Pigtail Pulling

Catharsis

PAM

I tried to call Jim a number of times over the next day and a half, but he refused to pick up the phone. I left him twelve messages, but I didn't know if he was even listening to any of them. Knowing that his car was still in the Dunder Mifflin parking lot, I decided to leave home an hour early on Monday. I wanted to make sure I got to Jim before he had a chance to call a cab.

I arrived at his building and made my way up to the second floor, knocking on his apartment door. After a few minutes he opened the door only enough to see that it was me on the other side, before immediately slamming it back in my face.

I had to put a stop to this. Knocking once more, I started yelling through the door, "Jim! Jim, I know you can hear me! I am so sorry, Jim. I never meant to do anything that would cause problems for you. It kills me that I have, and I can't stand the thought of losing you." I paused, hoping he would answer. "Please, Jim. Please talk to me. I—" My voice cracked, partly from having to raise it to make sure he could hear me through the door and partly from trying to keep myself from crying. I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself.

Before I could get another word out, the door swung open and Jim pulled me into a hug. Relief flooded through me, and I let out a single dry sob against his chest.

"What were you thinking, Pam?" He asked, one hand across my upper back, the other still hanging on to the doorknob.

"I just wanted to help you, Jim. You're my best friend. I love you so much and I want you to be happy. Dwight makes you happy. You guys are oddly perfect for each other."

"Perfect for..." He mumbled under his breath, chuckling mirthlessly to himself. "You're right. He does make me happy, and being with him would he perfect. But you forgot one very important thing." He pulled back slightly, shifting his hand to my shoulder. I pulled back too, looking up into his eyes. "No matter how much I may want him, he's straight."

I pulled fully away from his contact, making my way past him and into his apartment. "No, he's not."

"Yes, he is." He looked down at me, as if he pitied me, while closing the door and leaning his back against it.

"Jim, I can promise you that he's gay. And he really wants you."

"What makes you say that?" He questioned, as if humoring a delusional person.

"The way he looks at you, the way he acts around you..."

He began shaking his head at me. "Pam, no—"

"Jim, open your eyes and look at him sometime," I interrupted him.

"Oh, I have looked at him. Plenty, believe me."

"Jim—"

"Can we maybe not talk about this, please?"

This conversation wasn't over, but I didn't want to make him mad, seeing as how he had just seemingly forgiven me. Instead I took in his appearance. He was wearing a white t-shirt and green flannel pajama pants, and his hair was obviously unbrushed from sleeping on it. It was sticking up in the back in a way I thought Dwight would find cute. I certainly did. "What are you wearing? Aren't you coming to work today?" I asked.

Jim shook his head. "I don't really feel up to facing the world right now," he said, walking past me and collapsing down on the couch, pulling the throw over his shoulders. I sat next to him.