She can't take it. It's the pocket in her wallet that she always avoids, the guy she can't get out of her head. It's there, still plastic and still a symbol of their relationship. How he'd let her in, but she'd remained stoic. She's so tired of crying.

She's told him that it's over, that it's done. Somehow, she still needs to convince herself. It's rough and depressing and she tells her Dad she's got a case to get him off hers.

After checking the parking lot for any sign of his car or Dick's, she takes the elevator up, stomach wrenched. Slowly slipping the card in the slot, she checks the perimeter. Clear. She enters and it smells like vanilla. She concludes that it must've just gotten a visit from housekeeping. With a weak smile, she leans back into the familiar couch and breathes deep. Sneaking a post-it from his night table, she writes a brief note and sticks it to the cold plastic card. Leaving both on the coffee table, she looks back and gets misty-eyed like a hooker at an airport. She finally closes the door and takes the hallway back to the elevator, and then back down to the lobby. Wiping her eyes, she passes him and keeps on walking, upset as ever.

All she can think is that when he gets up to his suite, he's going to find a bitter surprise.

"I don't need this anymore"