She walked out that door again.
Again and again she turns her back on me.
Again and again, my heart aches for something in her to finally snap, for the light bulb to finally come on, and for her to walk back in.
But she doesn't.
I rationalize that she's hurt, that I've hurt her.
But she had all of the control.
She took my life.
She took my career.
She stole my heart.
I try to rationalize leaving her.
But I can't bring myself to it.
The thought of not having her in my bed every night, not seeing her fly out the door every morning, not seeing her stumble into the door every evening...
I can't think of that.
It's much too much.
I open her locker out of curiosity, just to remind myself why I love her, perhaps.
The yellow scrub cap drops to the floor, and I pick it up, thinking back to that time in our relationship. I hang it on the hook inside the door, and I find the note I left her with the key taped to the door.
She never fails to surprise me.
There's a coffee cup that seems a bit old, but familiar. It couldn't be that cup. It's probably just trash she threw out.
But she did say she couldn't throw stuff away. I wonder...
There's some scrubs, and tennis shoes, and a package of new underwear, minus a couple pair. There's a package of new socks as well, unopened.
Text books are stacked up in the bottom of the locker.
All about cardiothoracic surgery, no doubt.
How could I be so blind.
There's caffeine pills, 2 bottles. Make that 3, but one is empty.
There's journal articles about different kinds of sutures to use in CABGs.
I dragged her across the line with me.
She didn't drag me across that line.
I close the locker, gently at first, and when I hear the click that signifies that it's closed, I slam my open hand against it. No point in making worse what is already bad.
"Dammit!" I yell, hitting it again. I need to talk to her.
My heart is racing, as are my thoughts.
I need to talk to her.
I place my hand on the cold steel handle of the door and let out a long exhale, and pull it open.
She's standing there, her hand out as if she were reaching for the door.
She looks scared.
"Cristina?" my voice is hopeful.
"I, uh...I'm not on call tonight. Bailey took me off the call schedule. I don't know what's going on, but my name isn't on...it isn't on the call schedule." she rambles, there are tears welling in her eyes.
"Let's go.." I fear the worst.
"Burke, I don't know. I don't know what's going on. She won't return my calls, nobody will tell me what's going on." she continues, her voice is trembling, her skin pale.
"Let's go home, Cristina." I urge her, my arm around her shoulder.
"I can't go home. I was supposed to be on call." She's panicking.
"We're going to go home and call Bailey, okay?" I try anything I can do to persuade her.
She nods, and I pull her close, as if protecting her from unseen threats, "Okay...okay. We can fix this, right? We can fix this?"
I look down to her in a curt nod, "We can fix the call schedule. We'll go to the Chief and talk to him."
"That's not what I meant." she mumbles as we arrive at the car.
"Cristina..." I'm left speechless by her.
"Because, if I'm off the call schedule, that probably means I've either been kicked out of the program or they're Izzietracking me. And there are two things I have to have in my life, surgery and you. And if I can't have surgery to keep my mind off of things, if I can't go into the OR to think, I can't lose you. Because those two things are what keep me sane."
I close my eyes, and my heart surges with excitement. Maybe she's coming around. "We can fix this...but it's not going to be easy."
"I know it's not easy. We've both made some mistakes. And we've both done some...things that we regret. But we have to fix this." she repeats again, taking my hands into hers.
I kiss her forehead, "We can fix this."
She nods, and then slides into her seat of the car, and I close the door.
Just when I think I have her figured out.