you still doing here?" Clark asks as he leans into the doorframe of my office. The strap of his briefcase dangles from his shoulder as he watches me with a steady gaze. It's not his usual look when he finds me working later than everyone. He's not amused with me.

This gaze is hardened. It's like he's studying me, trying to understand why I am here instead of at home living my life outside the walls of this office. I'm young and I should have something to do other than work, but I don't. I can't when I'm half of the person I used to be.

"I was just finishing up some stuff," I tell him as I shift in my seat.

"It's nearly nine o'clock."

I wet my bottom lip as I cross one leg over the other, smoothing my hand down the front of my jeans. "I'm nearly done," I tell him. "I promise."

"Emery, go home," he says.

"I–"

"It wasn't a suggestion, Wheeler," he says. "I know you miss your boyfriend, but you can't bury yourself in your work to avoid the loneliness."

My lips part to argue, but I know it's no use. He won't leave until I do, and he knows the guilt of keeping him away from his family any longer than he's already been won't let me stay. Even if all I want is the distraction of work to keep my thoughts off Luke. It's been nearly a month since he left, and I'm slowly fading away each second I'm away from him.

And it's pathetic.

"Okay," I say with a sigh as I brush some hair off my face. "I'll go," I say and shift toward my computer, reaching for the mouse.

"Emery."

I shift my eyes from the computer screen to Clark and find the same concerned look painted along his features. I squeeze my eyes shut and turn back to the computer, eyeing the letters on the screen and the spaces between them, hoping that somehow by me staring at them longer, I'll find a way to stay here. I won't have to leave.

I won't have to go home and stare at the roof, missing Luke.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"No," I whisper as I move the mouse to the corner of the screen, putting the computer to sleep. "I'm not, but I have to be," I say as I get up, picking my bag out from beneath my cabinet. "I'll go home."

He stays in his spot when I walk towards him, not moving an inch. "I know you're hurting, and I know you think burying yourself in work is going to help, but it's not. Nothing is going to fix that missing ache in your chest. What will fix it is reminding yourself that each day you go, each day that you miss him, is a day closer to seeing him."

For second that reminder helps. I stop missing him and I let myself live in that feeling of seeing him again after all this time. I'll get to see his smile, and that stupid little smirk that appears on his face every time he calls me 4A.

I used to hate it when he did that. I hated him, until I didn't. I hated him until I loved him, and then that helpful reminder turns to fire as my ache for him grows.

I love him and he's not here.

I love him and I'm not there.

I love him. I love him. I love him.

And I hate myself for loving him this much. I hate myself for becoming half a person without him but before I can dwell, that small glimmer of something outside of hate fills its spot. The courage of letting myself fall that deeply into another person, and the absence of fear in knowing it could all get pulled out from under me.

Clark gives me a gentle look, like he's afraid I'll break if he says anything and he's probably right. I will fall apart. I'll crumble, and then that will be it. I'll just be gone. Scattered about in pieces without a clue where I'm going and for the first time, I'm okay with it.

"Call me if you need anything, okay?" Clark says when we step out onto the sidewalk. "I mean it, Wheeler. Anything, okay?"

I nod my head.

He smiles weakly and offers a nod in return, a silent goodbye before heading in the opposite direction of my subway stop. I take a last lingering look at the building in front of me and force myself to walk away, no matter how badly I'd like to go back inside.

Instead of doing that, I force my feet forward and blindly try to find my way home but when I get off the subway I don't go home. I walk in the opposite direction, away from my apartment and towards Luke's bar. The nerves in my body vibrating as I reach the door, pulling it open to the crowded space.

I don't know what I'm doing or why I think it's a good idea to be here, but all I want is to numb the ache in my chest. It's stupid and I shouldn't be doing it but as I make my way to the bar counter, I tell myself that if Luke was here, he'd be the one making it better. He'd be my distraction, but it's hard to be a distraction when he's the one I need distracting from.

"Emery, hey," Liz says with a smile when she spots me. "How's Luke?"

"Good," I say as I settle on the bar stool. "He's good."

She smiles softly. "Do you want your usual?"

I shake my head and shift in my seat, resting my feet on the foot rest of the bar stool. "I think I need something a little stronger this time," I say. "Tequila, vodka, gin. I don't care."

"Okay," she says with a laugh as she sets a shot glass on the bar in front of me. I hold up two fingers and she sets another down next to it before grabbing a bottle of clear liquor off the back bar. "You doing okay?" She asks.

"Nope," I say as I take the shot glass and throw it back, setting it on the counter before grabbing the other. I tap the edge of my finger against the shot glass, ignoring the burning in my throat as I meet her gaze. "Another, please."

"Did you drive here?"

"I don't even own a car," I tell her with a tight smile. "Another, please."

She gives me a thoughtful look before pouring out two more and crossing the bar to put the bottle back. I study the liquid for a second longer before bringing it up to my lips, the buzz hitting me instantly as I reach for the other and take it quickly. When they're both on the bar surface, I slide them forward and pull my phone out of my pocket.

My lip is sore from chewing on it as I scroll through my newsfeed until I land on Luke's smiling face. Even through the screen, he lights up the room with his guitar in his lap. My thumb dangles over the heart on the screen because I want to be supportive. I want to be happy for him, and I am. I'm thrilled for him, but there's a dark and dim place where I'm selfish and that selfish part of me wishes he wasn't so happy. The selfish part of me wishes that he hated Los Angeles as much as I hate him being there so he'd be here with me, and I'm instantly met with guilt for thinking that even for a second.

Tighten my grip on my phone, I slide off the barstool and walk down the quiet hall to the washroom. There are still posters promoting Rocksalt hanging on the wall. Each more neon than the next, and it's all I can focus on a I bring my phone to my ear. I close my eyes as I time each of my breaths with the ringing.

"Hello?"

"You broke me," I say as I stand up, finding my strength. "I gave you all of me, and you tore me apart to better serve yourself. Maybe that's on me, because I let you, but I... I'm falling apart right now and it's all your fault."

"Em, baby, where are you?" Charlie asks.

I snort at that. "Wouldn't you like to know?" I ask. "And don't you "Em, baby" me. I am not your baby, and I haven't been for a long time. I don't even know why I'm calling you, but you... you're a bad person, Charlie. I have a good guy in my life, and I can't let myself just be with him because you took me apart piece by piece and I thought I was fixed. I thought I found all the pieces, but they're in the wrong spots and it's your fault."

"You sound drunk."

"That's not really any of your business," I say before falling quiet. "Why?"

"Why what?" he asks.

I swallow as I lean back into the wall and finally ask the question that's been hanging over me all these months. "Why did you cheat on me? What did I do wrong?"

There's a long pause of silence and I almost think he's not going to tell me. I don't even know why I'm asking. It's in the past, and I'm ready to move on from him. I thought I had, but here I am, breaking all over again.

"You had this big picture in your head of the man you were going to marry," he says and my lips part to argue, but before I can, he continues, "and before you say you don't, just let me finish. You're a romance editor, Emery. You spend most of your days with your heads in the clouds thinking that your perfect person is out there in the world. For a while you thought it was me, and that... it was a lot of pressure. It's not an excuse, and it's not your fault, but I guess I was trying to prove you wrong."

I press my lips together as I squeeze my eyes shut. "I never thought you were my person. You belittled me, Charlie. Every second you got, but I thought I owed you something because you gave me a life outside of Milton and it was stupid. You never worthy of my love."

"I know that."

"Do you?" I ask. "Because if that's true, why did you never let me forget you after we broke up?"

"Because I realized I wanted to be," he says without hesitation. "I want to be."

I press my lips together as a loud laugh falls from my lips. "You're full of shit," I tell him as I shake my head. "Goodbye, Charlie."

"Em–"

His voice dies as I let the sound of the bar back in and end the phone call, sliding the phone back into my pocket before sliding down the wall to the floor. And just like that, my pieces are scattered across the floor as I pull my knees up to my chest and let myself fall apart.