Title: Enemies.
Continuity: 'Back from Vacation.' (Season Three's 11th episode.)
Song: 'King of Pain', by The Police. (Fragment.)
Feedback: Of course, reviews are highly appreciated.
Warning/Comments: Pam's POV. Slightly A/U. The first part of the chapter is actually Pam – centric, because I used a third-person narrative; the second part of the chapter is basically about Pam's feelings right after her conversation with Karen and before she starts crying, and also I included the scene where she cries because it's so heartbreaking, and I just couldn't let it out. I hope I didn't ruin this, because it's one of my favorite moments of Season Three.
Karen came out of nowhere, and for a second Pam thought she was going to get slapped or something similar for getting in the middle of a fight between Jim and his –oh, did it hurt to say it – girlfriend. But Karen smiled kindly. "I think I owe you one."
"Sorry?"
"For talking sense into Halpert."She clarified. "The Day's Inn room 228 was starting to get really depressing."
"Oh, yeah, no." Pam felt somehow relieved. "Don't worry about it. I mean, he was being ridiculous."
"Yeah, but..." Karen paused and stared right into her eyes. "… thanks. Seriously."
"Sure." Pam grinned friendly and watched her walk away.
I have stood here before, inside the pouring rain.
With the world turning circles, running 'round my brain.
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign,
but it's my destiny to be the King of Pain.
For some reason I looked down at the floor, feeling slightly dazed.
At first I had no idea where was that feeling coming from.
Then suddenly, it hit me.
Karen just thanked me. Karen is happy. Oh, no. Jim must have changed his mind. She's moving into that house two blocks away from his place. I was the one to tell him to go easy on her. I… helped Karen. Oh my God. I'm actually helping the enemy.
I tried to shake that thought off of me – Karen isn't the enemy, (well, it clearly seems like it), she's not trying to hurt me (but she does anyways, and man, is she good at it), she has all the right to move closer to her boyfriend's house (right there, see how much pain it causes you just to call him 'her boyfriend') – were some of the excuses that my brain clearly uttered to make me feel better. It didn't work, though. The feelings of self-betrayal still washed over me.
Saboteur, saboteur, saboteur... How are you ever going to get him back like this? What is wrong with you?
I don't know, I mentally answered myself. I have no idea. I wish I knew.
I stumbled slightly as I hurried upstairs – all I wanted was to lock myself in the nearest bathroom and cry my eyes out, but by the time I reached the ground floor tears were already running freely across my cheeks, so I thought What the Hell, it's not like someone cares about me anyways and sat down on the first chair that I found, where I started sobbing quietly, covering my face with my hands.
Soon enough someone came along and stood next to me. I didn't look up at first, but they started speaking and I recognized the voice.
"Who did this to you?" Dwight asked, a serious frown on his face."Where is he?"
Why do you want to know who did this to me, Dwight? Are you planning on beating someone up? I'm probably the one you should punch, you know? I'm the one who's made me cry. It's all my fault. I can ruin my life all by myself, no one else's help is needed. That is a fact.
"What? No, it's not... it's nothing."I cut him off as I pointlessly wiped some more tears of off my face.
"It's hot in here."
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
He handed me a tissue and I took it. As I wiped some more of my tears and mentally told myself to stop crying, for God's sake, he silently sat next to me. "Thanks. You don't need to stay here." I uttered. I figured he'd feel uncomfortable and frankly, so did I. There was really no need for him to stay.
"I know." He said softly, putting an arm around me.
I looked away as I continued to sob.
"So you're PMS-ing pretty bad, huh?"
With this I looked up at him in frustration and disbelief – he could not have just said that.
Yet I couldn't help by mentally answering him: Yeah, I wish it were that simple.