𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭-𝐈𝐭 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ━ 𝐉𝐢𝐦 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐭

- 8 | hitting rock bottom -

Hitting Rock Bottom

Marceline woke up to a pounding headache, her mouth dry, and her stomach churning. The sunlight streaming through the hotel room's thin curtains felt like knives piercing her skull. She groaned, pulling the blanket over her head in a futile attempt to block out the light and the reality of her situation.

Last night had been great—really great—but now she was paying the price. Not just in terms of the hangover but also with the sinking realization that she had finally run out of money. Her bank account balance had been dangerously low for weeks, and now it was completely drained. She couldn't afford another night in the hotel, not if she wanted to eat or put gas in her car.

She sighed, pushing herself out of bed and immediately regretting it. The room spun, and she had to sit back down on the edge of the mattress until the dizziness subsided. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess, but one thing was clear: she had to find somewhere to stay, and she had to do it today.

After a long shower that did little to wash away the anxiety gnawing at her, Marceline packed up her things, shoved them into her suitcase, and checked out of the hotel. The receptionist gave her a polite but pitying look, and Marceline forced a smile, thanking her before stepping out into the chilly morning air.

The drive to Dunder Mifflin was a blur. Her head was still pounding, and every little sound seemed to echo inside her skull. She tried to focus on the road, on the day ahead, but all she could think about was where she would sleep that night. Her car was the only option, but even that wasn't a long-term solution. She had a week until her first paycheck, and until then, she was on her own.

By the time she pulled into the office parking lot, Marceline felt like a zombie. The hangover was bad, but the anxiety and exhaustion were worse. She slumped forward, resting her head on the steering wheel, trying to summon the energy to go inside and face the day.

"Come on, Marceline," she muttered to herself, taking a deep breath. "You can do this."

She forced herself out of the car, grabbing her bag and heading into the office. The fluorescent lights inside were too bright, and the usual morning chatter of her coworkers grated on her nerves. She barely made it to her desk, collapsing into her chair and resting her head in her hands.

Pam looked over from her desk with a concerned expression. "Marceline, are you okay? You don't look so good."

"I'm fine," Marceline lied, forcing herself to sit up. "Just a little hungover."

Pam gave her a sympathetic smile. "I hear you. Birthday hangovers are the worst. Do you need anything? Water, coffee?"

"Coffee would be great," Marceline replied, grateful for the offer.

As Pam got up to grab a cup of coffee for her, Marceline tried to focus on her work, but the words on the screen blurred together. She felt like she was on the verge of falling apart, but she couldn't let that happen. Not here. Not now.

The day dragged on painfully slowly. Every time she moved, her headache flared up, and her stomach churned every time she thought about her situation. She couldn't concentrate, couldn't even pretend to be productive, and the clock seemed to be mocking her with how slow it was moving.

By the time 5 PM rolled around, Marceline felt completely drained. Everyone else was packing up to leave, and she mechanically went through the motions of shutting down her computer and tidying up her desk. But instead of heading out to her car like she usually did, she found herself lingering at her desk, hoping everyone else would leave first.

Jim was one of the last to go. He walked over to her desk, his jacket slung over his shoulder. "You hanging in there?"

Marceline forced a smile. "Yeah, just wrapping up a few things."

Jim studied her for a moment, and she could tell he wasn't buying it. But he didn't push. Instead, he just nodded. "Alright. Well, don't stay too late. See you Monday?"

"Yeah, see you Monday," Marceline replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

Jim left, and Marceline watched him go, waiting until the office was completely empty before she finally stood up and headed out to the parking lot. Her heart was heavy with dread as she walked to her car, her suitcase sitting in the backseat like a silent reminder of her situation.

She got in, closed the door, and let out a long, shaky breath. It was cold out, and she didn't have much gas left, so she couldn't run the heater for too long. Pulling her coat tighter around herself, she reclined the seat and tried to get comfortable.

But as she lay there, staring up at the darkening sky through the windshield, the reality of her situation hit her like a ton of bricks. She was homeless. She had no money, no place to go, and no one to turn to. The tears came then, unbidden, and she didn't bother to stop them. She felt so lost, so completely and utterly alone.

She wasn't sure how long she lay there, silently crying in the cold, but it was long enough that she didn't hear the sound of footsteps approaching until someone tapped on her window. Startled, Marceline quickly wiped her tears away and sat up, looking out to see Jim standing there, his expression a mix of concern and confusion.

"Marceline? What are you doing out here?"

She hesitated, unsure of what to say. But the look in Jim's eyes told her she couldn't lie to him. He'd see right through it. With a sigh, she unlocked the door and stepped out, wrapping her coat around herself tightly against the cold.

"I... I don't have anywhere to go," she admitted quietly, her voice trembling. "I'm out of money, and I can't afford the hotel anymore."

Jim's expression softened immediately, and he stepped closer. "You've been staying in a hotel this whole time?"

Marceline nodded, biting her lip to keep it from trembling. "Yeah. I thought I could make it work until I got my first paycheck, but... I miscalculated."

Jim looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. "Come on."

Marceline blinked, confused. "What?"

"You're coming with me," Jim said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'm not letting you sleep in your car, Marceline. I've got a couch, and it's yours until you get your paycheck and find a place."

Marceline felt a rush of emotion she hadn't expected—relief, gratitude, and something else she couldn't quite name. But she hesitated, shaking her head slightly. "Jim, I can't ask you to do that. I don't want to be a burden."

"You're not a burden," Jim replied firmly. "You're my friend. And friends help each other out."

The sincerity in his voice was overwhelming, and Marceline felt the tears welling up again. But this time, they weren't tears of despair. They were tears of gratitude, of relief. She didn't have to do this alone.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I don't know how to repay you."

Jim smiled, that easy, reassuring smile she'd come to rely on so much in these past weeks. "You don't have to. Just get in the car, okay?"

Marceline nodded, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders as she got back into her car to follow Jim. It wasn't a permanent solution, but it was something. And right now, that was more than she could have hoped for.

As she followed Jim's car out of the parking lot and into the dark streets of Scranton, Marceline felt a strange sense of peace settle over her. She still had a long way to go, but for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel like she was facing it all alone.

And that made all the difference.