"Why did you send my son away?" I ask Mr. Warren.

"Because I see the promise of a particularly gory showdown in your eyes," he answers. "And I doubt he needs to witness it."

"Very thoughtful of you," I admit. "Not in front of the children, darling. What about your wonderful team? Do you think they're tough enough to see it?"

If I want to be honest, looking at their faces, they don't seem tough enough at all. They look positively scared. Everyone watches us with some apprehension. But that doesn't shy them away from coming closer to see the show, forming a circle around us. It reminds me of an arena.

I'd gladly entertain them, but I feel terribly out of trim. No clever remarks in stock. Only sadness.

"Just say what you will," Mr. Warren tells me.

But I still have nothing to say. I feel empty and dejected.

"I noticed you had a problem with me," he goes on, "talking to Ben."

That. Oh, okay. It's so nice of him to remind me. My system starts to reboot slowly.

"He's just a child," he carries on. "I can't let him worry for his mother."

I slowly nod. Suddenly, all my sorrow is gone. It's replaced with anger. It's like a superhero skill of his. He can make my blood boil in seconds.

"Absolutely." I nod. "You're right. As always. If the mother in question can't do her job, it's only logical."

"What the—" he tries to interject, but I'm faster.

"You're so good with kids, right?" I smile. "If I die, as he fears, poor little soul, you can co-parent with Ollie. She already promised me to raise him in case I die."

"Stop acting crazy," he asks me, with a slight begging edge.

"Oh, thank you so much for mentioning it! I almost forgot, but, luckily, I can always count on you. Right, that's exactly the other option. In case I go irreversibly mad, she'll raise him too. Will you, Ollie?"

"I will, babe," she answers with teary eyes. "But please, stop this."

Mr. Warren steps closer, trying to touch my shoulder. But I shake his hand down.

"He's the last thing I have, did you know that?" I ask him. "I did everything for him. He's the reason I'm here, instead of being dead by now."

"I know," he says.

"You do know, right? You probably also know, because you're neither blind nor stupid, that you have his unconditional trust. After my house, my job, my money, my time, my—"

"Please, stop it," he asks. "I know where this is going."

"I doubt it. There are new elements, you know. Like my instincts. Yeah, I'm an official lunatic, I can say whatever I want, however crazy and incomprehensible it sounds, so what? So, my instincts. And now my son."

"No," he says, shaking his head. "No."

"No, what? You're the one he turns to when I fail him. How did we get here? Even the fucking school thinks you're his closest male relative!"

"Yeah, but the principal is batshit crazy, so—"

"So am I," I tell him. "I'm diagnosed. I have pink pills. I haven't taken them yet, but maybe I should. They'd probably stop me from saying all these insane things. If we're lucky, they'd stop me from talking at all."

"And that's why you shouldn't take them," he says firmly. "I told you. Be patient. You've got help. We'll overcome it."

"We?" I grimace. "There's no such thing as we."

It's funny. He doesn't even look offended. All the other people do, standing around us. Mr. Warren simply nods, as if he already knew it. Then he turns to our mortified colleagues, raising his hand. Asking them to be patient too. With me, that is.

It angers me even more.

"Right, it's not just you," I go on. "It's all of you. Liam. Thelma. Andy. Christy. Bill. You've trapped me here!"

They don't answer. I probably look on the verge of raging, so they don't dare. But it's quite obvious that I managed to hurt them.

"When I first walked in here, I didn't care," I explain to them. "I was free. I didn't give a shit if I stay here or moved on."

Bill opens his mouth to protest, but I don't give him enough time. I turn to Mr. Warren again.

"Remember that first test, you put me through? I didn't give a shit about how it turned out. I didn't care! And now I do!"

I hear Ollie sigh. Then Liam. Then Thelma. Even Bill. They sound seriously relieved, as if they were keeping the air in for a few doubtful minutes.

"What a loser paranoid sociopath I am," I ramble on, "I can't even keep myself from caring! Aren't I supposed to be free? That should be the fun part of it!"

"You're not—" Mr. Warren starts, but it's not his lucky day. I can't let him finish a single sentence. Just like in the good old days.

"You said it," I remind him.

"If I kept a list of all the things you said to me, it would be longer than Route 66," he snorts. "Besides, that's not what I wanted to say."

"Oh. Sorry for presuming things. I'm quite content with being a paranoid sociopath, by the way, don't worry about it."

He palms his face.

"What I wanted to say, is that you remind me of Janis now, singing that freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose. Now you've got something to lose."

"Right." I nod. "The things you provide me with."

"Please, not again," he sighs.

"Why not? That's how normal people see it, right? Not owning me. Providing for me. A place to live. A job to have. And so much more. Oh, and guess what, not only for me, for Ben too. Now we don't need a tuition fee to tie us down anymore, right? He'd gladly leave behind the best school in the world before he could be convinced to leave you. But I am free, so what? And you just provide for him some fatherly love, so what?"

"You enumerate these things, again and again, as if they were some kind of a war crime," he groans. "Exactly, so what?"

I stare at him. Now he seems completely freaked out, even trembling a little. It's fucking scary. It's like seeing reinforced concrete cracking, without any logical reason. I wish I could simply step by his side and hug him, until I make it stop. Not because I care, just because it's a disturbing sight. His voice is uncharacteristically shaky too, as he goes on.

"You seem to think that love is some evil plan, just to make you suffer. Well, fuck you! What about me, for a change? Yeah, right, you don't ask a disposable prop about its feelings, but guess what? I'm a person too."

I find it an interesting suggestion. One I've never considered until now. I open my mouth to tell him so, but he raises his hands defensively.

"I think we've discussed everything. No we. No providing. No freedom. I took notes. Can we just stop this now?"

Strangely, Bill is the one who protests. He clears his throat and chimes in. Everybody turns in his direction, with as much resentment, as if he farted audibly in the middle of a funeral.

"No, you can't," he says. "You simply can't. So. I suggest you let it all out. It can't be any worse than this, right? So if there's anything else, just say it. Speak now or hold your peace forever."

He waits for a few seconds, then turns to me.

"Mira. Do you have anything else to say?"

"I don't."

He just smiles. Then he turns to Mr. Warren.

"Mark. Do you have anything else to say?"

"I do," he blurts out. "I wish my old house was still deserted. I also wish you hadn't had a stroke, and I never convinced you to jog in the park. I wish I was a substitute teacher, living somewhere in Alaska, and..."

I silently listen to the list of his many wishes. He has quite a few. And, while I let them pass, one after another, without paying much attention, a word starts to take form in the back of my mind. Something I've almost forgotten by now, but if I look at it closely, it's always been there. While I was sleeping. Working. Talking. Eating. Buried under the debris of long and eventful days, but never forgotten. A constant thorn in my side. Never really letting me relax in his presence.

It's a nice word, by the way. Very compassionate. I always hear it uttered in that beautiful, deep, smooth voice of Mr. Warren.

I patiently wait until he recites each and every reason why he wishes he never had met me. When he finishes with his laudably long list, I clear my throat.

"In fact, I have one too," I tell Bill.

"Okay." He nods. "Bring it on then."

I turn to face Mr. Warren. I feel myself almost trembling, just like the way he did. And my voice is almost as shaky as my legs are.

"It's not a big thing," I tell him to his face. "And, of course, you're entitled to your own opinion. But I want to make it clear, once and for all, after all this time. Here, in this fucking office, when it came to working, I never needed special treatment. I worked as hard as anyone else, if not harder. So it's not a charity. Not a fucking charity, fuck you!"

He knows what I'm talking about, I can see it in his eyes, even if everyone else around us is clueless. Except for Bill. He knows too. And he starts to explain to me about the power of being open about things, but I hardly hear him.

I notice Ben watching us from the door of Mr. Warren's office. I call out for him. He starts to argue. I switch to our language, and I command him to come immediately. He obeys the very moment. I grab his hand and practically drag him out of the office, out of the building.

We are almost at home when my legs give in. I stumble to a bench, and I sit down. I feel as if I was run over by a train. But I also feel strangely lighter.

My phone beeps. It's a message from Bill. When I reach for it, it keeps beeping like crazy. So it's not just a message. It's a chain of messages. The first one reads like this.

... you stupid cunt ...

I take a minute to marvel at his perfect style before I go on.

... when you overheard us he was telling me off ...

I nod before I click on the third one. I already knew it.

... because when i asked you if you needed a job i made it sound like it was charity ...

I bury my face in my hand for a moment, before proceeding.

... hence the word but if i saw long term effect id ask you if you willing to grace us with your genius presence fuck you ...

One more beep, and the screen turns black.

... now come back asap ...

And, after a minute or so, the last one.

... please we desperate here ...

It makes me wonder what they are doing at the moment. And even more about my future. If I have a reason at all to go back there. Not just at the moment. Ever.

When my phone rings, I turn it off, without checking who it is.