“You’re saying because I don’t care that I murdered Atif? Why? Why the fuck would I do that, Carmen? Or do you just think that I’m some lesser creature compared to you, that maybe me, the fucking morlock or whatever, that I did it? Why? My morlock ways? Isn’t that how you see me? Some kind of freak?”

Some primate survival mechanism in her further clicks on, her appeasement takes a begging tone, and she can’t control the words coming out of her mouth—“I don’t see you as a freak at all, Greg, that’s ridiculous—”

“You can’t go around doing this. It has to stop.”

It is like gears clicking away in her as one mode is swapped for another. Drawing herself up, haughtily, angrily—“You will leave me alone. This is utterly inappropriate for a work environment, Greg!”

“Do you want to fucking know what I was doing that night?” Greg has tears in his eyes and is shaking, red-faced.

Finally, panicking—“I’ll scream.”

Greg pauses, unreadable but clearly tormented. She waits as he decides, but she doesn’t know over what—her mind is going wild in its search of the possibilities, and its own internal preparations. Then his face transforms from anger to anguish, melting in front of her with a brief sob. At that moment the door bangs open and Kierk enters the room with the phone pressed to his ear.

“What the fuck is going on here?” he says, looking between Carmen and Greg’s blotchy face.

After a glance of fear toward Kierk, Greg is looking pleadingly at Carmen as Kierk gets almost nose to nose with him.

“I asked what the fuck is going on here.”

“Greg was just leaving,” Carmen says.

“He was, huh?”

Greg wipes at his eyes, trying to move past Kierk, but Kierk puts up an arm, blocking him in.

“Got something to say, Greg?” In response Greg tries to duck under his arm but Kierk slams him back into the wall to an indignant yelp.

“You ever raise your voice to her again and your face won’t be your fucking face anymore. You get that?”

Head hanging, Greg won’t look up but just breathes heavily, giving barely perceptible nods.

Carmen’s hands go to Kierk’s back, light against the broad tightness. After a moment Kierk lifts his arm and Greg scoots past, trying to hide the tears as he rushes out the door.

Kierk turns to her, his face breaking from an intense scowl into concern. “Hey. Hey. It’s okay. What’s going on?”

Carmen hugs him tight, getting underneath his arms, feeling his tallness over her, pressing her face against his shirt and inhaling the distinctive scent of him.

“What? What happened? Carmen?”

She says into his shirt—“I don’t know. Maybe a misunderstanding. I asked him about Atif and he got upset. He lost it. He just lost it.”