Change My Mind

Chapter Eight

Tom stood and watched Anita walking away, feeling helpless. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to follow her, but he didn't feel that he should… that he could. Even though he hadn't known, he should have. If only he had heard his phone ringing, if only he'd left earlier, if only he'd been there with her. He leant against his car, wanting desperately to turn back time and have been there for Anita. He wanted to have been there to hold her hand, to have reassured her. Instead, she had had to make do with Diane, whom she had never spoken to before. Instead of a familiar face, she had been with someone she had barely known. Had barely known, and had barely liked. And it had been his fault.

He could think of no way that he could make this up to her. She had given him a second chance, a chance to be a part of her life again, and he had thrown it away. He had thrown away his last chance, because a part of him realised, even at that moment, that he had hurt her terribly. She would never risk that hurt again. But if he could get her to listen, maybe she would understand, maybe she would forgive him. Maybe.

He tried to call to her, but no sound came out. He was shocked to realise that he was crying.

*~*~*

Ric, his arms around Diane's waist, tried to unlock the door with one hand, kissing her as he did so. They were both giggling, Diane's tears long gone. "I've missed this," he whispered into her hair, as he succeeded in opening the door, and led her inside. She dropped her bag just inside the door, and kicked her shoes off.

"You making yourself comfortable?" he teased, pleased nonetheless to see how relaxed she seemed. Any sign of hesitation, and he would have felt as though she did not want to be there. But Diane was not normally shy or ill at ease, and this was a situation she had been well used to in the past. A long time ago, but at one point, she had been more used to being in Ric's house than her own.

"Well, if you'd rather I stood around uncomfortably…" She giggled, and thought in astonishment how natural it seemed to be here. It seemed easy, natural, familiar, to be in Ric's house, in Ric's arms, knowing what was about to happen, knowing that she wanted it to happen. Knowing that she was happy for once.

"Not really," he replied. His hands found their way into hers, and she smiled shyly at him.

"I've missed you so much." She didn't trust herself to say more, feeling as though she was on the verge of tears. She couldn't quite explain why she felt like that. It wasn't the same sort of teary feeling she had had earlier; she felt happy now, complete. And yet she felt tearful. She had spent the last few years of her life feeling unfinished, as though there was something missing. It was so strange to suddenly feel safe, she felt overwhelmed by it all. Unable to speak, she smiled up at him again.

He saw that her eyes were full of tears, and smiled down at her. "I've missed you too."

*~*~*

Anita found herself walking home. She could have gone to get her car, but her feet were moving of their own accord. It was relaxing. She liked it. Whilst she was walking, she didn't have to think. And when she didn't have to think, she didn't have to hurt. But the walk was too short, and all too soon, she found herself standing outside Tom's house, debating whether or not to go in. If she went in, she would have to face him. And if she faced him, she would have to apologise, explain why she had over-reacted so. Because it hadn't been his fault. If he had been in the bar with Ed, he wouldn't have heard his phone ring. She had been in the bar, she knew that it did get noisy. She also knew that he would never have ignored his phone ringing, especially not if he had seen that she had been the one ringing him. But her rationale had kicked in too late. Why couldn't she have realised that he wouldn't lie to her? Why couldn't she have realised that whilst he was still there?

As she walked bravely up the driveway, she noticed that his car wasn't there. So she didn't have to worry. He wasn't home. A sudden fear overwhelmed her. What if she had finally pushed him over the edge, what if she had forced him to drink? She unlocked the door and went in, calling out his name in the false hope that he might be there.

He wasn't. And, sinking into the darkness of her room, she began to cry.

*~*~*

"Good morning," Diane murmured, rolling over to face Ric. It was early, very early, still dark outside. But she had woken up, and couldn't even contemplate going back to sleep… not without talking to him first.

He opened his eyes slowly. "Hello, gorgeous."

"Hey." She smiled at him. "It's been a long time since we woke up like this, hasn't it?"

"Too long," he replied, smiling back at her.

She paused, unsure of whether to say anything else. She spoke almost without realising that she was going to. "You know, seeing you with Anita made me realise how much I really do care about you."

He laughed. "Well, I'm glad you realised it."

"So'm I," she replied, kissing him.

"I realised from the moment I saw you sitting in my office, when you first came to Holby," Ric told her. "And from that day on, I couldn't believe that I'd managed to live for so long without you."

She blushed. "It seems like ages ago," she said. "That I came back, I mean."

"Only a year or so." He held her closely to him. "One of the worst years of your life, I'd imagine."

"This more than makes up for it."

*~*~*

Anita was sitting on her bed, her face wet with tears, flicking aimlessly through a box of photos. She hadn't planned to. They had just been there. She wanted to do something, anything, to take her mind off the fact that she had possibly made Tom feel worse than ever, sent him back to drink. Done the exact opposite of what she had been meant to do.

The photos were old… some were in black and white, some were in colour, most of them were slightly bent or folded. She had been meaning to put them into albums for years. She stopped flicking through them when she came to one. She looked at it for a moment, trying to decide why she had been so drawn to this particular one. The girl in the photo was four years old and had long black hair and big blue eyes. She hadn't changed much. The little girl was crying. Again, not much difference there, Anita thought sadly.

She thought for a moment, trying to remember why the little girl with her hair in two plaits would ever need to cry. She'd had a pretty easy life. Her only troubles had been grazed knees, bumped elbows, the usual injuries of a clumsy child. She had broken her leg once. Painful, but less painful than a broken heart.

Into the midst of her silent reverie came a noise. The slamming of a door, a harsh noise, breaking through the pitiful sobs that were choking her.

"Tom?" she called out, hoping for and dreading his reply.

She heard him run up the stairs, and he pushed open her door. "Anita…" He had spent the past few hours trying desperately to think of something to tell her, to explain away his actions, to beg for her forgiveness. But when he saw her, he was unable to think. Unable to think about anything but the woman standing in front of him, crying, and crying because of pain he had inflicted on her.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, knowing even in that instant, that the words were meaningless. Tongues can lie. Only hearts are always truthful.

"I know," she replied softly. "I know." She crossed the room towards him, and buried her face in his shoulder, feeling his arms encircle her.

He stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do. He held her closely to him, knowing instinctively that she needed consolation, and yet knowing that this was not forgiveness. This was necessity. It was the fact that she had been to hell and back that day, and she needed someone to comfort her, someone to tell her that it was all going to get better.

Eventually, she moved away from him, and sat down on the bed again, silently. She had hurt him. She had accused him of not caring, when she had known that that was the one thing he never would be guilty of. She had over-reacted. Everything she had done, over the past few days… she had been twisting the knife, breaking his heart, slowly and deliberately. She spoke quietly. "I'm sorry. I should… I… just… I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" he asked, slightly confused. "I… I'm the one who left you alone, I was…"

"I know you would never deliberately ignore me," she told him gently. "I overreacted, I should have believed you. And… I'm sorry." He was kneeling on the floor, looking into her eyes, and she continued, explaining herself, trying desperately to make herself sound better than she felt. "I – I've hurt you, I know I have. You can say that I haven't, but you'd be lying, I can see it in your eyes."

"You know me too well." It was just a comment; he wasn't trying to accuse her, or to flirt with her. He was simply telling her. "You might have hurt me, but I hurt you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but an eye for an eye makes everyone blind." Anita let him take her hand. She looked for a moment at her bitten nails, the chipped red polish, just one more thing that she needed to fix. She looked back at Tom. "This isn't working, is it?"

He glanced away for a moment, then looked back at her. "What isn't?"

She slid off the bed, and knelt on the floor next to him. "This…" She paused, unable to form the sentence, because saying it would make it real. "Us. This, our situation. It's not working."

He put his arms around her. "What do you mean? It's… there's nothing wrong."

"There is, and you know it," she said, softly. The tears began to fall again, and she didn't bother to brush them away. "Tom, we can't help it, I'm hurting you, you're hurting me. I don't know whether you know it, but you are." She swallowed the lump in her throat and continued. "Maybe it would be best if… well, if we didn't… if I…" She stopped. "If I moved out," she said, finally.

"Anita…" he said, slowly, unsure of what to do. He felt as though he should stop her, as though he should try and keep her close to him, but he couldn't deny that she was right. She was hurting him, he was hurting her. But, to him, the solution was different. "Couldn't we just… try again?"

She shook her head slightly. "Tom, I don't want to lose you…"

"So you want to move out? Anita, I don't understand."

"Because…" She stopped, sighing. "Tom, if I stay here, I'm going to end up hurting you really badly, and I'm going to lose you because of it. And even if… if we tried again, then… I don't honestly think that it would work. Not yet."

"Why not? I love you, why shouldn't it work?" He was almost begging with her, because he could see no way back from this. Once she had done this, it seemed like the death of any hopes he had ever had for their relationship to recover.

"Tom, it just wouldn't." He was looking as though he wanted more explanation, so she elaborated. "When I see you now, all I can see is someone who walked out on me, who lied to me, and who abandoned me." She saw the hurt on his face, and hastened to continue. "I'm sorry, but that's the truth."

"So… what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that… I need to trust you before I can even think about letting myself love you again." She stood up. "I'm sorry."

"Don't… don't do this." He stood up as well, and caught her hand. "Don't go."

"I have to. Tom, I could stay and ruin everything just for a few days, or I could wait a while, and it might really be worth it." She let him hold her close for a few moments, let him hold her, kiss her, run his hands through her hair… and, for those few moments, she felt that she was willing to take a chance on forever, if it gave her even a few instants of happiness now. But she pulled away. "No… no."

"Anita, how can you be so certain that this'll work?" he demanded, trying desperately to convince her to stay.

"It has to. It just has to." She gently pulled her hand away, and moved towards the door. "It has to."