Past an open door, the mechanic shop's single office looks like a litterbug with a hoarding problem took up residence. All the paperwork from last week sits under mountains of crumpled soda cans; the odd empty tin of cat food; and piles of newer, sloppier paperwork.

Jitters crawl all over Elia's skin: her hands twist in her pockets. Nothing's happened, everything's fine, no need to use it yet. She barges into her office and collapses into the chair. With her momentum, the chair spins around to face the fridge under the desk. She cracks it open.

Frosty air swirls out of the fridge revealing three unopened cans within. Fresh nerves crawl over her spine at the sight. Three more. Can she even go to the grocery like this? She yanks one off the top shelf and pulls on the tab.

The familiar hiss and crackling of carbonation fills the room. Without a second thought, Elia chugs the soda in a handful of gulps.

Dull hints of artificial strawberry brush past her taste buds like a shadow of what it should be. No joy, no fondness warms her stomach for the sparkle of carbonation against her tongue. Only a wish that it would actually help. With a sigh, she crumples the thin aluminum and tosses it onto the sturdiest of the desk's piles of cans.

Otto and Duffie wave their arms about each other like those birds in that television documentary last night. Except with angry faces and rising voices. Nope. She can't deal with whatever that is, she's got enough mixing around in her head right now. She lets her head loll back and she spins the chair away from the window.

File cabinets sit in disuse under her bulletin board full of...

Less. Foreign cars on printer paper and her flag are still there, but the vacation photos aren't; their thumbtacks bear only tidbits of ripped glossy paper. Shame, sadness, anger all twist, chill, and burn Elia's stomach. If her daughter could see what she did — no, don't think about that. She spins back to the window.

Cheeks red, Duffie rushes through the office's open door and jolts to a stop on the opposite side of the desk. "Can we talk?"

Feelings threaten to overwhelm her: exhaustion tugs at the corners of her eyes. All she can think about is burying her head in her arms like she use to do back in grade school. Or to use her mirror, but no; she has to deal with this. She purses her mouth into a thin line. "Are you and Otto arguing about something?"

Duffie slouches and runs a hand through their sweat laden hair. "Kind of. That's not what this is about though, not exactly anyway." Their voice trails off.

Elia forces herself to keep eye contact, but the silence hangs heavy in the room for tens of seconds. Or what feels like it. With a shake of her head, she waves a hand through the air as if she was trying to dust away the silence. "Well, go on then. Out with it."

Duffie's eyes dart around the room hitting everywhere but Elia's own. After a bit of searching, they decide to stare at the bulletin board. "I'm putting in my two weeks notice, I got a job at the mechanic shop across town. It's closer to my partner's apartment and I'm going to be moving in there, so —"

Her feelings tumble over the precipice of nearly overwhelmed and plunge deep into a fiery lake of fuck-it. "I didn't do enough for you then?"

Duffie tilts their head, their words catch in their throat. "E-Excuse me?"

Elia tries to wrench control away from the anger, grinding teeth and clenching fists working to keep her voice from coming out; she might as well be tossing buckets of water into a volcano. "You're not grateful. After everything I've done for you, everything I've taught you. Leaving just like that?"

Duffie scratches at the underside of one of their palms and scrambles for words. "I don't know — um, I couldn't think of — I'm sorry? I thought I was showing how grateful I am by giving you two weeks notice. I didn't have to do that."

No resistance: a fiery river surges through her veins. She slaps her hands on the desk — sending a few crumpled cans clattering to the floor — and she rises out of the chair. "That's the bare minimum. Is two weeks all we're worth to you?"

Dipping their head, they dig their nails into the underside of their palm. "This doesn't make sense; none of this makes sense. Why are you treating me like this? It's just a job, Elia."

Just a job. Her life is just a job to them. She yanks an arm up to point a finger toward the door. "Just get out of my office and get back to work. Or don't. Won't be different to me."

Duffie stammers in place, wrenching their hands in odd patterns like someone trying to crack their knuckles. Only mumbles make it out of their mouth. "This really — it's all wrong. What is —"

A towering figure blocks out the doorway, his head scattering beams of light in specular blobs. Otto inches his lips up into a weak smile and wraps an arm around Duffie's shoulder. "You don't need to stand here and take it, buddy. Come on with me." Otto guides Duffie into the garage across the office's threshold .

Elia's teeth gnash together, acting as a final barricade against saying something she'll truly regret. That she'll never be able to take back. But she slams her hand back down onto the table and speaks. "Don't comfort them, they don't deserve it."

Otto turns; his smile is gone. He only bears a grimace and eyes stricken with pain. No words, he just turns around and pats Duffie on the back. Insurmountable anger recedes, but Elia's entire body goes cold with shivers tingling up her neck and down into her stomach. She collapses into the chair.

Through the window, Duffie takes a tissue out of Otto's hand. She's fucked everything up now. Or again. A clink of a metal clasp rings out from somewhere in her lap. A familiar sound that makes her heart stop and her eyes swell every time she hears it.

The pocket watch rises into Elia's vision, dangling her arm from it like a marionette. Not again. She clenches her eyes shut, but something jerks them open the next moment. Each light that slips into the voids at the center of her eyes sends the tiny black orbs burbling like a sentient goo.

It's lunch time, she supposes.