Patricia Potter

Coming To Terms
by Jen

A Diane Lloyd story.

"I had too much to drink, that's all...."

I heard myself mutter as I stood back from the operating table, Ric's slightly worried eyes flickering to me and then back to the patient. I lean against the wall, closing my eyes for a moment, feeling a little nausea. A few steadying breaths and it slowly passes. A quick smile to reassure him and Ric's talking to me as normal. As though nothing had happened, here and there dropping the odd joke about how I can't hold my drink.

Lies, all lies. And I know it. Drink? I hadn't drank anything the night before. I'd sat at home after Steve's funeral consoling my self pity with a box of chocolates and a film that was on television. Ask me what it was and I won't be able to tell you. I wasn't paying attention. The actors' voices had become a routine droning in the background, rambling on and on as I just contemplated my thoughts. I still found it hard to actually believe Steve wasn't coming back. I had so much I wanted to say to him.

Embarrassed now at how I'd handled the situation, I know I could have been in more control, helped him come to terms. But then that's what happens when I'm nervous, I panic like that time I went into change his dressing and when he got upset, I left. I hate myself for doing that.
I hate myself even more for telling Steve in the first place that it had just been 'a bit of fun' and that we should let it go no further. Yes I was smiling, yes I looked as though I meant it. Doesn't mean I did though.

Commitment is hard. Since I was raped by a friend I thought I could trust and it split up mine and Ric's relationship, I find trusting people some sort of poison that I refuse to drink. I know it's stupid and that I shouldn't feel this way. But who am I to govern my emotions? I can't do it. No one can, it's basic instinct and after that night so many years ago, my basic instinct has been to run. I never told Ric what had happened, just left when he proposed scared that if he did find out, he'd think less of me, because I had thought less of myself.

"She has her reasons for doing what she does. And you can't even begin to understand how she feels."

Steve. He was such a kind and caring man, he made me feel wanted. He did really care and I pushed him away. Now I can't repair that. As I surgeon I want to stitch up the wounds, up the medication and kiss it better. That's the worst thing, knowing that I can't. Getting through today was what was important. I think I really needed to prove to myself that I could do this. That I could survive with these feelings. I know I can survive, it's just a question of time.

Time is fate, fate is time and no one can control it. It's a strange feeling to know that being alive is something that can change at any moment. Anything can happen in the space of a day, an hour, a minute, even a second. All that we can do is to try our best and hope, pray that time and fate is on our side. Events replay themselves all the time and there's no point in trying to resist them. You'll put off the events and then they'll be back worse than ever. I still can't believe my response to the news that we were going on a call out. "Wicked" had been my exact word. Yes, it was wicked though not in the pretense that I had spoken at the time.

Seeing Steve like that hurt me. Treating him as a patient was what probably made the atmosphere between us so tense. We'd slept together the night before and then I'd told him in not so many words that it had meant nothing. But that wasn't what it had meant. It was my way of running away from the situation. And then it didn't seem like the right time - when he was trapped in the car and then later at the hospital - to tell him that I hadn't meant it, that I did really like him, would like to venture into a relationship. Because, I thought we'd have more time.

Reality that he wasn't coming back suddenly kicked me in the stomach and I covered my face with my hands. Hot tears pricked the back of my eyes and I buried my head in the cushion on the sofa next to me, crying uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry," I found myself crying out, hoping that somehow he would hear me. "I'm sorry."

He needed me, I wasn't there. Now I needed him and he wasn't there. There wasn't any justice in the situation. But if life wasn't fair, neither was death.

"I had too much to drink, that's all...."

No, that wasn't why I felt sick. That wasn't why I threw up at Danny's leaving party this evening. Mascara stains hug the base of my eyes as I reach over to the table and pick the object up from it's surface. I don't even have to look at it, I already know. Collapsing into tears again I realise. Steve's gone for good and I'm left alone, pregnant with his baby.