I believe you, really. It’s just that the timeline is off. I was standing by the stairwell in the west wing all afternoon waiting for the janitor to fix the lock, and that door was shut for hours. You said you were in the lobby then? It doesn't add up. People don't move that fast in a fever dream. Why are you even telling me this now? It feels like exhausting.
You're obsessing over a door? I was in the lobby because I was in the lobby. The janitor didn't show up because he never called, and I'm not going to deconstruct my entire afternoon just because you find the timeline impossible. I'm telling you this because I'm tired of the weight of it sitting on me, not for your expectations. It's exhausting for me too, Nell. I have a report to finish for the firm that actually matters more than this.
The firm. Always the firm. You talk about that report like it's some kind of gospel. If the weight was that heavy, you'd have said it hours ago instead of circling the shadows. I've got a stack of invoices breathing down my neck at the office anyway, and here we are, arguing over your inconsistencies. If it's so exhausting, just drop it. But don't expect me to believe the gaps.
The invoices are always there. It's how life works. I didn't say it sooner because I was trying to see if I could just handle it myself. You want gaps? Fine. Look at the gaps. It isn't a puzzle for you to solve, it's just what happened while I was busy and you were standing in a hallway. I'm not here to audit my existence to you. If you can't believe me, then go back to your papers. I have work to do.
Go then. Go back to your report. It's not like I'm auditing anything, I'm just noting that the story has holes at the edges. You say you wanted to handle it yourself, yet you're here dumping the crumbs on my floor. It's a pattern. You wait until the pressure is unbearable and then get annoyed for interfering with the work that actually pays the bills. The timing is making me nauseous. I'm done with the hallway for today.
You're always so dramatic about the timing. It's like I can't breathe without it becoming a trial. I'm not dumping crumbs, I'm sharing something, and if that makes you nauseous, then leave. The hallway isn't going anywhere, and neither is my report. Go ahead, be done. You spend so much time looking for holes in my story you could spend half that time trusting yourself. I'm done explaining the obvious.
Trust myself? That's easy to say when you aren't the one watching the floor shift. You call it dramatic, I call it being the only one who actually sees the rot underneath. It's always the same—wait until the last minute, then blame the messenger. Fine, stay with your report. I'm going home to deal with a life that doesn't have to pretend your lack of intuition is a luxury I can't afford right now.
The rot? You sound like you're in some noir novel. It's just a building, Nell, just bricks and a lobby. Go home. The floor isn't shifting, you're just tired of looking for meaning where there's none. I don't have the luxury of your intuition because I don't have the energy for your metaphors. I have to finish this file and the firm doesn't care if you feel seen. Close the door on your way out.
The door was already locked, Dev. That's the point. You tell me to close it like I'm the one in control, but the building doesn't lie like you. You think I'm being poetic, but I'm just tired. The firm doesn't care, and clearly you don't care about the fact that things don't fit. I'm leaving. Good luck with the file. It won't change the fact that you're hiding behind it.
The door was locked because the latch is faulty, I told you that. It's not a conspiracy, it's hardware. You want everything to be a grand gesture because the truth is too boring. I'm not hiding, I'm just working. If you want to leave, leave. The file won't finish itself, and your exit isn't helping me focus. I'm done being the villain in your afternoon drama. Just go.
Hardware. Right. It's always the hardware, isn't it? So much easier to blame a latch than to admit you weren't where you said you were. You treat being the villain like a shield, but at least a villain has a motive. You're just too scared of being vulnerable. I'm going, and don't worry about the door. I'm sure it'll find another way to lock you out.
Vulnerability doesn't pay the rent, Nell. It just gives you a target for people like you. I'm not scared, I'm just exhausted by the constant need for Every minute I have to account for every second of my life. If you want a motive, find one. I just want to finish this work without being interrogated by a detective. Go then. I have three more pages to get through and they're a lot more interesting than your moral high ground.
Three pages? God, you're obsessed with the volume of it. It's never about moral high ground, it's just the fact that you're lying to my face and trying to convince yourself. If those pages are so interesting, then read them. I'm tired of being bored by your excuses while in this room. You're not exhausted by me, you're just afraid of the silence when the typing stops.
The silence is the only part I actually enjoy. You're the one filling it with noise because you can't stand being alone with yourself. I'm not lying, I'm just not giving you the performance you're looking for. If the truth makes you bored, that's your problem, not mine. I'm not afraid of the typing stopping; I'm afraid of you never leaving. Just go. I'm done being your distraction.
I'm already leaving. The silence is exactly what you like because it gives you space for those contradictions to rot in. You think you're being deep, but you're just being small. Go ahead. Enjoy your quiet room and your three pages. Maybe when you realize the latch wasn't the only thing broken in here, you'll call me. But I have a drive home that doesn't require a performance.
Drive home then. The traffic on the bridge is usually a nightmare this time anyway, so you'll have plenty of time to think about how "small" I'm being. And I won't be calling. The world doesn't change just because you decide to be finished with a conversation. Keep your drive and your metaphors. I've got work to finish, and the silence is already getting better. Safe travels.
The bridge is always a nightmare, don't tell me that. You act like the silence is a prize, but it's just a void you're sitting in. Go ahead with your pages and your quiet. It's what you wanted—a world where no one asks you questions. I'm not waiting for a call anyway. I have much better things to do than wait for the phone to ring. See you, Dev.
See you. You always did to have the last word, even if it's just a parting shot. It's not a void, it's just peace, something you clearly aren't used to. Go do your better things. I'm sure they're just as important as this. I'll be back to my report now. Don't let the traffic hit you on the way out.
Peace? That's what you call it? Fine. If that isolation makes you feel successful, then you've won. Just don't pretend it's noble for once. I don't need the last word, I just need you to stop spinning in circles. Enjoy your report. I hope the pages are as solid as you think they are. I'm out.
They are solid because they're based on facts, not feelings. You call it spinning, I call it finishing a job that refuses to leave me alone. I'm not trying to be noble, I'm just trying to be done. The door is closing now, Nell. Don't worry about the latch on the way out. I've got it.
You've got it. Right. You've always got it, haven't you? It's always the latch or the job or the report. Close the door, Dev. Stay in there with your facts and whatever you want to call it. I'm already down the street.
I've already closed about it. You're down the street, and I'm back at the desk. It's not that deep, it's just how the day ended. People keep looking for some perfect exit, but sometimes people just walk out because to. The report is still here, and the room is finally quiet. That's all I needed.
"Just how the day ended." That's the line, isn't it? You walk out because it's easier than explaining why the story is so thin. You want the quiet because it doesn't demand an answer you aren't ready to give me. Fine, have your desk and your report. I just hope the silence is comfortable enough for you when the lights finally go out.
The lights go out when I'm done, Nell. It's not a grand statement, it's a schedule. You treat every pause like a hidden tragedy because you can't handle a lack of a script. The silence is comfortable because it doesn't ask me to justify why I'm sitting here. I'm not avoiding the work, I'm just doing it. Go home. The street is empty now.