Brokenhearted (2/?)
My initial displeasure at getting paged quickly turns into gratitude. I don’t even bother to hide my delight at the sight of the mangled body coming out of the ambulance. It is a welcome distraction. I spend the next several hours working alongside my colleagues to save the young man. When we rolled into the ER, I noticed her standing there, looking for me, but she drooped off when she saw me. I’m not sure if it was because of the venomous look I shot her or because she always puts patient care first.
After nearly losing the patient for the third time, I look over and my eyes connect with Mark’s. We share a look of understanding and I shake my head slightly in regret. It’s rare in burn victims, but the only way we’ll be able to stabilize him is if I amputate his legs. I’m disgusted with myself for my initial revelry at the man’s misery for my own selfish reasons. I think Mark knows something’s going on because he keeps shooting me concerned glances, but I ignore him and focus on the task at hand. Our usual chit-chat during surgery is absent and when I’m done, I walk out of the OR without saying a word.
He comes in while I’m scrubbing out and just watches me in silence. I know he’s waiting for me to talk first. But I can’t. I can’t talk about it. I can’t think about it. “Callie?”, he prompts when I turn around and dry my hands. I toss the paper towel in the trash and head for the door. “Not now, Mark.”
I expect that to be the end of it. But he follows me out, grabs hold of my arm and drags me into an empty break room. I could have easily shaken him off, but part of me is glad he's here. The other part of me, the annoyed part of me, huffs and stands in the middle of the room with crossed arms. "Torres. What's going on? Did you and Robbins get into a fight?"
I flinch when he says her name. I can feel the tears welling up again and I turn around. I can't break down right now. I won't. If I start crying now, I don't think I will be able to stop. I noticed the eyes following us into the room and nosy gossip-mongers peering through the window. I've had so many mental breakdowns in front of SG personnel, I'm surprised I'm not nicknamed McWeepy. There's no need to ruin my badass reputation in front of the new Mercy Westers too. I tighten my jaw and start pacing. I won't allow myself to feel the hurt right now, but my emotions have to be dealt with somehow. So I pace and I embrace my annoyance with Mark. I fuel it until it turns into full out rage. "Quién crees que eres?! Arrastrándome lejos...Usted no tiene derecho!" I yell at him, my eyes blazing.
Of course this doesn't faze him. He remains his usual stoic self, calmly waiting for me to finish yelling. This would normally piss me off even more, but I suddenly feel very tired and I don't have the energy to yell anymore. I slump down on the couch. He walks over and sits next to me. "You know that nurse Derek used to sleep with?", I say eventually.
He nods. “Yeah sure, Rose.” I stiffen at the sound of her name, the image of Arizona sliding towards me as I stand in the elevator flashing before my eyes. Mark turns to look at me, concern evident on his face. “What about her? Last I heard she transferred to P…”, he stops, face twisted in a mixture of realization, shock and worry. It would have been comical in any other situation. My nod and the broken look in my eyes is all the confirmation he needs. He puts his arm around me and I crumble. He only gets up to lock the door and close the blinds. I don’t know how long we sit there before I pull away, my eyes red and puffy, his scrubs a shade darker and wet from my tears. “We have to check on our patient.”
He seems to understand my need to put the lid back on my feelings and get busy. He nods and moves to the door. He gives me a moment to compose myself before unlocking it. “Mark”, I stop him before he has a chance to swing the door open. He turns around and I’m startled by how furious he looks. His expression softens when our eyes meet. I know he enjoyed torturing George after he cheated on me. But I just figured that’s how he treated all the interns (except the ones he sleeps with) and it didn’t have much to do with me. Until this moment, I never realized how protective of me Mark really is. “Thank you”, I say hoarsely. He steps closer and squeezes my shoulder. “Anytime, Torres.”
He was there when I broke up with George. He was there when my marriage ended. He was there when I struggled with my newfound bisexualism. He was there when George died. He’s always there. I suddenly find myself longing for the comfort I used to find in his arms. The pleasure his whoring skills provided me with. The blissful empty-mindedness after our on-call room escapades. Before I can question my desire, I fling myself against him and my lips connect with his. He just stands there in shock so I run my hand up and down his chest to spur him on.
I don’t hear the door opening and I am frustrated when he forcefully pushes me away. When I try to find his lips again, I notice his face is turned to the door. I follow his gaze and my heart breaks a little when I see who is standing at the entrance. The look on her face must be very similar to the one I was sporting mere hours before.
“Lexie”, he says and he runs after her, leaving me alone and feeling repulsed by what I’ve done. I inflicted the same pain I am feeling onto a sweet, innocent bystander. I used my best friend and possibly ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to him. With one stupid decision, I have managed to betray all the people who are closest to me. I feel the bitter taste of bile making it’s way up my esophagus and I run to the trashcan. I’m relieved when I glance at the clock and notice my shift is over.
My head is pounding and I feel sick. I want nothing more than to crawl into bed and never wake up. I sigh in frustration when I remember we have dinner plans. I can’t go to my apartment, she’ll be there waiting for me. I consider crashing in an on call room, but I can’t risk facing her if she decides to find me. I bow my head in shame when I recall why I can’t crash at Mark and Lexie’s. I cautiously leave the room and head for the stairs as fast and as inconspicuously as I can. When I reach the basement, I’m hit by a wave of nostalgia as I follow the familiar path to the place I called home during the first years of my residency. I’m relieved my stuff is still there and inwardly thank my younger, careless self who never bothered to move the crap out. I also thank the lucky stars the chief didn’t bother to check out the place.
The adrenaline rush I got from sneaking down here isn’t wearing off and I’m left feeling restless and energized. I plug in my old playstation and spend the rest of the night maneuvering Lara Croft through obstacle after obstacle, from high mountains to low waters. And when my fingers tire, I press the pause button and stretch, wishing my life had a pause button. Wishing I could hit try again and start over when I make the wrong move. And most of all, wishing I didn’t use up all my hearts.