do you mind?"
Then his eyes were back on her, concern filling them—and making her ache. "What is it?" he asked softly, as if they weren't in a room full of people, as if his date weren't sitting mere feet from them and her fiancé just two tables away. "Talk to me, Pam. What's wrong?"
Before she could answer, Roy was there, his bigger, rougher hand on her back and a big goofy grin on his face. "What the hell, Pammy?" he chided, half amused by the spillage, half annoyed as he always was by the sight of Jim. "Never send your bitch for the beer, right Halpert?"
Jim stared at Roy, an expression that Pam had never seen on his face. His jaw clenched so hard she heard his teeth click together, and when he opened his mouth to say something she panicked. "Someone's coming to clean the mess, Roy, let's go," she said, her voice too high-pitched. Her eyes flashed up to Jim's, wanting to convey apology and explanation and warning all at the same time, but then Roy was guiding her back to their table and Jim hadn't even looked at her.
More Poor Richard's drama up next. Reviews make it all worth it.