(no subject)
Title: cool white bones they won't save us this time
Pairing: Jim/Pam
Word Count: 805
Summary: There are times when he still hates me, all that deeply rooted anger couldn’t just vanish because we wanted it to. Post Two Weeks angsty times.
All our bones are aching in the kitchen under the bright overhead light with the dark settling in outside and the microwave humming. We aren’t saying anything though if we were I think we would both fall down on the linoleum and cry, our knees bruising and our arms around each other's necks. We would press our cheeks to the cold tiles and just look at each other until our eyes fell closed, sleeping. All our bones are so heavy with exhaustion, with frustration
The microwave beeps and I speak first, “I made a mistake and I’m living with it.”
His back is to me, pulling dinner from the microwave. I see his shoulders fall, his palms resting flat against the counter. He wants to say something biting, something cruel. He wants to say, “You should be used to doing that, huh?”
There are times when he still hates me, all that deeply rooted anger couldn’t just vanish because we wanted it to. He has never forgiven me for all the damage that can’t be fixed no matter how much I love him now because I didn’t love him then. We spent our first months saying that it didn’t matter, that it all just brought us here, together. We were inebriated with this idea that the past could simply be forgotten, that we could be new again and our scars would fade until we couldn’t remember were they used to be.
But then it had been six months and all those scars were still there right where they’d been the whole time. But then it had been a year and the shadows of history were still falling behind us. I sometimes think that we’re going to fall apart completely one day, because we are not strong people and these things keep pushing on us. We love each other and that’s more than enough most of the time, but there are moments like now when I am convinced that, regardless of that, the past and the damage done is stronger than that. We were tired and weak and eventually, surely, it would overpower us.
But he turns around slowly and says to me, “I know you are. And I know you’ll be fine.”
“I quit my job, Jim.”
“It was going to happen sometime, wasn’t it?”
“Well, yes. But I figured it would be after we’d talked about it and when I had a better idea of what I’d do afterward.”
“But it wasn’t like that. You went with your impulses.”
He drops the tray of roast beef down on the kitchen counter unceremoniously, some of the brown sauce it floats in splatters on the wall. He wants to add, “Something you could’ve considered doing three years ago. You played it safe then when you didn’t need to but now you’re just going on any impulse you have. Just couldn’t do that for me, I guess.” And I want to say, “It’s not the same. You can’t compare these things. You can’t.”
“I got bored.”
“Right.”
“I couldn’t stay there mastering copy machines anymore. I-”
“I get it. It’s fine.”
I reach for him then, my fingertips grabbing onto the cuff of his rolled up shirt sleeve. I feel his skin, warm as ever there. I want to press my body into his and show him that I deserve to be forgiven. I lean forward and rest my head on his chest, my hand sliding down his arm to find his fingers, holding on there.
“Don’t pretend it’s fine when you’re angry at me. Just be angry. I can take it. I won’t fall apart.” I squeeze his fingers once, twice. I close my eyes and move closer to him, my mouth resting against one of the plastic buttons on his shirt.
But he’s pushing away from the counter, pushing me away from him in the process. With his eyes on the cold roast beef, he shakes his head and says, “I’m really not hungry,” before walking out of the kitchen.
The bedroom door closes loudly upstairs. I throw our uneaten dinner into the trash. I stand alone in the kitchen, no relief for my aching bones.
I come into the bedroom hours later, opening the door slowly and cautiously. It’s dark and he’s on his side under the covers. He isn’t asleep though. I can tell by his breathing. I undress without turning the lights on and climb carefully in next to him. I stretch my length out beside his and press my lips to his bare shoulder. He turns slightly at the touch, just enough that I can see his eyes shining in the darkness before he turns back, his head sinking down into the pillow.
“I love you, I promise.”
Pairing: Jim/Pam
Word Count: 805
Summary: There are times when he still hates me, all that deeply rooted anger couldn’t just vanish because we wanted it to. Post Two Weeks angsty times.
All our bones are aching in the kitchen under the bright overhead light with the dark settling in outside and the microwave humming. We aren’t saying anything though if we were I think we would both fall down on the linoleum and cry, our knees bruising and our arms around each other's necks. We would press our cheeks to the cold tiles and just look at each other until our eyes fell closed, sleeping. All our bones are so heavy with exhaustion, with frustration
The microwave beeps and I speak first, “I made a mistake and I’m living with it.”
His back is to me, pulling dinner from the microwave. I see his shoulders fall, his palms resting flat against the counter. He wants to say something biting, something cruel. He wants to say, “You should be used to doing that, huh?”
There are times when he still hates me, all that deeply rooted anger couldn’t just vanish because we wanted it to. He has never forgiven me for all the damage that can’t be fixed no matter how much I love him now because I didn’t love him then. We spent our first months saying that it didn’t matter, that it all just brought us here, together. We were inebriated with this idea that the past could simply be forgotten, that we could be new again and our scars would fade until we couldn’t remember were they used to be.
But then it had been six months and all those scars were still there right where they’d been the whole time. But then it had been a year and the shadows of history were still falling behind us. I sometimes think that we’re going to fall apart completely one day, because we are not strong people and these things keep pushing on us. We love each other and that’s more than enough most of the time, but there are moments like now when I am convinced that, regardless of that, the past and the damage done is stronger than that. We were tired and weak and eventually, surely, it would overpower us.
But he turns around slowly and says to me, “I know you are. And I know you’ll be fine.”
“I quit my job, Jim.”
“It was going to happen sometime, wasn’t it?”
“Well, yes. But I figured it would be after we’d talked about it and when I had a better idea of what I’d do afterward.”
“But it wasn’t like that. You went with your impulses.”
He drops the tray of roast beef down on the kitchen counter unceremoniously, some of the brown sauce it floats in splatters on the wall. He wants to add, “Something you could’ve considered doing three years ago. You played it safe then when you didn’t need to but now you’re just going on any impulse you have. Just couldn’t do that for me, I guess.” And I want to say, “It’s not the same. You can’t compare these things. You can’t.”
“I got bored.”
“Right.”
“I couldn’t stay there mastering copy machines anymore. I-”
“I get it. It’s fine.”
I reach for him then, my fingertips grabbing onto the cuff of his rolled up shirt sleeve. I feel his skin, warm as ever there. I want to press my body into his and show him that I deserve to be forgiven. I lean forward and rest my head on his chest, my hand sliding down his arm to find his fingers, holding on there.
“Don’t pretend it’s fine when you’re angry at me. Just be angry. I can take it. I won’t fall apart.” I squeeze his fingers once, twice. I close my eyes and move closer to him, my mouth resting against one of the plastic buttons on his shirt.
But he’s pushing away from the counter, pushing me away from him in the process. With his eyes on the cold roast beef, he shakes his head and says, “I’m really not hungry,” before walking out of the kitchen.
The bedroom door closes loudly upstairs. I throw our uneaten dinner into the trash. I stand alone in the kitchen, no relief for my aching bones.
I come into the bedroom hours later, opening the door slowly and cautiously. It’s dark and he’s on his side under the covers. He isn’t asleep though. I can tell by his breathing. I undress without turning the lights on and climb carefully in next to him. I stretch my length out beside his and press my lips to his bare shoulder. He turns slightly at the touch, just enough that I can see his eyes shining in the darkness before he turns back, his head sinking down into the pillow.
“I love you, I promise.”