He wasn't letting this happen again.
As Pam nearly fishtailed out of his driveway, the screeching in his brain was drawing parallels to the last time they had found themselves in a situation like this. She was in his arms, willingly in his arms, and then suddenly she was running away. For the shred of sanity he had left, he could not let this happen again, couldn't let her keep running from whatever was or wasn't going on between them. Using every ounce of strength that his body could muster, he took off down the street.
He was at the end of his block, palms splayed across the hood of her car, when he realized that he was still barefoot. Through a still defrosting pane of glass, the look in her eyes was fear synthesized with pain and much more turmoil than he'd ever wanted to see painted on her face.
Through parted lips, a slight nod, the sense of urgency in his deep green eyes, he urged her out of the car. Sunday morning traffic and a four-way neighborhood intersection were on his side as she angled her car three feet to the curb, threw her hazards on, and unlocked the doors. When he settled in to the passenger seat, her stark white knuckles were still gripping the steering wheel at eleven and one.
The sole sounds in the small cabin came from panting breaths with the background of a humming motor, eventually joined by the tapping of his restless foot, the final instrument to their three piece band. The passenger seat was pulled close, almost on the last notch, probably to accommodate the ever-shrinking woman beside him. In wake of their situation, he could still find humor, marveling at their difference in size. Their gazes hadn't wavered from staring out the front windshield, hers following a squirrel as it scurried up a tree, his tracing over the letters on the stop sign over and over again.
She watched the numbers on the clock tick, minute by minute, the tens place finally clicking over. Biting her lip, she shifted her eyes, keeping her head stable, trying to sneak a glance that would simultaneously read his mind. Was he staring at her? Looking out the window? No. He was the picture of pity: head hung low, fingers perched on his knees, giving the occasional drum from pinky to pointer. He looked undoubtedly deflated, like she hadn't only run out of his house in a panic, but had reached over this morning in bed and popped him like a balloon. But as she sat in her car, praying that her thoughts weren't etched into the foggy air surrounding them, she clenched her eyes shut and succumbed to the positive memories for just a moment more.
His body curled into hers.
Her head on his chest.
The way that she felt doubtlessly safe in his arms.
The way that, despite waking up cold, she woke up smiling for the first time in years.
But those years, those past nine years, taunted her, howling at her from the band around her finger. The band that had woken up in another man's bed. The band that was suddenly sparkling under the guise of the tear that had fallen upon it.
"Pam."
Her name on his lips, almost foreign under the sleep that still wavered in his throat.
It cut her like a knife, straight to her soul, in a way that the single syllable of her name had never hurt her before. She could hear the ache in his voice, taste the pain. She'd done that. But she didn't know any other way. She clenched her eyes shut, to squeeze the last of her tears out, willing her emotions to purge out with the liquid as it poured from her eyes.
"Pam, I don't...I don't know what to do here anymore."
He was talking to her, but pleading with the ceiling, his palms floating up, still refusing to find her face, because he knew that once he did, he would break. In her silence, he continued.
"I just...we can't keep doing this, if this is how it's going to be."
Still, she said nothing, knowing that any words she uttered would break in sobs from her throat.
"This is...it's all...Pam, I don't know if I can…"
Nothing coming out of his mouth was making sense. His words, alien in the way they formed, sticking and gritty against his throat. He couldn't form anything coherent, logic going out the window with the rest of Pam's actions. He was struggling now. Struggling with what to do, what to say next. Phrases like You can't keep doing this to me, and You're confusing the hell out of me, Pam hammered against his temples. But he couldn't get them from thought to reality. To do so would be in direct violation of his plan to keep their relationship in tact no matter the cause. To do so would cross that line. And judging by the way she had darted from his bed less than an hour prior, she was not ready for that boundary to be broken.
"What do you want...from all of this?"
It was bold, for sure. It was all he could think to ask at a time like this. He knew where he stood. His fogginess stemmed from what she had failed to tell him, what she was thinking about their recent interactions. But he needed to know.
She wasn't sure her grip could become much tighter on the steering wheel, but as she felt wetness in the pads of her palm, she realized that her nails had been digging hard enough to draw trickles of blood.
What did she want from all of this?
She wanted for it to not be so hard.
She wanted someone to tell her what to do.
She wanted her fairy godmother to appear, wave a magic wand, and clear up the murkiness that had been clouding her brain for the past two months.
She wanted answers. But now, so did he.
And the only answer she had for him was, "I don't know."
It was barely a whisper, written in vapor that sent a quickly disappearing fog to the windshield.
"I don't know, Jim." Her voice was stronger now, as if she was more sure in her ambiguity. "I think...I need time. I need to think. About...just, all of this."
For the first time, their eyes met, and he was glad that it had taken them this long, because the sheer terror in her glassy eyes would've had her wrapped against his chest instantaneously. The shock hit him for the first time that this really was eating her up inside. While he couldn't decipher the cause, it was evident in her eyes that she truly was struggling. He had no desire to push her any further, to take her to a place where she would certainly tumble over the edge. It killed him to stay stagnant in his own seat; he longed to reach out, to touch a hand to her cheek, to send every ounce of physical comfort left to her dejected body.
"Okay."
His lungs allowed him this one syllable, knowing in every stretch of his being that this was what she needed. And he needed to be okay with that. He'd spent the past three years in her shoes with plenty of time to think and fester and drown in his own thoughts. Although it was painful, it was also what he had needed. He had become incredibly introspective in these past few years, and his self-reflection—while so often painful—was also helpful. He was able to understand his wants, his needs, but also to give himself boundaries. Maybe now she needed to discover all of this on her own.
The palpitating silence lasted minutes, its weight heavy and distinct. Finally, he patted his thighs simultaneously, the thud resonating in the cabin enough to cause her to jump slightly.
"I should probably go, then." Though sleep had long since passed, his voice still touched on the edge of roughness. He didn't care enough to clear his throat. He offered her a tight smile, eyes cast downward as he fought one last urge to reach out, take her in his arms, searching her eyes for any hint that she wanted him to do so. All he saw was in the murky green was a lost soul, praying to find her way out. It cut him like blade to skin, lifting his long legs out of her car without more than a half wave. He watched her car until its spec on the horizon blurred away, and even then, he waited, just in case she turned around.
Eventually, the stinging in his toes reminded him that it was still only bordering on mid-March, that east coast weather was a battle he picked each and every winter. Rocks and gravel crunched under the pads of his feet that he didn't bother to wash off before he walked directly past Mark's worried eyes and planted his worn and shaken body face down in the pillow where her scent still remained.
She arrived home to emptiness, quiet, solitude. She hadn't expected anything less, and was actually grateful when she stepped into the eerie calmness of a grey living room. She welcomed the quiet as she pulled her easel and a blank canvas from their closet shelter. The colors squirting onto the pallet echoed her mood; deep greens and somber blues coupled with dark monochromes, splashing angrily, quickly covering the too-bright white. Typically her canvases were reserved for special work, something she was sure of and confident putting onto such a permanent surface. But the only concrete thoughts that her mind could form right now were confounding and impeding and downright obstructive. The colors splaying in crisscrossing lines and oblong spatters without cause mimicked just that.
Sweat collected and dripped down her forehead, mixing with fresh tears by the time she finished, not a spot of white visible in the conglomeration that had amassed before her. It was almost too bad that her chosen medium was art and not written work; her painting was a visible representation of the turmoil inside her head, but the thoughts that she kept were still there, battling within her, fighting for some sense of order. It was in the middle of adding tinier lines, the details of what she knew to be true—I'm engaged to Roy; Roy doesn't feel right; Jim feels right—etched more finely into her otherwise caliginous impression, that Roy returned home. She only heard him when he was but a foot behind her, calling out so loudly that she almost knocked the easel over. He had never been one for subtlety.
"Wow, goin' all dark and twisty today, huh babe?"
"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."
She was so startled by his sudden arrival that it took her body a moment to register his bulky frame taking up the living room, the woodsy scent with a hint of motor oil that now overwhelmed her nostrils, the way his lips curled into more of a snarl and less of a smile, settling a funk in gut. The assault on her senses were in such severe contrast to the past twelve hours of her life that were submerged in lopsided grins and lanky limbs and musky spice.
"I'm gonna go hop in the shower. Wanna order take out or somethin'?"
He was already halfway to the bathroom, comments tossed over his shoulder. His t-shirt hit the floor somewhere between the hallway and their bedroom. She didn't even have the energy to roll her eyes.
As they sat on the couch later that evening, empty Chinese cartons scattered about, the sounds of basketball completed the monotonous ambience that she was suddenly growing tired of. She longed for an excuse to leave the couch, find herself alone with her thoughts, but she knew that retreating to the bedroom would inevitably end up with Roy tailing her, pawing at her, angry if she denied him. She wasn't up for the fight tonight. At least if she stayed on the couch long enough, so could pretend she was asleep, and he'd leave her there overnight. While it was crassly inconsiderate, she was actually hoping for her night to end in that way.
"So, did you have fun last night?" his voice broke through the haze that she was lost in.
Last night? She still wasn't sure what exactly last night meant. But Roy wasn't listening. Wasn't truly listening to the words that she pieced together. It wouldn't matter if they were false or not. He wouldn't know the difference.
"Yeah. It was a good night."
She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he nodded, his smile creepily phony, his eyes never wavering from the man shooting from the top of the key.
"It was kinda nice to have our own space for a day, ya know? Not having to be in each other's hair."
She scoffed audibly, the words that he said resonating so truly with the stewing thoughts that she had yet to sort out. If she were being honest with herself, she needed more than just those twelve or so hours.
"Yeah. It was nice. Maybe we should do it more often."
She hadn't meant for the words to escape her subconscious, but somehow they had crept into reality.
"Heh. Maybe."
As Roy sank deeper into the couch, stretching his legs wider apart, his arm taking up more of the back of the couch, she shriveled even tinier into her crouched position on the couch, arms wrapping tighter around her knees, chin tucking deeper into the crevice where they met. They hadn't been touching all night, and as those words hung thickly between them, she felt like they were the same side of a magnet, pushing away from each other. As the night wore on, her plan to spend it on the couch came to fruition naturally, as exhaustion got the best of her, and her head drifted to the right. She felt Roy drop a blanket across her crumpled frame and drifted into an unconsciousness riddled with lanky limbs and cold feet.
Monday morning, she sat on pins and needles, wondering what would happen when Jim arrived. She didn't want it to be awkward; she longed for their normalcy to reign above the strained manner in which they had left one another. True to his amiable character, he greeted her with a smile and a, "Good mornin', Beesly," but she couldn't decide whether to jump all over him with cheeriness or stay reserved. Instead, she settled for, "Good morning," and a tight-lipped smile.
It remained like this for most of the morning, both of them stealing nervous glances when the other wasn't looking. It wasn't until just before lunch that she noticed a six foot shadow over the jelly bean container, and her body went simultaneously hot and quaky.
"Oh my god. Dwight is driving me up a freaking wall. I need an out here, Beesly." She watched as his dainty fingers popped three candies into his mouth. "Got any ideas?"
It was her first genuine smile of the morning. This she could do. Pranking, joking, laughing with her best friend. This was the easy part. Eying the jeans that hung behind her desk, a light bulb clicked on above her. Standing, she beckoned him towards the kitchen, making sure Dwight was otherwise occupied while she snuck Michael's jeans behind her back.
"Alright, Bees, what's up with the fancy pants? I don't have to put them on, do I?"
She giggled, wrapping the saran wrapped pants tighter in her grasp.
"Not technically. How would you feel about disappearing for the afternoon?" Her eyebrows cocked, the gleam in her eye intriguing him that much more.
"Uhm, let me think about that for a second—yes." She loved it when his sarcasm was so overt. She had to quell her giggling, not wanting to draw the attention of their co-workers as they put their plan into action.
After lunching separately to throw Dwight off their scent, and setting Jim up in the closet in the back, he stood abruptly, clutching his stomach, breathing heavily, and even adding in a wince.
"Are you constipated?" Dwight didn't bother to look up from his computer as Jim piled on the theatrics.
"Ya know, Dwight, I think I ate some old lunch meat or something. I'll be back."
"Don't be too long, Jim. You're on company time!"
Pam ducked her head to hide the smile that was spreading from cheek to cheek. Two minutes later, her IM window popped up.
jhalpert: the eagle is in the nest
pbeesly: so youre officially in the closet for the afternoon?
jhalpert: 10-4 beesly. i might need you to make refreshment runs in a little bit.
pbeesly: refreshment runs?! didnt you just eat lunch?
jhalpert: im a growing boy, pam. dont question it.
Twenty minutes passed, and she eventually became buried in work of her own, checking the IM window each time it blinked at the bottom of her screen. Finally, Dwight's attention was pulled during a lull.
"Pamela," he began, glancing questioningly first at Jim's desk, then to reception. "Where is Jim? He's been gone for at least twenty minutes. If he's going to take a second lunch, he needs to record that to be docked pay."
"I don't know, Dwight. Did he tell you where he was going?"
pbeesly: bait taken, eagle. keep your ears peeled.
jhalpert: i have a coffee cup to the door as we speak.
pbeesly: type*
jhalpert: so technical, beesly
pbeesly: just doing my job :)
"He mentioned something about a trip to the lavatory. I suppose I should go make sure he's still alive."
As soon as Dwight had passed her desk, Pam's thoughts immediately drifted to the scene he had set up: Michael's pants were fastened to the toilet seat, with Jim's shoes settled on the floor, looking attached at the ankles. To Dwight, it would appear as though Jim was still in the stall. To Jim and Pam, the shoeless man was actually sitting in the closet, set up on an old computer, breaking every pinball record the ancient machine had to offer while he munched on a bag of Doritos.
The elevated voice rose from the center of the office, Dwight's yells causing the rest of their co-workers to stare in his direction, some eyes wandering to Jim's desk while others immediately sought her out, wondering what they had cooked up this time. She thought of the otherwise one-sided conversation that Dwight was having, but thanked her lucky stars that Jim had thought to stow walkie-talkies in his desk for an occasion just like this. She imagined him, socked feet criss-crossed underneath him as he spoke into the walkie-talkie, Pam relaying Dwight's end of the conversation to his out of reach ears. Moments later, Dwight reappeared, flustered and frustrated.
jhalpert: nice work, partner. i think he bought it.
pbeesly: *bows* couldn't have done it without you. so how long do you think you can hold out in there?
jhalpert: oh, beesly, you underestimate me. I plan on being in here until he leaves. let him stew for awhile. plus, its monday. im definitely all worked out already.
She chuckled, imagining his gangly body holed up in the closet for the day, sitting on the ground like a kindergartener. She toyed with the idea of bringing him a chair, but thought better of it.
pbeesly: soooo, game time?
jhalpert: definitely. what did you have in mind?
pbeesly: 20 questions?
jhalpert: youre on. let me know when youve got one.
pbeesly: alright halpert. we need stakes here though. what are we playing for?
As his fingers hovered over the keyboard, he knew that they could be treading on dangerous waters here. What did he want if he won? He already knew that the answer would be inappropriate given her current relationship status. With that in mind, he opted for something safer.
jhalpert: i dont know beesly, you wanted to play, you should probably pick the prize this round
pbeesly: ugh, youre no fun. fine. loser buys pizza next time we hang out?
Next time we hang out? So. She wasn't still as shaken up about this weekend as he imagined she'd be. Interesting.
jhalpert: game on. just remember, i demand cheese in my crust.
Her cheeks flushed pink, the memory of her favorite Valentine's Day suddenly creeping into immediacy.
pbeesly: alright, im good to go whenever you want to start guessing.
jhalpert: animal, vegetable, or mineral?
pbeesly: vegetable
jhalpert: is it actually a vegetable though?
pbeesly: you caught me. no, it is in fact not an actual vegetable.
jhalpert: knew it. then it must be a dessert.
pbeesly: thats not a question jim.
jhalpert: then it must be a dessert?
pbeesly: thank you. jeez, halpert, learn to follow the rules at least. and yes, it could be considered dessert.
jhalpert: thanks for the tip. is your magical item jelly beans?
pbeesly: get out of my head halpert. that was clearly too easy!
jhalpert: hey now, dont call yourself easy, thats just not nice ;)
Her entire body flushed, fingers tingling as they hovered over the keyboard.
pbeesly: alright, that was just a warm up round. prepare to have your paycheck direct deposited to pizza hut.
Eventually, quitting time rolled around, co-workers trickled by her desk to grab coats and hats, and Dwight grumbled and paced outside the bathroom several times before eventually giving up, muttering something about docking Jim for a personal day. Roy had stopped by to let her know that there was an impromptu Monday night wings extravaganza led by the warehouse guys and left her the keys to his truck. Suddenly, separated by only a few doors, they were alone in the office. She crept into the men's room and grabbed the walkie talkie.
"Van Gogh to Eagle: The Nimrod has left the building. I repeat: The Nimrod has left the building."
Doors squeaked open, socked feet padded quietly on carpet, and suddenly he was giving her an air high-five from across the kitchen before he crossed the floor in easy strides and was standing in front of her for the first time in almost five hours. She hadn't realized how much she truly missed staring at him every time she looked up.
"So, I was thinking about calling a cab, leaving my car in the lot overnight, and leaving him a surprise when he gets here in the morning."
"Please, please absolutely do that," she managed through giggles. As they fumbled with zippers and buttons and gloves and scarves, she made a sudden realization. "Hey, don't call a cab. Roy left me the truck. I'll take you home."
Silently, he slid into the passenger seat, chuckling as his knees hit the dash.
"Do not mock me, Halpert. I'll make you walk."
He slid the seat back, buckling, eyes trailing her profile slowly before she turned her to face forward again as she put the truck from reverse into drive. They settled into a comfortable silence for a the first few moments of the ride before he finally spoke up.
"So, Beesly, I hope your bank account is ready to handle my Pizza Hut order. I'm thinkin' lots of toppings, lots of sides, the whole works."
Her groan was mostly in good fun.
"God, Jim, I can't believe you actually guessed all of mine! It's not fair! I'm almost convinced you have my desk bugged or something."
"While I've been severely tempted to do just that, the bug serves its purposes way better under Dwight's computer monitor." He reveled in the way she seemed to laugh so easily, thoughts drifting for a fleeting second, wondering if it was the same way with Roy, hoping silently that it wasn't. "I guess I just know you better than you know yourself, Beesly."
His quirky grin almost killed her, and she was sadly grateful that they were already parked in his driveway, because she was sure she would have crashed the car if they had still been stuck in traffic. She held his smile with one of her own, letting the setting sun light up the specks of brown in his glowing green eyes.
"So, I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Unless you keep this prank going for another day. I don't know, Jim. At the rate you're going, you might as well call that closet your home for the foreseeable future."
He smiled and waved from the front door before disappearing inside the house that she had come to know, come to love, come to fear. Fear in the sense that she found herself running out the door not days before; fear that she wished she hadn't.
I guess I just know you better than yourself, Beesly.
If only he had the answers.
