by: Courtney
Chapter 2
The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.
The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.
~ Francis William Bourdillon
"I don't want to talk to you," she hears through the doorframe.
"I don't care," she returns with a resolute pitch in her voice that mirrors his own.
He sighs, knowing she won't go away until he hears her out. He finally gives in, sort of. "Okay," he speaks through the door; "you came to talk, so talk."
"What? Out here?" she asks in surprise.
"Yeah, whatever it is you have to say just go ahead and say it," he says.
"I can't come in and talk to you face to face?" she asks.
"I can hear you just fine from where you are," he replies in a cool voice that he has to work fervently to maintain.
She begins to see that she has no choice but to play this game. It's either that or turn and walk away . . . and she can't bear that. No, she came here to be heard and so she will be heard, even if it's through the door. "Alright, have it your way," she finally says. "Are you ready to listen?"
Doug feels a wave of relief course through him as he realizes that she is staying to talk. He doesn't want to let her in but he also didn't want her to leave. He wants desperately for her to say something to allow him to forgive her. There must be something that can bring things back into focus, permit him to disregard the last few days and fall back into her arms. He closes his eyes, saying a silent prayer that Carol has those words within her. "I'm listening," he responds.
She takes a deep breath. This is it, do or die time. She finally has a chance to explain . . . but, explain what? He knows what happened. He knows she kissed another man. He knows who it was, when it was, and even why she was there. What more can she say? "I'm sorry, Doug," is all she can come up with.
"Is that all you came to say?" he asks.
"More or less . . . I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. I'm sorry I kissed Powell, I'm sorry I'm not ready to get married, but, most of all, I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I tore apart the trust I know it was so hard for you to place in me. I can never forgive myself for that. And I can only hope that one day you'll be able to regain some of that trust in me." She waits anxiously as she finishes her sentence. It's almost like a question dangling in the air before them. She waits to see if he responds. No one speaks. She has her answer. Her face falling, she walks away.
"Why wouldn't you let her in?" Mark asks the next morning as they talk in hushed voices in the locker room while Doug changes into scrubs for his shift. It's barely 7am on Sunday morning. Doug was just rehashing the events that took place the night before.
"I'm not sure to tell you the truth," he says.
"She's suffered enough," Mark tells him.
"I'm not doing this to make her suffer," Doug says, wincing at the accusation.
"That's not what I meant," Mark replies.
"I feel terrible . . . I mean, she's trying. And I want to get over this . . . it's just, is it honest for me to act as though I'm putting it behind me when it's all I can think about? Should I allow her back into my life when I really don't know what I'm thinking about all this? I just don't know if that's fair," Doug finishes.
"Maybe you're right," Mark assents, not wanting to see this happen but knowing Doug has a point. "I just hate to see you both like this. It's easy to see that you're both miserable."
"I know . . . I miss her . . ."
"She misses you, too."
Doug nods and looks at his friend. "We'll find our way back. I think we just need time. It's only been a few days."
'A few too many,' Mark thinks. He doesn't say anything though. He just nods and he and Doug get ready to go back to work.
"I tried. I tried talking to him like you said and he wouldn't even open the door. I apologized to him through the door and he never even said a word. Maybe it really is over," Carol says in a dejected voice as she hangs her head. She and Mark are sitting on a bench outside the ER. Mark seems to be everyone's confidante, the designated go-between in this situation.
"He told me what happened," Mark tells her.
"Why didn't he say anything? Why didn't he even yell or anything?" she asks.
"Maybe he's not angry anymore. Maybe he just didn't know what to say yet," Mark offers.
Carol looks at Mark with woeful eyes and says, "If he's not angry anymore . . . there's only one thing that kept him from responding to me . . ."
Mark watches her, knowing what she's thinking. Her eyes fill with tears but she wills them away. "I hurt him," she breathes softly. It's a statement, a declaration, a confession, all in one breath. She's looking for answers and comfort and forgiveness with this statement. She finds none. "He's still hurting, that's why he didn't answer me," she tells Mark.
"He'll get past this. He just needs time . . ." Mark begins.
"Time. Time. I don't have time, Mark. I don't want time. I don't want to spend anymore time knowing he's hurting." Her tears have returned and this time they win out and glide their way down her pale face. "I know what it feels like. I know how it is to be hurt. I hate myself for allowing Doug to know that feeling."
"Carol, you can't give up. Things will turn around," Mark says as he puts an arm around her shoulders. Her tears have stopped as suddenly as they began and she is staring straight ahead. She's never felt so low in all her life. She hears Mark talking but his words are unintelligible. It doesn't matter, though. No words can help her now. Mark was right; it'll just take time.
"Hey, Ross, can I talk to you for a second?" Doug hears behind him. He doesn't recognize the voice so he turns on his way to the elevator to see who is calling him. It's Greg Powell.
"Do we have something to talk about?" Doug asks coldly as he turns back around to continue towards the elevator.
"Yeah, I think we do," Greg says as he rushes to keep up.
Doug punches the up button and says, "Well, it'll have to wait. I'm on my way up to get some blood work I sent up."
"We can talk in the elevator if you don't mind the company," Greg suggests.
"Suit yourself," Doug says.
The elevator arrives empty. Doug was hoping they'd have company. He steps inside and Greg follows. The doors close and Doug averts his icy glare to the numbers over the door as the elevator slowly begins its assent upward.
"I . . . uh, I thought maybe I should explain. About Thursday night," Greg begins.
"No explanation needed," Doug says sharply.
"But there is," Greg insists. "I mean, I didn't know she was your girlfriend."
"How could you? She didn't tell you," Doug responds.
"I know but . . . maybe I should have paid more attention and I would have known."
"It's not your job to look for that," Doug says. "Carol could've told you." He's backed against the wall and still watching the numbers rise as they near the pathology lab.
"She's sorry," Greg says. "She's really torn up about this. I know she didn't mean to let any of this happen."
He starts to continue but Doug stops him. "Greg, look, I know you mean well and that you're only trying to help here. That's great, it's nice of you. And I know you feel like this is partly your fault. But, let me just tell you that what's going on between Carol and me has very little to do with that kiss. It's much more than that. It's . . . it's something I don't really want to get into with you. I'm sorry if I'm being rude but this really isn't necessary nor is it making matters any better between Carol and I. We have to do this in our own way, on our own terms. I appreciate what you're trying to do but you can stop now, okay?"
Greg looks at him, a little surprised, as the elevator doors open. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean any harm."
"I know. It's okay," Doug assures him. He nods at Greg and gets off the elevator. Greg watches him walk away as the doors slide closed.
"Well, I'm proud of you for not belting him," Mark says across the table. They are in the hospital cafeteria and Doug has just relayed the story of his elevator ride with Greg Powell.
"Why should I? I'm not angry with him," Doug says as he stares at his plate. He moves the fork along his mashed potatoes but doesn't take a bite. He doesn't have much of an appetite lately.
"So, you're saying you're with her then?" Mark asks.
"No, I'm not angry with anyone," Doug says.
"When did life get so damned complicated?" Mark asks.
"Last Thursday," Doug says sullenly.
"No, it's more than that. It's the fact that you aren't talking. You aren't telling me how you feel, you *certainly* aren't telling Carol how you feel. Don't you want to work things out with her? Don't you want all of this to be over?"
"What makes you think I don't?" Doug asks, looking up with a sudden glimmer of surprise in his face.
"Well, it would have been a good start to accept her apology the other night," Mark says.
"I . . . I couldn't . . ."
"Why not? Why in the hell not, Doug? How many halfhearted apologies did she accept from you? How many times did you miss a date because you were drunk or with another woman or both? Sometimes you didn't deserve the chances but she gave them to you anyway. Doesn't she deserve at least one?"
"It has nothing to do with that," Doug tells him, looking back to his plate.
"Those mashed potatoes don't have the answer in them," Mark says.
"Mark, I . . ." he starts.
"No, don't tell me. Tell Carol. Get things started. Tell her how you feel. You don't have to run back to her and forgive her all at once but, damn, at least start things off. Don't let her think you hate her. And don't hide everything until it's too late. Take it from me, the rest of your life can seem like a long, endless road ahead of you in one minute and change to a dead end in the next. Don't make the same mistake I did and wait until it's too late."
Doug nods. He knows Mark is right. He has to make a move soon. Maybe if he and Carol can talk about things . . . maybe then they can start sorting them out. He'll have to decide if he's ready to find out.
"Well, what kind of leads do you have?" Mark asks. He's talking to the detective, one of the same ones who has shown up at the hospital after every rape victim was brought in. Tonight there was another one.
"You know I can't discuss this with you doctor," she tells him.
"Fine, I could care less what you tell me but why don't you people find this bastard so I can stop sending bodies to the morgue!" Mark's face is bright red as he erupts in anger at the officer.
"Look, Dr. Greene, I know it's hard to stand by and watch as this animal's victims pour into your hospital, but you have to know we are doing everything in our power to catch him. He will be stopped, we just need time."
Time. There's that word again. Everyone needs time these days. It's positively maddening! He looks at the exam room where the latest victim is lying. They were able to stabilize this one; she'll be okay. Well, as okay as she can be after what was done to her.
He sighs and looks back at the officer. "I'm sorry, I know you're just doing your job. And I know you want to catch this guy as much as I want to see him caught."
"It's okay. In my line of work I'm used to being a scapegoat," she says with a smile. Mark notices her smile for the first time. She has nice teeth. It's a nice smile. He returns the smile.
"You too, huh?" he chuckles. They laugh a little, beginning to enjoy their newly discovered common ground.
"Hello?" Carol answers the phone. She's expecting to hear her mother's voice. Helen Hathaway seems to be the only person who calls her lately. But, the response she gets shocks her enough to make her clutch the kitchen counter to retain her balance.
"Hi," says the voice on the other end of the line. It's Doug.
"Doug, I wasn't expecting . . ." she begins stammering.
"Neither was I," he says. "I just thought maybe we had some things to talk over."
"Would you like to come over? We could talk in person. Or I could come over there. Or we could even meet at Doc's. This is probably something we should do face to face."
"I'd prefer we didn't if you don't mind," he replies.
"Oh, okay," she says, deflated. She gets the impression he doesn't want to see her. The real truth is he wants to do this over the phone so he can keep his resolve. He knows all too well that one look at her face when he tells her what he's feeling and he'll have no choice but to wrap his arms around her. He doesn't want that. Not yet.
"I . . . I just want to get things out in the open," he says.
"Okay, go ahead," she says.
"I . . . this whole situation has me, I don't know, confused. I love you. That's why I can't understand why you don't want us to be together. We've waited a lifetime and we finally found our way to each other. It took a long time and we endured a lot of things. Why aren't you ready?"
"Doug, you know I can't answer that," she says sadly.
"I guess that's why this isn't working," he says with an equally sad voice but she misinterprets his tone for anger.
"Don't be mad at me. I just don't know. It's not that I don't *want* to be ready, it's just . . . I don't think it's fair to tell you I am when I know I'm not. I just need time."
"Time seems to be a hard commodity to come by lately," Doug remarks. Carol doesn't respond. "How much time are we talking about here?" Doug asks.
"You don't get it, do you?" she asks.
"What?"
"You just don't see what I'm talking about. Listen! I don't know. This is all about me not knowing. I can't make myself know. I'm sorry, but that's all I can tell you." She doesn't want to yell but she doesn't know what else to do.
"Look," he begins as his anger starts to boil, "I'm not the one running all over town making out with someone else! I'm not the one who did something wrong here! You have no right to yell at me."
"Doug, wait . . ." Carol says as tears start to form in her eyes.
"No, you know what? I don't even know why I called you. I should have known we couldn't talk about this. You aren't ready for this because you don't really love me. If you did you'd be ready. I guess I shouldn't be angry. It's not your fault you don't love me. It's just hard to accept that I've been made a fool of."
She tries to respond but her tears overwhelm her and her throat tightens. "I'm sorry, Carol. I'm sorry I tried to make you do something you didn't want to do. I'm sorry I made you waste all this time dancing around a relationship you didn't really want to be in. I'm sorry I . . ." he stops. He was about to say he was sorry he loved her but that's not true. He can't apologize for that. Instead he says, "I'm sorry you don't love me." With that he can't take anymore and he hangs up.
"Doug! No, don't hang up!" she yells through her tears. It's too late. The line goes dead. Carol falls to the floor in tears. Her whole life just seems to be slipping away.
"Damn it! Damn you! Why'd you just do that?" he asks himself as he stares down at the phone in his hands. He'd broken her heart. Was that what he had in mind the whole time? Had he subconsciously wanted to hurt her so she'd feel like he did? 'What a jerk,' Doug thinks.
He gets up from the couch and walks into the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. He looks up into the mirror and sees himself. He's not happy with the image before him. He hasn't slept much in a week. He isn't eating. He has dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks are slightly sunken in. He'd never have guessed in a million years that he'd let a woman do this to him. Of course, this wasn't just any woman. This was Carol . . . his Carol.
This thought jolts him back to the present and he splashes himself in the face with more icy water. He can't let himself feel this way. He looks back to the man before him and says, "I need a drink." With that he heads to the living room to get his coat and keys.
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Created by Courtney Stovall © 1998
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