The nurses.
Maybe I shouldn't generalize like that, considering I'm a nurse myself. But it was the nurses. They were the ones from whom Luka discovered the little rendezvous Carter and I carried on with during that one week.
As happy as I was with Carter, that week was one from Hell, in all seriousness. Looking back, I realized how much I tortured myself, and how much I weaved all these emotional beatings to myself. Beatings. Hat's what they felt like, and I was doing it to myself. In some ways, I don't ever want to think about that week again. Those seen days were some of the worst I've ever experienced. I only pray that I will never have to revisit something as horrible.
So why am I still thinking about it? I smile. I smile in the wind brushing my own hair against my face and grip the rail in front of me. I feel like there is actual strength in my hands.
Carter and I don't have the best name, generally speaking, at the hospital anymore. Sure, we have our little "fans," the few people that have been brave enough to say that what we did was horrible, but that we were "perfect for each other." I don't know if they're meaning this, they could turn around and start up more gossip about us. However, there are some people who admire what we did, even though they won't say it. They're probably ashamed; thinking now, I wish that our relationship could have possibly begun a different way. At least Carter and I would have better reputations. And there are the people who still just don't know. But by the time the gossip train pulls up to their station, I only wonder how they'll treat us.
We still get professional friendships in some cases. All the nurses, except for Lydia and Haleh sometimes, still talk to me. Still laugh with me. Carter hates that I'm losing friends because of this. He told me one night. But he's going through the same thing, and I wish that weren't the story. Lately, he's been reviving his friendship with Weaver professionally. I guess that's a good thing for him. I never liked Weaver much, either, but we're starting to get along. I think she might really get the gist of what we did.
Either way, as much as I should, I don't care about what people think. Not as much as I thought I would, either.
I just know that I love Carter. Love him to pieces, to death. I'd die for him, no doubt, when I look at him. Whether I'm waking up next to him, or he's in green hospital scrubs with his hair wildly arranged into a mess. I'd run my fingers through that hair and wish I would never have to let go of him near me.
I always think about him. When I'm walking to work, riding the L with the scream of the train in my ears, or when I'm falling asleep. Of course, his arms around my body is the most peaceful reminder that he's with me. I don't know if he thinks about me as much as I think about him. It doesn't matter, though. When I'm lying there with him, and he's drifting away and back to sleep again, I think he might be dreaming of me. Or us. I think that he and I are as important to me as it is to him.
As much as I don't want to revisit that period of time in which I *hated* myself, I learned something about a month afterward. Luka stopped by when Carter had to work a later shift. He tried to sit me down on the couch, until I finally gave in.
So he cheated on me.
At first, I wanted to just bark at him for everything there was. I didn't show any sign of it at all, but it was there. I told myself that he was a bastard that he was a horrible person and could never, ever feel any remorse for what he did. But all of these feelings lasted for a second. Luka used to be my lover. Whether our relationship was healthy or breaking down, the fact remained the same. I knew, inside, that Luka would feel guilt. It was possible that he might have went though what I did. And if he didn't, then I won't let myself care. Because I did the same thing.
And that was the first step toward a real recovery between me and myself.
I guess that I realized something. I realized that what I did was wrong. Of course, I already knew this, but I learned something else that I can't put my finger on. Maybe, that I wasn't alone? That if he was doing the same thing, he was doing what I did. And possibly tearing himself up over it. And if he wasn't, then I felt like I left him for the right reasons, even if having an affair was the wrong thing to do.
Luka resigned a week later. I hadn't seen him around the hospital much, but when news came of him resigning, obviously there were a lot of fingers pointing in my direction. Chuny cleared it up for everyone, I believe, behind our backs. Gossip is her tool, I tell you.
But I still don't want to think about it.
A soft zephyr crosses the river, a whirlwind of dark tresses flowing across my face in a fluent motion. I smile and curl them behind my ears, breathing in that deep, rich, yet dirty smell of Chicago. This city... it showcases, it holds my life.
I shake my head and run my hands across the rail again in front of me. The cold is not a big comparison to the raw wind against my face, so I continue. This is peace. Finally. I worry like a normal human. Like a person should. I'm open, I'm different. I'm with someone I love. I'm healthy. I think I'm going to be okay this time.
"Abby?"
I turn around, fully aware of the smile flashed across my cheeks. I let my head fall to the side a little bit.
"Come sit down," he says, his own little whimper against a smirk as he pushes out a hand into mine. I accept it gladly and take a sit as close as I can to him on the bench, snuggling into the comfort of his arm.
I don't remember feeling this way. Ever. I guess he's just one in a million.
He's that one for me. He is.
I wonder why I ever held myself from him. He's holding me tightly to his side, and with all this forty-degree weather nonsense, all I can think about is him and how much I love him.
And for once, thinking to myself isn't so bad.
--
I hope that was a good enough "wrap-up" deal there. :) Let me know what you thought.
-mandy
Maybe I shouldn't generalize like that, considering I'm a nurse myself. But it was the nurses. They were the ones from whom Luka discovered the little rendezvous Carter and I carried on with during that one week.
As happy as I was with Carter, that week was one from Hell, in all seriousness. Looking back, I realized how much I tortured myself, and how much I weaved all these emotional beatings to myself. Beatings. Hat's what they felt like, and I was doing it to myself. In some ways, I don't ever want to think about that week again. Those seen days were some of the worst I've ever experienced. I only pray that I will never have to revisit something as horrible.
So why am I still thinking about it? I smile. I smile in the wind brushing my own hair against my face and grip the rail in front of me. I feel like there is actual strength in my hands.
Carter and I don't have the best name, generally speaking, at the hospital anymore. Sure, we have our little "fans," the few people that have been brave enough to say that what we did was horrible, but that we were "perfect for each other." I don't know if they're meaning this, they could turn around and start up more gossip about us. However, there are some people who admire what we did, even though they won't say it. They're probably ashamed; thinking now, I wish that our relationship could have possibly begun a different way. At least Carter and I would have better reputations. And there are the people who still just don't know. But by the time the gossip train pulls up to their station, I only wonder how they'll treat us.
We still get professional friendships in some cases. All the nurses, except for Lydia and Haleh sometimes, still talk to me. Still laugh with me. Carter hates that I'm losing friends because of this. He told me one night. But he's going through the same thing, and I wish that weren't the story. Lately, he's been reviving his friendship with Weaver professionally. I guess that's a good thing for him. I never liked Weaver much, either, but we're starting to get along. I think she might really get the gist of what we did.
Either way, as much as I should, I don't care about what people think. Not as much as I thought I would, either.
I just know that I love Carter. Love him to pieces, to death. I'd die for him, no doubt, when I look at him. Whether I'm waking up next to him, or he's in green hospital scrubs with his hair wildly arranged into a mess. I'd run my fingers through that hair and wish I would never have to let go of him near me.
I always think about him. When I'm walking to work, riding the L with the scream of the train in my ears, or when I'm falling asleep. Of course, his arms around my body is the most peaceful reminder that he's with me. I don't know if he thinks about me as much as I think about him. It doesn't matter, though. When I'm lying there with him, and he's drifting away and back to sleep again, I think he might be dreaming of me. Or us. I think that he and I are as important to me as it is to him.
As much as I don't want to revisit that period of time in which I *hated* myself, I learned something about a month afterward. Luka stopped by when Carter had to work a later shift. He tried to sit me down on the couch, until I finally gave in.
So he cheated on me.
At first, I wanted to just bark at him for everything there was. I didn't show any sign of it at all, but it was there. I told myself that he was a bastard that he was a horrible person and could never, ever feel any remorse for what he did. But all of these feelings lasted for a second. Luka used to be my lover. Whether our relationship was healthy or breaking down, the fact remained the same. I knew, inside, that Luka would feel guilt. It was possible that he might have went though what I did. And if he didn't, then I won't let myself care. Because I did the same thing.
And that was the first step toward a real recovery between me and myself.
I guess that I realized something. I realized that what I did was wrong. Of course, I already knew this, but I learned something else that I can't put my finger on. Maybe, that I wasn't alone? That if he was doing the same thing, he was doing what I did. And possibly tearing himself up over it. And if he wasn't, then I felt like I left him for the right reasons, even if having an affair was the wrong thing to do.
Luka resigned a week later. I hadn't seen him around the hospital much, but when news came of him resigning, obviously there were a lot of fingers pointing in my direction. Chuny cleared it up for everyone, I believe, behind our backs. Gossip is her tool, I tell you.
But I still don't want to think about it.
A soft zephyr crosses the river, a whirlwind of dark tresses flowing across my face in a fluent motion. I smile and curl them behind my ears, breathing in that deep, rich, yet dirty smell of Chicago. This city... it showcases, it holds my life.
I shake my head and run my hands across the rail again in front of me. The cold is not a big comparison to the raw wind against my face, so I continue. This is peace. Finally. I worry like a normal human. Like a person should. I'm open, I'm different. I'm with someone I love. I'm healthy. I think I'm going to be okay this time.
"Abby?"
I turn around, fully aware of the smile flashed across my cheeks. I let my head fall to the side a little bit.
"Come sit down," he says, his own little whimper against a smirk as he pushes out a hand into mine. I accept it gladly and take a sit as close as I can to him on the bench, snuggling into the comfort of his arm.
I don't remember feeling this way. Ever. I guess he's just one in a million.
He's that one for me. He is.
I wonder why I ever held myself from him. He's holding me tightly to his side, and with all this forty-degree weather nonsense, all I can think about is him and how much I love him.
And for once, thinking to myself isn't so bad.
--
I hope that was a good enough "wrap-up" deal there. :) Let me know what you thought.
-mandy