Disclaimer: As before

Author's Note: Thank you again for the reviews, and the nudges in the right direction on the fact front. I'm really enjoying writing these letters actually, hence why I'm throwing them out so quickly at the moment. Expect another chapter of Pushing Charts soonish as well.

Chicago

4th June 2007

Dear Ray

You wrote back. And so soon. I cannot begin to describe how happy I am simply to hear from you. When I saw your handwriting on the envelope it absolutely made my day, more than that, it meant everything. To hear that you're doing well is just… I'm so proud of you and the way you're coping. I'm sure it's not quite the breeze you're making out either, but it sounds as if things are going well, which is fantastic.

I'm so sorry for not telling you about what happened to me. God, I really do have an awful lot of sorries, don't I? I wasn't hiding things from you, not intentionally. I'd never do that again, believe me. I had reasons behind not telling you: I didn't want to burden you with my problems when you're going through so much more, but also I didn't want you to feel obligated to write to me just because I nearly died. There, I said it. I nearly died. I haven't said that to anyone else, I kind of haven't wanted to admit just how close a call I had. There have been a few moments, low, dark, horrible moments since then when I have wished they had let me die, but if they had, then I wouldn't have the chance to say all this to you now.

…Can you hear me take a deep breath? I just did. A huge one. My hands are shaking a bit too – I didn't realise how nervous I'd be saying this, but I guess it's something I've kept inside for so long. Well, here goes. You said you wanted to hear it.

Ray, when I first moved in with you, I had no idea how much of a fundamental part of my life you were going to become. I don't think I even noticed it happening. You were just there, all the time, and after a while, when you weren't there, I found myself wishing that you were. It was such a slow slide, it wasn't like I woke up one morning and suddenly realised I was in… I watched you change over that time from someone who didn't give a damn about any of it to a good caring doctor. A good caring man.

This is probably where I should say something about Michael, isn't it? I still don't know why exactly I married him. I'm not sorry I did. I loved him, he was a wonderful man, but… when he left, it was as if he had never been there at all. Sure, his ring was on my finger and we'd made all those vows to each other, but it was if he was still a virtual stranger, someone who was passing briefly through my life to be remembered fondly but who never really… was a part of it I guess.

And then all the time, in contrast, there was you. You were there every morning when I woke up and in the evening when I fell asleep. It was you I talked to, told about my day and drank beer and watched films with. It was you who I had a relationship with, not Michael, not my husband, and then when I found myself drawn to you as well, I felt so incredibly, indescribably guilty. Michael was away fighting and I was looking into another man's eyes and... feeling my pulse race and my insides melt. Because that's what you do to me Ray. Every time I see you, every time I'm near you. Even thinking about you now I remember the night you drove me home and… All those times I pretended you don't do that to me, it was a lie.

It was also a lie when I told you on the roof I wanted you to stay the Hell away from me. All I wanted you to do is take me in your arms and tell me everything was going to be okay. I know you couldn't, I know I wouldn't let you, but I wanted you to all the same. I've been a bitch to you this last year, I know, but that's why. I couldn't be near you without wanting to be even closer to you, and that made me feel so, so guilty. I was meant to be grieving for Michael, not thinking about you, so I pushed you away, I had to, it was the only way I could cope. I know I hurt you badly, unforgivably in my opinion (but that's up to you) and for that, as well as so, so many other things, I am truly sorry.

As for your accident, I'm going to take a lot more convincing than that that it wasn't my fault. I've behaved appallingly to you, and if I hadn't, we wouldn't be in the position we are now. Simple as that. I don't think I'll ever be able to stop blaming myself for everything that's happened, but the fact that you don't blame me is more than enough for now.

I still have to explain Tony don't I? Would you mind if I leave it to next time? I know you deserve an explanation about that even more than everything else, because it was certainly the most inexplicable of all my actions, but I can't write now.

Every word takes a huge effort to just get it down on the page, more than I thought it would. Seeing them all staring back up at me makes it so real, too real. I've always been good at denial (something I think you've probably figured out for yourself by now) but there's no room for that here, no going back on anything, no ducking out. I think that's good, I think that's what I need. One step at a time though. I'm so used to hiding, denying, ignoring what I'm feeling that admitting it to myself, let alone someone else, even you, is extremely hard. Sorry, I am trying. Please bear with me. I know that I've done nothing to deserve your forbearance but… that's what friends are for, right? (I'm hoping we're still friends. In fact, I'm praying, and that's something I haven't done for a while.)

So anyway, back to your letter. I feel like I'm being selfish again. How's the PT at the moment? Your appointment with the specialist is tomorrow, isn't it? Good luck, please let me know how it went. I know what you're like, I can imagine how much you must hate the sessions with the psychiatrist but it doesn't make you any less of a man to tell someone what you're feeling. I hope one day I can be that person for you, but I understand that that's going to be a while yet, if at all.

Taking some time out sounds good, although if you think you're going to get me to sanction you and Brett on a giant piss-up together in L.A. you've got another think coming Ray Barnett! It would be carnage. I'd have to fly out there and bail you out of jail or something; God knows no-one else will! Can't you go to… some Buddhist retreat or something?! All right, so that's a bit much. In fact, on a more serious note, I think it sounds like a good idea. Just be careful, hey? As for the travelling… why not? Where were you thinking? Promise me something though. You're an amazing doctor, medicine is your calling, even if you'd like to think it was music. Don't give up on it please.

And on the subject of music. Track four, right? I've been playing it on repeat; Abby's nearly ready to kill me. She says if she hears it one more time she's going to break the CD in half. Guess she never was quite as susceptible to that charm of yours! I can't believe you put Brown Eyed Girl on it as well. Didn't your computer explode at having something as terrible as Van Morrison downloaded onto it when it's normally so used to the finest of the punk rock era? And KC and the Sunshine Band? See, I knew you were a fan of cheese underneath all that eyeliner and black nail varnish! Thank you for the CD Ray, I love it, and that you made it just for me moves me so much.

There, I think that'll do for now, I'm already in danger of making this into a tome. I'm back at work soon – Dubenko's putting me on half shifts to start with, so we'll see how that goes.

Thank you again for writing back Ray, and thank you for listening, and just… thank you for being you. You mean everything to me.

Neela x

PS Can you (I can't believe I'm about to say this, you're never going to let me forget it…) call me Roomie again. Please. I miss it.

PPS I miss you.