I still feel beaten up. A good night's sleep wasn't able to make my mood any better. I still feel like carrying unbearable weights around my neck.

I just sit at my desk and try to go through the day somehow.

When Mr. Warren arrives, I can hardly bring myself to look at him and greet him. Even the fact he's looking even worse than I can't make me feel any more cheerful. He looks like he hadn't slept a minute. Like he was out partying all night, or something. I don't have the slightest idea how the rich and cool live around here, but for as much as I care, he could snort coke off of a hooker's ass all night long. He certainly looks like he was.

He doesn't grace us for long with the sight of his bloodshot eyes, though. After a few minutes spent talking to Bill and making a few phone calls, he leaves in a hurry. I can sympathize with him this once. I hated to spend my day at work with a hangover, when I still had the luxury of having hangovers.

I spend the whole day alone. Ollie's out, having a meeting somewhere else. And I'm probably emitting a dark, gloomy cloud out of my pores, discouraging everyone from coming closer. So I can pity myself undisturbed. And work like crazy. All day, without even a lunch break.

I go through an enormous pile of folders. Everything I can get my hands on. Even the files lying around without being assigned, concentrating all my attention to the work I'm doing. It's my way to suppress my depressive thoughts. An old survival trick of mine.

I never finished this many cases in a day before. Here, I mean. When I take them to Bill, he doesn't even understand what's going on.

"Do you have questions?" he asks, sounding a bit surprised.

"No. I finished them." I shrug.

"Oh, sweetie," he sighs. "Are you feeling all right?"

I don't answer him. I feel like crying again.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asks.

I shake my head. I don't believe anyone could understand why I feel the way I feel. Even if he was someone else, not working here, not being my boss, I couldn't explain it to him.

"Wanna go home?" He sounds worried. And almost as sad as I am.

"Can I?" I ask him, feeling uncertain.

"You finished a week's work in six hours," he answers, with a strange desperation on his face. "You can do whatever the fuck you want. Anything that makes you feel better."

I leave, but I don't go home. And I don't fetch Ben from school earlier either. I just wander the streets. I try to remember the last time I did this. Just taking a walk without any purpose. Or doing anything else at all without a purpose.

I can't remember.

Just being free for an hour makes my mood lighter. When I pass by a hardware shop, I let my feet take me inside. Directly to the notebook section.

The shop assistant helps me to find what I'm looking for in no time.

It's still too expensive for me at the moment. But it's able to handle the frequent blackouts in my neighborhood.

"It's going to be my birthday present," I inform the salesman, and he tries to take a guess at my age. In his opinion, I'm ten years younger than I am. I congratulate him on being great at selling things and having a great sense of humor. By the time I leave the shop, I feel much better than before.

When I arrive at the school, I'm already smiling. I hug my son and we walk home. The sun is shining. The birds are singing. The constant buzz of the city has a calming effect on me.

Suddenly I don't understand myself.

"I almost forgot the most important thing," I tell Ben, in our own language. "Still there's no shooting outside."

I buy him an ice cream. When I give the change to the lady, I realize how lucky I am. I can buy an ice cream. Just like this. I can afford it. And they sell it on the streets. Just like there, very far from here, before the war.

By the time we get home, I promise myself to never forget it again.

Ollie's car is parked in front of our house. She's sitting on the porch, waiting for us.

I have a porch. A place to live. And a friend.

I have much more than I ever expected on my way here.

Ben runs to her. They are absolutely in love with each other.

"The office was such a sad and empty place today," she greets me. "No you, no Mark, no me... when I got back there, I felt like arriving in a vacuum."

"Bill sent me home."

"I know by now," she says. "And Mark spent most of his day just two floors under us, on 28th, I know that too. He probably bought some property. Must be something simple, without major complications, because he didn't call me. And I was out at Harvey's, and it was terrible, as usual."

"Asshole Harvey? I'm sorry."

"Yeah. He's rather a creep with me than an asshole, but never mind. I was worried for you."

"No need to worry, babe. I'm all right."

"Bill was dumbstruck, you know." Ollie smiles. "He went through the amount of things you finished, and he was repeating just one word. Impossible. He also told me you looked like you were contemplating jumping off of the first bridge you cross, when you left work."

"See, he was wrong twice. I crossed no bridge. And it's a beautiful day."

She furrows her brow.

"So you won't tell me what happened."

"Nothing, babe." I shrug. "If anything happened, it happened inside my head. But it's clear now. I was just stupid. Feeling entitled to something I want, but I can't provide for myself. It's just stupid. It's obviously no one else's job to make my things happen. It's mine."

"Wow. That's not exactly the conclusion I'd want you to draw from... whatever happened to you," she tells me in a suddenly serious tone.

"Why?"

"I hoped you already started to feel a bit safer here," she says. "Accepting what's given. And now it sounds like you're back to square one. You against the world."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You must learn to rely on the people around you. It's a must, Mira."

"I rely on you, babe. More than I feel comfortable with."

"You know, there are other people around you. And you're keeping them away. Not a step away. Miles away."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I ask. "I made lots of friends. More than I ever thought I was capable of."

"Oh, please! You're friendly on the surface, but under that, you have a defense system better than Pentagon. You trust no one."

"I trust you," I protest.

"What about the others? They are not your enemies. They might want to help you."

"Okay. Seriously. Why would they want to help me?"

Out of charity, maybe, my malevolent mind adds at once. But I keep myself from saying it aloud, at least.

"Because they have that kind of personality?" Ollie spreads her hands. "Because they like you? Because it makes them happy? I don't know."

"Happy. Uh-huh."

"You can't even imagine it, can you?" she asks. "What it feels like... you know, feeling happier seeing someone else happy, than being happy yourself. Someone you want to make happy, if it makes any sense."

"It doesn't."

"Oh, Mira. If I show you online a personality type called the protector, or provider, or caregiver, or something like that, will you believe me? There are people like that. On the other end of the spectrum."

"Great." I grimace. "What is my personality type then? The egoist?"

"Come on, babe, you're not an egoist. You're just different."

"So," I sigh, "you're this caregiver personality type."

"No, I'm not. I'm an architect. Or a creator. I'm more logical than you think. It just can't shine when I'm by your side."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"But I don't care for you because of my personality," she says. "Do you know why I care?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm the ultimate egoist. I do it because you make my life better. I feel so much better since I have you. Oh, I know, you prefer to be more specific than this. Okay. I don't feel twice as good. I feel 500% better. Is it acceptable for you now? Sounds like an equal bargain?"

"Oh, Ollie."

"It's fun to be with you," she goes on. "And the insight you give me on the events of my life is invaluable. Are you okay with it now? Or you still feel like robbing me of my kindness, which, just for the record, I have no one else to spend on."

"Okay. I get it."

"I hope you do. And the same goes for... other people, who like you."

"Noted."

"See? It's not that hard." She smiles. "Oh, it just came into my mind... I bought you a dress."

"A dress. Okay. I almost took you seriously. It was a pretty long preamble just to a dress."

"It's not any kind of dress," she says. "It's a dress for you to wear to the annual lawyer's ball."

"Okay, I changed my mind. For this, the preamble was too short. Even putting me in the egoist personality type can't make me go to a ball."

"Please."

"No."

"You just have to be there," she insists.

"It's out of the question."

"It is. Just the other way around. Everyone will be there, babe. It's a duty heavily related to our work. If it wasn't, no one would go."

"Wow. You really set me on fire with this," I sigh.