I have walked these corridors for the last fifteen years of my life. I've seen my friends happy. I've seen them fight. I've seen them run. As best as lawyers can run in those expensive and spotless suits without ruining their image. Those walls have been my home. I have smiled here, drunk here, cried here, did my best here. But recently the warmth has left those natured-colored walls. Recently I've been more important and yet have felt less useful here than ever.
I have a real office, I have my name on a door, I have a nice paycheck. But I have let them take the human side of me. I want to scream and fight and say "This is not me." I take care of people, I take care of coffee, of clients, of meetings. Then I leave the office and follow with the rest of my day. Well. I did. Now I feel my days, my life, is outside those walls. I am happier when I step out of the building. The weight of the mask vanishes and the real me comes back to life.
How did I allow this to happen?
What happened to me?
Of course, no one knows, and no one will. I'm that good.
I'm good enough to spot the faint light coming from the corner. It's almost midnight. He'll be drinking on his couch and listening to music. It's this time of the year. I wonder if he will ever tell her. He never told Scottie. She's the only one worth mentioning.
Against my better judgement, I see myself walking slowly towards his office. I miss our office. I know he won't mind my presence. We've shared this night before. He dives too deep into his thoughts when left alone.
I should not be here. It's not my role to do this anymore. Maybe it never should have been.
I take a deep breath and look up. I've always thought it weird for lawyers, for whom privacy is a sacred rule, to have glass as walls. Cold and hard. It suits them. Yet it feels wrong.
Or maybe it's the scene in front of me that feels wrong.
My heart misses a beat. It has become used to it over the years. I feel myself turning as cold as the glass I press a hand on to support me. He won't see me. He never does.
I was right. The bottle of Macallan is on the table. Two glasses. The light is dimmed. And two backs are turned on me. I can picture his face as if I were there at her place. He is not smiling, but he is relaxed, and they are close enough so I can see it's her being here that is the reason he can face the night. There's silence all around, but I can't tell if it's because they are talking or if it's because my ears are buzzing so loudly it prevents any sound to come my way.
I feel my feet stagger and retreat. My back is on the wall.
I don't belong. I haven't belonged in a long time.
I lost my privileged place the day I said I was quitting. A lifetime ago. I meant it then. He knew it. He took it hard. Not as hard as I wish he had. I wanted him to fight. He did, but only for himself. In the end, he accepted it. Even when I came back to him, he never came back to me. We lost something the day we let our emotions get out of the bottle. The foreboding feeling I'd had after our night together should have been enough, had had been enough, for me to never cross the line. I should have known better. I just thought…
I deserve better. I deserve more.
But Pearson, Specter, Litt can't give me what I want. It never will. I fooled myself it would be enough. My long lost dreams had only been dreams anyway. My long lost nights had been sleepless for a good reason. There was always a good reason.
Tonight is just another slap in the face. How many do I need to get before I stand up for myself once and for all?
I almost run to my office, and grab my bag, leaving everything as it is. I don't look back. Those beige walls mean nothing to me. I am still that secretary, I am still that naive woman who gives lessons to others when she can't even protect herself. I am still that one night stand that could have, should have happened when we met, before parting like he has done so many times.
Do I regret everything? No. I have had some of the best times, I made my own choices. But I let life create a path I did not want to walk. And now I'm at a dead end.
I only notice my tears in the cab's rearview mirror. It's not like me to lose it this way. That's what he would say. What does he know? What do I know? The years I thought had brought us together only created a gap and I never saw it happen until I was standing on the edge, ready to fall. Only to realize he wouldn't be here to hold my hand and save me.
I sound like a teenager. I sound like all those women I advised throughout the years. Well done, Donna. You've turned into your mother, seeing the world around me so clear while so blind to the world inside of me. I am overwhelmed with sadness. An shower of freezing drops envelops me. I don't remember paying the driver. The next thing I know, I'm standing in my living room. I hear the thud of my bad hitting the floor.
I can't do that anymore.
The last time I allowed myself to break, I left wounds stay open and I am afraid that if I brush them again, I'll never be able to close them. The scabs still feel fresh, even after more than a year. I pick at them, I can't help it.
I am angry at Harvey for taking me for granted. But most of all, I am angry at myself for letting him. For becoming this woman I don't recognize. I thought it was for the better. I did not realize he is now in every part of my life, of myself, like a poison and I don't own an epipen.
In the end, my legs give way and I join my bag on the nice floor I was able to change five years ago thanks to my bonus. Even my house is filled with him. Him turning up at 2am. Him enjoying my cooking skills. Him meeting my mother. Him everywhere. Weirdly, there are no pictures. But I don't need them. I don't even need to close my eyes to see him standing there, telling me he loved me. Bastard.
He is not the only one to blame. We did this together. We played and I lost.
I lost.
Not so invincible anymore, Donna Paulsen.
No one knows how hard it was for me to lose him once, no one knows how difficult it was to come back. No one has noticed and no one will. I'm not one for washing my laundry in public. I am what I show people. Strong and fierce. But I am not just that. Just like I was not just a secretary. Just like I am not just an employee, or a good friend. At least I hope.
Can I find the courage to leave it all behind? I was too coward to leave for good the last time I tried. But he found the courage to face his demons. It's time for me to do the same.
The idea of packing and driving to the airport crosses my mind. I almost chuckle. I won't take the back door. I will face him. I will say goodbye to the family we had.
And I'll make the best of what's left of me. I have a few hours to wallow and take it all in. A few hours to lower the guard and let the doors open. A few hours to feel alone, to feel betrayed, to let everything out. A few hours to start making peace with myself.
I can do this.
I'm not so naive as to think I'll have forgotten him and everyone else in a week. But I can't let them smother me any longer. Things need to change. I need to make them change. I need to take care of myself. I know what I have to do. Leaving is the only way I can be free again. I'll have bad days, they'll turn into nostalgia. Won't they? I am not sure of much, but I am sure enough is enough. We'll see.
This is the hardest thing I have to do. Because this time, I'm not moving desk. This time, I'm moving on.
When I wake up the next morning, my eyes are clear. My head is lighter than it has been in months. My walk is assured and steady as I enter the building for the last time.
The play nears its ends. I don't care for the applaud. I just want to curtain to be drawn. I want the next chef d'oeuvre to start.