“Get out, Elliot,” she hisses through clenched teeth. “I don’t need to hear anymore.”
“I need you to hear the rest,” I say, panicked, knowing she’s not open to hearing what I have to say.
Bridgitte grows angrier as I continue to talk yet I say nothing of substance. I can’t form into words what needs to be said. All I keep saying is that I didn’t cheat on her, but she won’t hear it.
“Please, Bridgitte,” I beg, needing her to understand that I’m here to make things right again, that Nora means nothing to me and that I’ve made a huge mistake. “It’s over, I promise. I thought it was what I wanted but it’s not. I need you, not her.”
She still doesn’t understand what’s happened and the more I speak the more it sounds like I’ve been cheating on her. This is not the way I wanted this to go down. It’s a fucking mess.
“I don’t even know what to say,” Bridgitte states flatly. “But I need you to leave. I can’t do this right now.”
“No,” I insist. “I’m not leaving.” I try to be firm, but it only pisses Bridgitte off more.
“Get out, Elliot!” she screams, her sobs filling the room, her body is shaking and I hate that I’ve done this to her.
It’s late and the hospital is quiet. Visiting hours are long over and the sounds of our voices begin to echo in the emptiness, the argument eventually trailing out the door and down the hall. It only takes a few seconds after Bridgitte shouts for the nurse to enter the room.
“Sir, you need to leave. I’ve allowed you to stay too long already,” the nurse asserts, her hands on her hips as she steps away from the door. “Now!”
“Okay, okay, I’m leaving,” I say, my hands up in defeat, but I still walk back toward Bridgitte’s bed. “This isn’t over,” I state firmly as I lean down and kiss the top of her head. She pulls away, a look of hurt more than anger written on her face. “I’m sorry,” I say, knowing my words mean nothing.
I leave hurting and hating myself, and knowing I accomplished nothing.
Three days pass and I hear nothing from Bridgitte. I know she’s still at the hospital only because Maggie and Matt have kept me in the loop. They headed back to California last night despite Maggie’s reservations about leaving. Bridgitte’s parents and her sister have returned to their respective homes, leaving Bridgitte to fend for herself. According to what Matt and Maggie have told me, she said nothing to her family about our breakup, otherwise I’m certain they wouldn’t have left.
Bridgitte has nowhere to go since up until a few weeks ago she was living with me and as far as I know, she was crashing on the couch of a friend from work until the accident. That’s the last place she should be after her injuries and as much as she doesn’t want anything to do with me, I know where she should be.
She’s being released tomorrow and I have no idea if she has someone to pick her up, where she’s going to stay or if there will be someone to take care of her. I ask Maggie to look into it and despite all the shit that has gone down and Maggie stating she doesn’t want to be involved; she does it for me anyway.
Maggie gets back to me quickly and lets me know that Bridgitte is taking a taxi to a hotel and she plans on staying there until her doctor releases her to return to work. Not a fucking chance that’s happening.
I’m not trying to be all knight-in-shining-armor, but she needs a place to stay, a place she’s comfortable in. She needs her home, even if she doesn’t need me.
I show up at the hospital a few hours later, this time during visiting hours and I’m let in without a series of questions. I give my name, I tell them who I’m here to see and strangely, they let me in.
Bridgitte is making her way from the bathroom back to her bed when I walk in. She’s on one foot as the other one is casted to her knee. I wasn’t aware she had broken her leg and I feel my stomach twist into a knot as I watch her struggle.
She didn’t hear me come in and she startles when I come up behind her, placing my arm around her waist.
“Get out, Elliot,” she says, this time her voice is weak, and she practically crumbles against me. She tries to push me away, but I tighten my grip.
“Let me help you,” I say, helping her to the bed as she awkwardly seats herself and slides back toward the pillows. Each move makes her wince in pain, but she won’t look at me, she won’t make eye contact.
Looking away with her blonde hair falling across her face, she mutters, “I don’t want you here.”
“I know,” I answer back, my fingers reaching over to tuck her hair behind her ear and as I do it reveals several burn marks that mar her neck and a deep purple bruise that runs from the corner of her lip to right under her eye.
Her tongue slips out of her mouth and she wets her lips, and I watch her swallow hard before a few tears fall from her eyes.
“I want to hate you,” she whispers, and it’s barely audible. I know her well enough to know when she’s upset or angry she cries and just expressing her feelings will make her sob. “But I can’t,” she adds and this time the tears flood her eyes and spill down her cheeks.
“I didn’t come here to upset you,” I say, my hand smoothing down her hair and running down the length of her back. “I don’t want to argue with you.”
She nods almost imperceptibly and swipes the tears from her face. I sit down at the foot of the bed hoping she’ll look at me, but she doesn’t.
“Bridgitte,” I say and this time she turns, her eyes filled with tears, her face battered and bruised, and just the sight of her makes my stomach turn and my breath catches in my throat.
All I can think is, I did this to her.
“Come home with me,” I say, and there’s no question to my statement. It almost comes out as demand. “You have no place to go.”
She says nothing and by now she has looked away, her eyes focused out the window as a train passes by shaking the building slightly. The noise distracts me from her lack of answer for just a second, but I’m brought back when she still hasn’t replied.
“I’m not asking you to move back in or for us to get back together. You need someplace safe, a place that’s home, a place where someone can take care of you. Where I can take care of you,” I add and this time she speaks.
“You’re doing this because you feel guilty,” she says and I can hear her attempting to make excuses as to why she shouldn’t.
“I’m not. You’re hurt and it would be a shitty thing to leave you here alone. You know that.”
And again she doesn’t respond.
“You can have the bedroom. I’ll sleep in the guest room. We don’t even have to share a bed. You don’t even have to talk to me. I just need to know you’re okay, that you’re safe,” I state, trying to convince her.
“I don’t want to rely on you,” she says, choking back a sob and I move so I’m sitting next to her now. And for the first time since I walked into her room, she shows her vulnerability. She leans her body against mine, her head resting on my chest and she just cries.
I can’t even imagine how she’s feeling right now, how torn she must be. And throughout all her inner turmoil, she responds with, “Take me home, please.”