Page 107 of Wells

"Don't let me ruin everything for you. I can transfer you, have you report to someone else."

"I've already decided."

"What will you do?" His question lands like control. It takes my sadness and turns it back into anger.

"It's none of your business, Wells, what I do."

"Cera," he starts, but doesn't finish the thought. I'd prefer not to know what he was about to say. It's best for everyone to make a clean break.

"I'll make sure you get a severance."

I don't know what to say to that. It will help, so I don't refuse it.

I nod.

"Okay."

He watches me for another beat, then opens the door and steps into the hallway. The latch clicks shut behind him, and the sound is too quiet for what just ended.

Staring at the door, I wait for the reprieve to come. It doesn't. He didn't argue or push. He did what I asked and left. I want to hate him for going, but I can't, and somehow that's worse.

I wait for the sound of the elevator.

Then it comes. The soft chime, the mechanical hum, followed by the doors closing around him.

Then silence.

My knees unlock, and I fold forward, one hand pressed flat against the door to keep myself upright. The other comes up over my mouth, pressing hard enough to hurt. My breath pushes against my palm, fast, and I can't seem to slow it down.

I lower myself to the floor.

The hardwood bites into my knees, and I pull them up to my chest, wrapping both arms around my shins. My forehead drops, and I squeeze my eyes shut, but the tears come anyway.

I hold myself together until my ribs ache from the effort, until my teeth ache from clamping them down and my throat burns from the pressure of keeping everything contained.

Then I stop trying.

The first sob breaks out rough and cracks me wide open. The rest pour out after it, the kind of crying that leaves me shaking and gasping and unable to catch a full breath. I curl tighter and rock forward until my forehead presses against my knees and the whole world narrows to the sound of my own breaking.

I cry until there's nothing left, until I'm wrung out, my face swollen and raw.

I lift my head and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. My phone sits on the coffee table where I left it when Wells banged on my door while I was talking to Locke. I reach for it to call him back like I promised I would.

He answers on the second ring.

"How did it go?"

"It was awful. I never would have thought I'd see him like that, so broken. But I told him I can't, I won't do it."

"Good."

The single word steadies me.

"I told him I'm quitting, too."

Locke exhales slowly.

"I don't know what I'm doing," I say, no more tears left to cry.