Part 14 (1/2)
”I'll count the minutes.”
”You save those lines for you wife, mister.”
”Yes, ma'am,” Ike said with a wink.
I smiled and followed Carrie to the nurses' station.
”He's a cutie. I bet he was a looker in his day,” Carrie said.
”His wife, too.”
”They're so cute together.”
”Mmhm,” I said, feeling melancholy for some reason.
”I hope I'm that happy at that age. Retired, in love, with all my parts still working.”
The rest of my afternoon came and went. I had the rest of my patients treated and streeted by lunchtime. At two o'clock, I sat down in the break room with a cup of coffee-my first of the day-and to say I had a bit of a withdrawal headache was putting it mildly. With elbows resting on the table, I pressed my fingertips to both my temples, hoping to relieve some pressure in my throbbing noggin. My appet.i.te had gone bye-bye, and in its place sat a gnawing ball of nerves and what-ifs. I hoped once the coffee zinged through my system and killed the monster of a migraine, I'd be able to eat something. Maybe then I could think straight and get this situation with Mitch worked out through my warring thoughts and emotions. Wishful thinking.
”I'm sorry.”
”What?” I glanced up from the spot on the table I'd been zoned out on. Mitch stood beside me. We were alone in the break room, everyone having cleared out long ago.
”I'm sorry if I said or did something to hurt you.”
”Mitch-”
”No, Christine.” He pulled out the chair beside me and sat down.
The screeching of the legs against the hard floor set off a round of pulsating pain through my head, but Mitch didn't seem to notice. I felt like I was going to be sick.
”Whatever it is, I'm sorry. I've been thinking about the last time we were together, but I can't come up with anything I did. You seemed happy when I left . . . but you didn't return my phone calls the next day, so something must have happened, and I just want you to know that I'm sorry.”
”You didn't do anything, Mitch.”
”Then what is it?” he asked, almost begging. ”Come on, Christie. I don't want to lose you. We can fix whatever happened, I know it. We're worth it.”
My stomach lurched. He didn't know it, but those were the exact words I'd heard a very long time ago from a man who told me he loved me more than anything. A man who I'd given my heart to completely. A man who I thought I was going to marry some day. A man who turned out to be a lying, cheating b.a.s.t.a.r.d-who'd destroyed my heart implicitly.
Jonathan Meeks and I had started dating my first year in college. He was two years older than I was and well into the party scene. He didn't drink to the point of oblivion like other people we hung out with. Actually, I'd initially been attracted to him because I'd never seen him lose control of his inhibitions. I respected the fact that he could stay so focused on his studies as a business major and yet be a part of the college scene. He excelled in school, came from a wonderful upper middle-cla.s.s family from Orange County, and had a great sense of humor. To me, he seemed to have it all, and the fact that he looked like a young Brad Pitt only added to everything he had to offer.
When he asked me out one night after a football game, I was over the moon. I thought I'd lucked out that he'd chosen me out of all the co-eds vying for his attention. For our first date he took me to a concert at the California Mid-State Fair. I felt like a kid again, as we rode carnival rides and stuffed our faces with tons of junk food. When the lights went down, he took me on the Ferris wheel, and that's when he kissed me for the first time. To say I saw fireworks . . . Well, I hadn't had much experience with boys, but that kiss made me feel things I'd never felt before.
Need, desire, desperation.
We quickly lost control with the pa.s.sion of first love, or so I'd thought.
Six months into our love affair I'd found him sleeping with my best friend on the bed I'd lost my virginity in. The soft click of the door behind me caught their attention, but the sob that tore out of my throat brought me to the brink of destruction. I ran out of that room as fast as I could and never set foot in his apartment again.
My heart had been shattered into a million pieces. Every waking minute I thought about the two of them together. Images of their naked bodies defiling the bed I'd given myself to him on tormented me during the day and woke me in tears every night. I'd hated both of them for a long time, but I despised myself even more for being so d.a.m.n naive. I became an introvert, throwing myself into my studies and keeping my weekends reserved for visits back home.
Eventually, I got better. I found a few friends that had similar interests to mine and kept far away from the party scene. Instead of the Friday night keggers, we'd go to a cla.s.sic movie marathon at a local outdoor theater or an open mic night hosted by the student center. Gradually I found myself smiling and even accepted a date with a philosophy student.
A couple months later I came home from the library to find John standing outside my door with a bouquet of flowers and a tormented expression. It looked like he hadn't changed or shaved in a few days. It shocked me, really. He'd always been so put together.
”Can I talk to you, please?” he asked me, holding out the flowers like some kind of sign of peace.
”What are you doing here, John?”
”I had to see you.”
”Why?”
”We never talked.”
”We didn't need to.”
”Yeah, we do. It didn't mean anything to me, Chris.”
”Well, it meant plenty to me.”
”Come on, Chris. I don't love her.”
”But you love me?”
”Yes, baby.” He'd reached for me, but I stepped away. ”I know we can fix this. We are worth it!”
We are worth it.
Turns out we weren't. I'd been dumb enough to give him a second chance, and the second time I'd caught him cheating nearly broke me for good. As a result, I grew a thick skin. I vowed to be strong and to never let a man defile me like that again.
Yet, here I was, staring another cheater dead in the face.
”Just stop, please . . . I can't do this here.”
”Later, then. After work. I'll take you to dinner.”
”I don't think that's a good idea.”
”Take out, then.”
The door to the break room slammed open before I could reject him again.
”Christine, Dr. Peterson is ready for you in bed B.”
Thank G.o.d for small favors.
”Thanks, Carrie.”
I stood and poured the remainder of my lukewarm coffee down the drain and rinsed out my mug.