Too Broken(49)

He doesn't say anything for a long moment. "I thought  …  I thought you regretted it."

"Even after my note?" I ask incredulously.

"Well, no, that's why I was confused," he confesses. "After we finished,  and you were crying so hard, I didn't know what to do. I thought you  were upset that we'd crossed that line."

"So you left me there, in your bed, weeping. That seemed like the right thing to do?" A little of my anger has returned.

"Fuck you, Kelli!" Ian says, his own anger back in full force. I'm taken  aback and he continues, "I can't do this. You know I can't do this  because it is all I've ever said to you. I don't know how to be in love  with you, Kelli. I'm only capable of hurting you, as I so superbly  demonstrated last night." He stops, his own anger fleeting. "I'm so  tired of making you cry, Kel," he says pathetically.

"Yeah, I'm really tired of crying," I say.

"You should go home," he says.

I nod and walk towards the door. "Ian," I say, stopping and turning  towards him, "it really doesn't matter to you that you love me? I mean,  it would be one thing if you never let yourself love again. But you have  - you love me. Don't you think that deserves a chance? Deserves a try?"

Ian contemplates me for a long moment. A flutter of hope dances around my chest, maybe he'll be willing to fight for our love.

But no. Ian shakes his head and turns his back on me.

I swallow the cry about to escape me, and go ask Hal to walk me home.



******



I don't sleep well and about 5am I can't stand it anymore and I get up. I  take a long hot shower and dress in warm fleece pants and my favorite  hoodie. I grab my headphones and set out for a walk.

I have no particular destination in mind; I just can't be inside any  longer. Of course, I relive the previous 48 hours in my head again and  again.

Ian was right, we should never have made love. I can't handle it.

No, fuck that! I can handle it, or I could have if he hadn't been an  ass. Actually, it wasn't his assholery that got to me, it was his  tenderness. It was his admission of love. That's what got to me. Because  if Ian had maintained his distance, if he had continued to assert that  he was not capable of loving me, I would have taken Saturday night as  the gift it was and moved on.

But no, he had to go and tell me that he loved me. And that was the  heart of the matter because if he truly loved me, if he loved me enough,  then he'd fight for our love. He wouldn't just roll over and let me  leave. Why won't he fight for me?

He won't fight for me because I'm not good enough.

No dammit! I am good enough. This is his bullshit, not mine. Suddenly, I get an idea.

I begin walking with purpose and an hour and a half later I'm standing  in front of the VA Hospital on Wilshire. By now it's a little before 8am  and the start of office hours.

I walk in as if I belong here, my head held high as I confidently pass  "Information" where visitors are supposed to sign in. I proceed to the  elevator bank I took with Ian almost exactly two months ago. I'm struck  by how much has changed. I went from being naively in love with a man  with a dark side, to a woman knowingly, willingly in love with a scarred  war veteran. And here I am today, a woman trying one last ditch effort  to win her man.

I exit on the 5th floor and walk down the corridor to the seats. I sit  down, taking my headphones out of my ears and wait. To my delight, only  five minutes pass before Dr. Wyatt exits the elevators and heads towards  me. I stand and await his arrival.

"Dr. Wyatt," I greet him when he's close enough.

"Hello," he says, cocking his head to the side, trying to recognize me. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

"Only once," I respond. "I'm Kelli, Ian McGregor's  … " I pause there for a  I have no idea how to describe myself in relation to Ian.

Dr. Wyatt waits, not saying anything.

"I need to talk to you about Ian," I say.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know who you are referring to and I have a  client in five minutes, so I'd appreciate it if you'd leave. Before I am  forced to call security," he adds for good measure.                       
       
           



       

"What do you mean -" I stop myself. Patient - doctor confidentiality. Fuck! I should have thought of that.

"You spoke to me before. Please, I need your help. Ian loves me. He  does. He's told me so. But he won't fight for me. He won't fight for us.  He has to, Dr. Wyatt. He deserves a life better than the one he's  living and I know that together we can be happy. Please, please Dr.  Wyatt, help him. Help him see that I love him and will work with him  through this. I'm not going to run away just because it gets hard. I  know he's dealing with guilt and pain and I know he's in hell. I can  help him. I can stand by him. I love him and I'll do that. I will. I  promise. Please, Dr. Wyatt." I stop, knowing my pleas are falling on  deaf ears; knowing coming here was a mistake.

Dr. Wyatt steps forward and puts a hand on my shoulder. "I appreciate  your desire to help Kelli, I swear I do. But I cannot speak to you about  this."

I nod, embarrassed. Of course he can't. I know that. I've seen enough  movies. I begin backing down the hallway. After I'm about fifteen feet, I  turn around and run towards the elevator. I can't get out of there  quickly enough.

Once I'm finally outside, I put my earbuds back in and pull my hoodie up  over my head. I walk slowly home. Once there, I take another shower and  put on my pajamas. I decide on a Harry Potter marathon - that'll chew  up a good fifteen hours. I open a bottle of wine and settle onto my  couch.

Halfway through the third movie an angry knock erupts on my door.

"Kelli," Ian yells, "open the door."

I stare at the door somewhat blankly. I've consumed the entire bottle of  wine and I'm a little slow to process what is happening.

Ian, impatient as ever, keeps banging. "I know you're in there, I can  hear your TV. Open up! Right now. Get your ass to the door, Kelli!"

"Calm down!" I yell at the door. He keeps banging, but ceases his verbal  assault. Slowly, clumsily, I make my way to the door. I pull it open  just as Ian was about to bang again and instead of hitting the door, he  hits my face.

"OW!" I yell, covering my left eye with my hands and glaring at him with my right.

"Fuck! Are you alright, Baby? I'm sorry! God, you know I didn't mean to hit you, right? I was -"

"Shuddup Ian! Jussbe quiet for a minute. Pleeze!" I say loudly, slurring  my words slightly and needing it quiet so I can think. He hit me. Fuck,  that hurt. Ice. I need ice. I turn around and go to my small fridge,  pulling out the one ice cube tray that fits in the miniscule freezer  section, and up-end the tray onto a dish towel. Gathering the ice in the  center, I twist the ends of the towel together and put the center bulge  to my face. I turn to look at Ian, still standing in my doorway.

He's staring, a look of horror on his face. I turn to look behind me,  not understanding what could cause him to look like that. There's  nothing unusual behind me so I ask, "What?"

He immediately looks down, shamefully. "I just hit you," he whispers. "You're going to have a black eye."

"Ughng," I say, making my way to the bathroom so I can look in the  mirror. I pull the ice away from my eye and it is red and angry. It's  hard to know if that's from the cold of the ice, or the punch, and I  really don't care. I don't care if I have a fucking black eye. I'd trade  a black eye for a whole heart any day of the week. Which reminds me  …

"Ian, why are you here?"

In the excitement, he'd forgotten, but the question reminds him and his  anger returns. "What the fuck were you doing with Dr. Wyatt?"

"Wha?" I ask. How could he know about that? "How … "

"He called me, Kelli. What were you thinking? Did you actually believe he'd tell you anything?"

I stare at him through my drunken haze. Why did I go again? "I thought …  I  wanted to know  … " I finally give up. "I don't ‘member why I went." I  sit down on my sofa, put the ice back to my eye, and try to watch Harry  Potter.

"You don't remember?" Ian asks with disbelief.

"Not right now, no. I donna ‘member right now," I say. I'm so tired  suddenly. I want to sleep. I lay my head back and close my eyes.

"Kelli!" Ian yells and I open my eye, scowling at him.

"Wha?" I ask again, this time angry myself.

"What. Were. You. Doing. At. Dr. Wyatt's. Office?" he asks slowly,  patronizingly. Of course, I'm so drunk I don't catch the insult.

Realizing that he won't go away until I tell him, I try to remember. Why  did I go see Dr. Wyatt? "Why arr you punishin' yursself Ian? Why?"