Hearts Will Never be Practical Until They are Made Unbreakable ~ L. Frank Baum
I close the door behind me and lean on it. Covering my face with my hands I let out a long exhale. If I ever needed a moment this would be it. My head is spinning and for a beat, I feel out of balance. What I’m feeling is throwing me back. My heart is pounding in my chest. I’m so incredibly gone for her. And the sex. Christ. Beyond incredible.
The night definitely spiraled out of control. I curse under my breath. I was supposed to talk to her, not take her to my bed. When she’s around, my self-control seems to run like water through my fingers. It’s there but you know it’s just a matter of time until there will be none left. I’m powerless trying to resist her. It’s impossible. Hopeless. Borderline excruciating. Tonight’s outcome just hammers in the fact that I need to get my head sorted, away from her. No contact till I figure out how and if this thing can work beyond the friends’ realm. At this point, I don’t believe we can just go back to what we were. I wish we could . . . for now.
I clean myself and put on a pair of boxers. God damn it, I need to talk to her now. Possibly the worst time if there ever was one, but I can’t leave things like they are right now. I need to get things off my chest before I leave. With a brick in my stomach, I open the door and go back to bed. I keep my distance, sitting on the other side of the bed.
Anna grabs my deserted t-shirt and puts it on. I immediately mourn the sight of her bare and stunning. She smiles at me. “That was—”
“Incredible,” I finish her words on an exhale. I look at her and a frown settles between my brows. I chase a smile futilely. What I’m about to deliver eating at me.
Anna worries her lips, gauging me. “I know that you were clear about where you stand, but I think it’s time we revisit that, what with how things developed. The thing is—” She gives me one of her brilliant smiles. “I really like you, very much so.”
No, please, please don’t go there, I beg wordlessly.
The trouble coloring my features prompts her to further worry her lips, hesitance bringing along a guarded quality to her posture. “I’m going to stop pretending not to want you more than a friend,” she says, parachuting us smack-dab in the middle of a minefield.
The frown creasing my features deepens. I lick my lips and take a breath, dying a little inside. I fight the urge to take her into my arms and never let her go. “Yeah, you beat me to it,” I say instead in a soft tone. “This is what I wanted to talk to you about before what happened—happened.”
My eyes taper as I notice her fingers fiddling nervously with the hem of the shirt.
“We should have had this conversation before tonight, before getting into bed together. Not that I regret it, it was phenomenal.”
“Okay,” she says, lacking enthusiasm this time as she waits for me to go on.
This is so fucking hard, but I need to do it. “I hate doing this while we’re still in bed,” I begin. I feel like such a prick. I shouldn’t have slept with her, not tonight. “And I really tried to talk to you before things started.”
She nods all the more guarded.
“Anna, listen, I’ve done it before. The attempt at a serious relationship in the early days of my residency,” I say, staring deep into her eyes. “And it ended really bad. Really bad. I wasn’t around enough; I wasn’t paying attention enough. She didn’t take it well, as supportive as she tried to be. It started with a huge fight after I wasn’t there for some important event. And then the little fights, constantly. Anytime I fell asleep during a show or movie or was too tired to go out with our friends, or that we weren’t able to do things like others, long weekends, spontaneous overnights. Our relationship had been strained to a breaking point by my singular focus on achieving my life’s goal. It was a disaster. There was so much heartache and disappointments, and eventually damage beyond repair.”
I send my hand to the nape of my neck. “See . . . ” I hesitate, trying to make sense of my feelings, to make her understand I’m not trying to hurt her. “I love what I do. And right now, if I want to make it through my last year of residency, it requires my full attention. Being a resident is like an ongoing test – it’s grueling and you have to show up and do exceptionally well if you want to get accepted at a great hospital down the road. And that’s my main focus.”
I lower my eyes, my jaw ticking under my skin. I lift them back to Anna. “Cheryl, that’s her name.” I inwardly pause. This feels so wrong, saying someone else’s name while we’re still on tangled sheets.
“She wasn’t in a good place when we broke up. She needed much more than I could have given her. She was vulnerable and I wasn’t there to support her. I found myself torn between trying to be there and be the person she wanted me to be and it just didn’t work, not with my job. And when I decided to end it for both our sakes, she took it badly. I’m sure there were other triggers, but she sank into a deep depression and I saw this person who was important to me deteriorate. I had a part in it. I think our breakup might have been the canalization. I don’t want another person going through so much pain because of me. I can hardly forgive myself for one person ending on antidepressants.” Saying that out loud burns.
I resume with, “I’m well aware of what I can offer at this point in my life and it’s not enough to maintain a healthy relationship.” I swallow. “It would be selfish and unfair. And the fact is I know from experience too much take from one person in the relationship throws both you and those around you out of balance.”
I run my hands through my hair and then sit up a little straighter, set in determination. “Right now, my main focus is on my career . I’m still trying to figure out how to make that work for myself – there is no work-life balance when you’re a resident. If you want to succeed, there’s only work. I can’t have a relationship thrown in to the mix . . . not now. It’s just too much.” It’s fucking tormenting doing this.
“Not with you,” I say softly. “I can’t do this with you. I’d be damned if I’d ever make you feel neglected.”
I already feel like shit having her look at me like she does right now. The look in her eyes tells me that the intimacy we shared just moments ago that felt like it stretched out for miles is the same gap forming between us.
She hugs a pillow to her chest. Her voice fights to stay leveled as she replies, “There are many reasons why a relationship won’t work. People can be in different places in life, comparability, expectations. It doesn’t necessarily need to be complicated schedules. It’s all about balance and what expectations you have for one another and communicating that.”
“You’re right, that’s true in normal relationships,” I say. “And I wish that were the case for me. But in my case, that’s the main reason my relationships didn’t work out. Believe me, I tried. Not to mention this last one where deep feelings were involved and it ended in a fight to end all fights. I don’t want to repeat that, not with you.”
I’m finally laying it all out there. And it’s civil and mature and courteous and so immensely, unbearably, excruciating. All I want is to tell her that I want her and beg her to wait for me. I want this huge spool of pain growing rapidly in my chest to get out. It presses too tight. I don’t want to lose her. Yet, I can’t tell her that. I can’t do this to her. Keep her in some limbo, and that’s if she even agrees to it.