She just wants to be alone, so she can cry, really cry, like she hasn’t since everything fell apart just as the summer and her life were about to begin. But she’s never found a way to be successfully alone.

She sits at the end of a long hallway; the only sound is the echo of her crying, confronting her from all directions and intensifying the moment. The bench shifts under her as someone settles in, warm alongside her thigh. She knows without looking that it’s him, as his arm settles around her shoulder and she inhales his familiar smell.

He doesn’t talk, doesn’t need to, as he wraps his other arm around her and turns so she can bury her face in his neck. She feels safe, like they’ve never been this close before. She lets go, melting into him. He places a large hand on the back of her head and cradles it, rocking her slightly as she loses it.

When she’s finally done, hiccupping into his neck, he eases away. Placing a hand on either side of her face, he sweeps his thumbs over her cheeks, uses the cuff of his sleeve to dry her eyes. He meets her gaze and gives her a searching look as she reaches up and smoothes out the tears still clinging to his beard. Only then does he break the silence.

“Its not about me, is it?” She looks down, smoothing her skirt.

“No.” Her voice sounds so loud against the stark white walls.

“I didn’t think so,” he reaches for her hand, squeezes it. “Will you be ok?” She starts nodding, like she’s drunk.

“Yeah. Thank you, Roy.”

He grimaces slightly, and pulls her up, leading her back down to the warehouse. She notices, as she spends the rest of the evening listening to the sounds of Jamaica, that he stays close by, always in her eye line. She walks past him as she leaves, brushes his hand and nods her head so he’ll know she’s ok. She can feel his eyes on her as she walks out the door. She sees Jim and Karen leaving together as she pulls away.

She cries the whole way home. At one point she puts on her wipers, mistakenly thinking it’s raining. It’s not.