Jim had grown pretty accustomed to not sleeping well.

Ever since that night on the lake, those twenty-seven seconds of unbearable silence screaming at him to be brave but ultimately failing, his nights were a tangled amalgamation of what-ifs that had done serious damage to his REM cycle. Tonight, however, was so eerily different.

He had gone to bed with a heart full of so many different emotions: a dash of hope, a sprinkle of fear, the pushing insistence of action. Around 4:30 he had woken with a start, faint memories of a dream fading almost as quickly as his eyes had snapped open. The only moments he had grasped onto were fuzzy images of a bed he didn't recognize, a body beneath his own, an overwhelming sense of wholeness. But they were gone as soon as he had drifted back into the few remaining hours of fitful sleep before his adult body dragged him out of bed at eight o'clock on the dot. Not two minutes later, with no new pending notifications, did he type out a quick message to Pam, encouraging her speedy recovery and gently reminding her to let him know that she was, indeed, okay.

Hours passed without a return, and he felt like a lovesick teenager as he clacked three more messages out over the span of his morning, which otherwise consisted of cleaning, grocery shopping, and tuning in to the first of many college basketball games, when she finally responded. A weight upon his chest only made itself present when he felt it lifting upon reading the words that said she was okay.

He let out a sigh then, sinking into the couch relaxedly, as he replayed their conversation from the previous night.

"HeyJim. What are you wearing?"

"Beesly, are you drunk?"

"I just called because I missed you, Jim."

"I'll drive across town to come check on you if I have to."

"Yes. You should do that. B'cause then I wouldn't have to miss you."

"I need help figuring out why I'm so sad, Jim. And why I miss you. And why I don't miss Roy."

Eyes clenching shut, his body went both tingly and numb, the details bringing new reality in the morning light.

"Why did you go on a date with her?"

"Did you kiss her goodnight?"

"Did you want to?"

While eyebrows furrowed, regret mounted within him. He'd take back every pointless, worthless, goddamn blind date he'd ever been on just to take away her pain.

"Sometimes, you kinda make me feel a lil' tingly."

"When I see you, I get all tingly inside. When I see Roy, all I feel is blech."

His own tingles radiated from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. The waistband of a new pair of sweatpants grew suddenly tight.

"I jus' wish it was easier, Jim."

So do I, Beesly. So do I.

"I shouldn't miss you, right? 'Cause I'm engaged. So why do I?"

"I jus' wanted to let you know that, remember that one time we accidentally slept on your floor? I really liked that. I jus' wanted to let you know that.

And then it was her head cradled to his chest, her legs intertwined with his, her small arms wrapped up and around his body like she was clinging on for dear life. Her softness, her warmth, the smell of her hair as it invaded his nostrils.

With eyes still clenched and the twitching in his sweatpants growing more insistent, he sprang from the couch and headed straight for the shower. The cold blast surged him back into a reality that reminded him that she wasn't his, that her words had been the product of alcohol, had only been pried from her depths by accidental overconsumption.

But as soap tickled over the goosebumps on his skin, he connected dots of his own.

The words "I was sad before I opened up the bottle" ping-ponged loudly between his ears.

She'd been upset that he had gone out on a date.

The alcohol had only served to fuel her sadness, which in turn, pulled on his heartstrings to the point of physical pain in his chest. He had caused her sadness. However indirectly. The irony of the situation momentarily humored him: He was the man on the outside, the man in love with an engaged woman. An engaged woman who had been upset that he, the single man, had gone out on a date. And he was remorseful. But the man on the inside, the fiance to said engaged woman, put her dow—not only often—but with intent. Not maliciously, not out of spite, but because in their shared life, they knew no other way.

He pushed Roy from his thoughts, focusing his mind once again to her.

"Jim, why do I miss you?"

Her head on his shoulder.

"I jus' wish it was easier, Jim."

Feet intertwined, toes touching.

"Yes. You should do that. B'cause then I wouldn't have to miss you."

With a forceful pull of the shower knob, his dripping body was standing over the sink, staring at the reflection of a man determined.

He had to tell her.

Whether or not she responded in his favor, he had to tell her. Had to put the ball in her court. Unknowingly with her phone call, she had already gotten the ball rolling. She could do with the informations whatever she saw fit. But he couldn't go on like this, keeping this bottled up, any longer. As Jim gazed into eyes so hollow that he barely recognized them anymore, he knew that it was now or never.

He was finally going to tell her that he was in love with her.

That afternoon, she had dedicated herself fully to putting together the pieces of a night—or rather, a phone call—lost in time. But the details just weren't coming. She could remember wanting to ask Jim a question, hitting the SEND button. She knew they had spoken. But the contents of their conversation were vacant, an abandoned warehouse otherwise forgotten.

And it was driving her absolutely insane.

Her headache was the fault of frustration, concentration, and too much wine the night before; a poor combination for self-attempted recovered memory therapy.

As she willed her memories of the night to come back into focus, walking through every aspect that she did remember, the sane and insane parts of her brain began a dialogue that the latter wasn't quite ready to face.

Okay, you were sad. But why were you sad?

Roy had gone out last night. But that hadn't brought tears to her eyes. Maybe happy or relieved tears, but certainly nothing somber.

Jim went out on a date last night. That upset you. Just admit it already. You were drinking because Jim went out on a date, and it wasn't with you.

The kitchen table seemed to grow, shrinking her in size as she closed her eyes and leaned her forehead upon praying hands, finally giving in.

Fine. I was upset that Jim went on a lousy date. But so what? What's that got to do with anything? She wasn't even his type!

And how do you know that? You don't even know who he went out with! You were upset before you even opened that bottle of wine, Beesly. From the moment you heard him make those plans, you were upset. Own it.

Ugh! Fine! I was upset, okay? There. I said it. Are you happy now?

Eh. Moderately.

You're impossible.

Her one stroke of luck came from the combination of hangover and March Madness that easily distracted her fiancé for the better part of the afternoon. Usually, this would've infuriated her. Today, she was grateful for the ambiance of snoring and squeaky shoes. He wasn't there to pull her from her ongoing inner monologue as she came head on to face one of the most impossible truths she'd ever known.

So. The question remains: why were you so upset? You have a fiancé for crying out loud.

So?

Jim is single. He can date anyone he wants to.

Don't you think I know that?!

So why were you upset?

White hotness boiled inside her like Vesuvius at its bursting point. Clenched fists pounded the kitchen table with a clatter as the unwashed breakfast dishes were disturbed by the vibrations.

"Because he should've been with me."

She hadn't meant to speak the words aloud. But there was no taking them back

You deserve so much more.

You should break up with him.

Phone conversation be damned, she was being hit square in the face with a reality that she hadn't yet seen.

And it terrified her.

Immediately, her gaze shifted to the cheap excuse for commitment that encircled her left finger. She twirled the metal in a circle, body turning abruptly to face the couch—well, the back of the couch—where she could just make out his arm dangling off its edge, his soft breathing and snoring sounds so familiar.

Roy was her fiance.

They were getting married.

And yet, here she sat, torn into two contrasting pieces. One favored familiarity and comfort, fearing the unknown. Stagnancy was welcome, thrived upon. The other craved to fill the holes that she was only now starting to realize were there, empty spaces in her core begging to be whole again, with only one source of life.

No.

She couldn't.

She was on her feet, toying nervously with her necklace as she quickly closed the distance between herself and her sleeping fiance. Although he took up most of the couch from his sprawled position, her slight build still found a home on the corner near his feet.

The right side of the couch.

No.

She pushed the thought from her mind, tucked her feet underneath her ever-shrinking body, and gingerly lay her fingers atop his forearm, running them softly through the thick hair, feeling goosebumps pop up under her touch. He stirred, the look in his eyes momentarily riddled with confusions as they adjusted, squinting to see the late afternoon time on the cable box before turning his head to see her perched above him.

"Hey, baby," he muttered, eyes closed in a slow blink as he reached the arm that she had been stroking around her shoulders. Immediately, she folded herself into his embrace, letting him pull her body flush against his back. He tucked her head under his chin. She shook off the discomfort, the sense that this just wasn't right, and willed it to be okay.

"Damn, I slept the day away, huh?" he mumbled into the top of her head. She could only nod in response, her movement registering against his chest.

After several minutes of silence, neither of them truly focused on whatever program played absently on the television, he finally spoke again.

"This is kinda nice."

With his arm tucked under her chin, she gripped onto him more tightly, letting silence overtake them once again.

On any given day, those words would've made her heart soar, reminded her why she had chosen him all those years ago. But in this moment, physically begging herself to just enjoy it, she felt positively empty, void of all emotion.

She let herself fall asleep in his arms, waking to the cover of darkness as he got up to go to the bathroom, emptiness still echoing within her. The echo itself uttering one single, distinct syllable, its repeat thrumming wildly.

Jim.

It was in that moment that she made a decision.

She needed to see him.

Needed to make sense of all of this.

What had Roy said just the other night?

You should feel free to have fun with your girlfriends whenever you want. But if you're gonna spend the night, just give me a head's up, okay?

She didn't need permission to hang out with her friends. But after she had spent way more time pampering herself in front of the mirror than she would ever admit to, and gathered her things, she found herself intentionally leaving out the part about it being Jim's place that she was heading to when she whispered into his once again dozing ear, "I'm heading to a friends for the night. Not sure when I'll be back."

At 7:42 PM, he was jostled from a restless nap on the couch by the ringing of his doorbell.