I don't own the characters. They are owned by NBC and Michael Crichton and all those who write, produce, and etc…ER. If I did own ER, Neela and Ray would be together…since they're PERFECT for each other.

Anyhow, this follows (sorta) INNER BATTLES AND DEMONS. Basically, what happened at the end of I DON'T still happens. Sorry. However, Ray and Neela are married, but had a newlywed tiff and she loses control…again. This is what causes Ray to go to the bar and drink, which, in the end, sends her out of control even more.

If you don't like, blame the muses! LoL) I hope my muses aren't continuing to be rusty and that you enjoy!

It's funny how you can control something for a long time and then, without warning, it comes back to control you…again…and that is what happened. It's hard to say where it all began again. For years, I had battled demons within myself and with the help of friends and other loved ones, I gotten it all under control.

Or so I thought.

It may have been re-triggered by the whole process of planning my wedding. The first one was kind of like thrown together, but my marriage to Ray was going to be done right. After all, I had loved Ray for as long as I can possibly remember. To make the wedding perfect and encase everything I dreamt of as a little girl, I was planning the hell out of the wedding. So much so that Ray offered to get a wedding planner, but I declined. I wasn't going to trust anyone else with something so important as my wedding. Especially since it was Ray I was marrying. Ray, despite his imperfections, is perfect and I wanted our wedding day to reflect that and I wanted to be perfect for him.

That was the beginning. I think. Planning a wedding is tough work. Working to get the perfect flower arrangements. The perfect wedding dress. The perfect menu. The perfect everything. The perfectionist in me rose up from the dead, which meant I had to achieve the perfect weight so that I could fit into that perfect dress that I had hanging in Abby's

Surprisingly, the wedding went off without a hitch. Well, except for the fact that I was nearly an hour late because of traffic on Lake Shore Drive. Not to mention the fact that the car I was in got behind every slow driver in the entire Chicago Metropolitan area. I actually had to have Abby, my matron of honour, call and let Ray know I was coming.

I managed to get past that and when I walked down the aisle and saw Ray…well, all the fears and frustrations and fights over the wedding melted and life was perfect. The most important thing to me in the wedding was there…in his tuxedo. The one I managed to con him into wearing and I can promise you I was happy I did.

But, the first indication that I was losing control was the fact that we had this beautiful meal and I picked at it. Ray sat there, in silence, watching me pick at my food. He never said anything, but he knew the path I was starting to head back on. All he did was hold my hand and I felt like I could, again, control what was beginning to rear it's ugly head.

I knew that I could, with Ray's help (again) keep control of my eating disorder.

And, it seemed, for the first few months of our marriage, it was everything I imagined it would be. We had our normal spats about cleaning (which I do…Ray was trying, I'll grant that) or who'd do the laundry. We even had a spat over which part of Chicago to live in or how to decorate the house. Spats were normal, but that's just marriage and we never went to bed angry with each other. There are times we fight just so we can make up.

But, this was different. This was a real fight.

It started with that drunk girl in the bar, hitting on Ray. I didn't know that he was trying to tell her he was married. I didn't hear that. All I saw was this tall blonde bimbo in the shortest skirt with the longest legs I'd ever seen hanging all over my husband. When Ray brought our drinks back to the table, I was silent, bordering on cold.

Ray sensed something was wrong, but he rightfully said nothing. Anything he would have said would have been wrong. Instead, he merely sipped his beer and looked around. This, of course, also irritated me. The leggy blonde got under my skin and old insecurities started to rise. The only person I could think of to be angry at was not her, but Ray.

I couldn't say anything to Ray. In my mind, I couldn't see how he could possibly understand why I was upset. The walk home was cold and silent and the war raged inside me. I couldn't control the fact that women - tall, leggy, skinny, busty women - were attracted to my husband.

How do you compete with that? After all, I'm only 5'3". I'm not fat, but I'm far from being Barbie Doll thin. My breasts are, for a lack of better description, similar to me: not too big but not too small. Ray always told me they are the perfect size.

But, when you see the type of women that hit on Ray, you'd see that they are the stereotypical California girl: Tall, busty, leggy, tan, and perfectly white teeth. They are also ready and willing to do things to Ray that I can only imagine doing.

So, the battle begins again. How do you fight a war you thought you already won?