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I cock my head to the side. “We both know that you’re still pissed off inside.” I pause for a minute, seeing if he will agree, nod, or do something to fill the void, but he’s silent.I should tell him; I think to myself. Tell him what I went through and how shitty it was to recover from that and let go of the anger that manifests inside. I’ve learned a lot about trauma and how people handle it and it’s clear he chooses the path of avoidance.
Children who experienced trauma can grow up feeling vulnerable, and confused, and spend their whole life avoiding relationships so they have control. Experiencing that neglect and pain once is all they needed to scare them into living life alone. Other victims never heal and look for love in all the wrong places, taking what little bits and scraps someone offers, even if it’s not healthy, and the cycle repeats over and over.
Ryan’s mom chose one path, and him and I chose the other.
Knowing that, can I really criticize him? What have I been doing this whole time? Filling my world with enough to keep me busy every day so I don’t focus on the loneliness. I’m quick to judge him when we aren’t that different after all. When I’m lonely and start to wonder if I’m ready to be in a relationship, I fill the void by picking up another shift at the hospital, starting another project, or getting a second job. Ryan finds a girl to take his mind off of it for the night.
We both have shut ourselves down from feeling anything because of how we’ve been hurt.
“I’m sorry, Ryan.” I move my arm from his bicep to forearm. “No one should ever have to go through that, nochildshould ever have to see that. It’s a shit world we live in.”
“You can say that again.”
He rests his hand over mine, trapping it between his skin and I soak up his warmth. “It’s amazing how successful you are, especially given the circumstances. Is that part of the reason you became a doctor? To better yourself? Or to help people?”
“Sort of. I wanted to have a good job and not have to rely on anyone. As my grandparents got older, I went with them to appointments and realized medicine interested me. My grandparents didn’t have the greatest health, and it surprised me how little they understood what was going on. I try to remember that when I’m working and push myself a little harder, try to spend more time with the patient even if it makes for a longer day.”
“I’ve noticed how much time you take with the patients. I admire it.” From our first day working together—even with anxiety fogging my mind that he was the same guy from the bar—I could see his passion and amazing bedside manner.
For the first time in a few minutes, he breaks eye contact with his beer glass and looks at me, chocolate eyes studying mine. He turns on his barstool to face me, his long legs caging mine in and I refuse to budge, begging for more contact from him. Begging to feel the warmth through my body that comes with a simple brush of his arm.
“What about your sister? Where is she?”
“She moved to Florida to escape the Midwest. Married a cop she met down there. We talk a lot, and she comes up every few months to visit. She’s the only person in my life I trust. I’m trying to convince her to move back here someday.”
“Is that the family issue you were upset about the other day?”
He nods. “My mom is pretty sick, from what I hear.” His face takes on the most serious expression as he continues. “How big of an asshole am I—my mom is sick, suffering from the effects of her poor choices. I’m a doctor, but I don’t feel any urge to help her?”
My chest aches for him, wanting to pull him—and the eight-year-old inside of him—into my arms so badly. “I don’t think it makes you an asshole at all,” I tell him softly but surely. “It sounds like she never came back to you, or for you. Maybe she was physically back but not emotionally.” Certainly, doesn’t sound like she tried to have a relationship with him until twenty-five years too late. Maybe I’m still jaded, too. She holds the title of mom but doesn’t deserve the respect. I’ve learned a lot on my journey, and I’ve decided you don’t always have to forgive those who hurt you to be able to move on. “Not everyone would agree, but I think it’s okay to say, ‘fuck her.’”
His face finally breaks, and he laughs, a deep, rumbling laugh that has me arching as I sit up, wanting to feel the vibrations of my skin. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse before now. It sounds good coming from your lips.”
He smiles down at me, reaching his arm across my back to squeeze my opposite shoulder before letting it fall to rest on the back of my chair. His touch is a buzz, more potent than any alcohol I’ve ever tasted. I lean into his reach for a second, soaking in the effect he has on me.
“So, what about you? What do you do on your days off from work?” I ask as I pick up my forgotten glass of wine for another sip, wanting to lighten the mood.
“Nothing too crazy. I’ll meet up with some old friends. Go to the gym a lot. Jim and I are big into three-on-three basketball. I did a small triathlon last year and it felt good, just started training to do an Ironman someday.”
I cough a little, choking on the last bit of wine and his response. “Youwould.”
“What?” he says with a smirk, sitting up a bit taller on his stool.
“It’s not enough for you to be a handsome, successful doctor? You have to be a star athlete too? What else is there? Do you foster puppies in your spare time, and inoculate orphans in impoverished countries?”
“Trying do my part for the greater good.” He flashes a wide smile.
“Well, humanity thanks you for your efforts.” My mouth opens to ask if he also plans to do anything else in his spare time, like solve the agricultural crisis in Yemen when the bartender announces last call. I check my phone, in shock at how fast midnight arrived. It felt like ten minutes ago I was hiding in the bathroom to escape my awful date.
“Ready to get out of here?”
I’m sure he means “get out of here” in general terms, but my body floods with heat at his comment. After spending the last few hours together, I feel a new connection to him, one that leaves me wanting a hell of a lot more than his friendship. He abandons the last half of his beer as I shimmy off my stool to grab my coat. I slip one arm into my sleeve when I feel a firm hand lift the collar and the remaining fabric, helping me put it on, that same warm hand wrapping around the back of my neck to gently tug my hair out.
He ushers me ahead of him, standing close as we walk out. The night is much cooler than my walk-in. The brisk air prickles the delicate skin on my exposed collarbones, and I lean into Ryan, his arm immediately coming around to tuck me to his side.
“Where did you park?” he asks. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“I only live a few blocks away, so I walked here.” A walk home would be a good idea. Cool my thoughts about the man standing next to me.
