"You never understood."
"You're right … I didn't understand. Because you never gave me the chance to. I know what happened, Gabi. I know everything. I saw your mom the other day after the hospital called to tell me you were here. She told me about Todd and how Sean ended up taking the fall for what he did to you. But I understand now. It's not too late for you."
"Yes it is. There's nothing anyone can do to help me."
"That's where you're wrong." I tried to keep my tone soft and even, but it was hard when I found myself so irritated with her refusal to acknowledge she could get help. She could have something more. "It doesn't take a professional to see why you've been battling depression for so long. On top of the abuse you had to suffer-not only from Todd, but the emotional and mental abuse from your own mother not protecting you-you've had to deal with this guilt alone. You never had to do that. You could've come to me with the truth. But that's neither here nor there. Now you can do something about it. Talk to your doctors. Tell them what really happened so they can help you deal with the real problem, not just the effects from it. You can't treat the depression if you're not treating the cause."
She licked her lips, like I'd seen her do so many times before. No matter how many times her tongue ran over them, they remained cracked and dry. A tear clung to her chin, pulling my attention away from her mouth long enough to watch her wipe it away with her free hand. The white bandage around her wrist caught my attention for the first time. It caused my chest to clench, my heart to squeeze tight, and my lungs to cease. The guilt came flooding back in full force, reminding me she wouldn't be here, in this bed, bandages on her wrist had I only let her explain when she'd begged me to listen.
"What happened, Gabi? I mean … what did you do to yourself? How did you get here?"
She stared at the gauze for a moment before pushing her hand beneath the blanket. She blinked away fresh tears and set her sights on the wall across the room. "I called Dr. Greiner, but he couldn't fit me in. He talked to me for a little bit, and then called me when he left work to check on me. I'd taken those pills he'd given me, like he suggested, but it wasn't taking the pain away. I thought if I could just get you to listen to me, it'd be okay. But you wouldn't answer your phone." Her face scrunched again, and I worried this was too much for her to talk about. But she continued anyway. "So I took more pills. And when that didn't work, I took more. I drank what was left of the vodka you always keep in the pantry, thinking that would numb it."
My eyes burned and I wanted to tell her to stop. I didn't think I could handle the rest, but I was frozen, unable to speak. I couldn't even form the words to tell her not to continue. But it didn't matter, because after she caught her breath, she kept talking.
"I don't remember much after that. Apparently, I called Dr. Greiner, thinking I was calling you. I don't remember doing that. I don't remember leaving the condo or getting to my car." She held up her wrist. "And I don't remember doing this."
"Promise me you'll do everything you can to get better," I begged her, hoping she could see in my eyes how much I meant it. No matter what had happened between us, I'd always care about her, and I needed her to understand that.
"What's the point, Dane? You left me. You don't want me anymore. I'm used up and worthless to you."
"That's not true. You're broken and beaten down, but that doesn't mean you can't change that. You're stronger than this. I know you are. Don't let him win. Don't let what he did to you keep you from living. He's won for twelve years, and it's time you put an end to the control he's had over you. And I never want to hear you say you're worthless again."
Gabi cleared her throat, making it known just how weak she was. "What does this mean for us?"
"We don't need to talk about that right now. It's not important."
"Yes, it is, Dane. It is important. I need to know I have a reason to get out of here."
"That reason should be your health. Not the status of our relationship. I've been your reason to live for too long now. I can't shoulder that kind of responsibility anymore. You should want to live for yourself, to give yourself a better life than the one you've had. You need to do it for you. No one else. Nothing else."
"I don't know if I can," she whispered.
Just then, a knock sounded at the door. I turned in my seat to find a man in a white coat. His salt-and-pepper hair made him appear to be in his fifties or early sixties, but the lack of wrinkles on his face lessened that age by about ten years.