Destroy Me

by Laura Bailey

  Brenton stood up and found a newspaper that someone had left on another table, looking around and finding a magazine further down on another table and bringing them back.

  “Let’s go grab another coffee and go back to the room.”

  She walked with him as he fetched the coffees and they returned to wait for Damien.

  The hospital was quiet at this time of night and it felt eerie as they walked back to his room, both of them aware that it could be several hours before they found out if he was ok.

  Brenton found a chair from another room and brought it in to sit on as Tara took the one by the bed.

  She felt tears start to come as they sat in the quiet. Brenton was absorbed in the sports section of his newspaper, or pretending to be at least. She was thankful for his presence, his calm stoicism keeping her in check, moderating her from going into a state of hysteria.

  The night was unendurably long as they waited, panic gripping her from time to time and tears falling but she kept it mostly together in front of Brenton, knowing he was just as worried. She thought at one stage he had fallen asleep but he moved his hands and she realised he was just resting his eyes. There was no way she could fall asleep until she saw Damien again. She realised she’d never really felt what love was until tonight.

  She left the room every couple of hours to find a nurse, to ask if they had any news, but they assured her the Doctors would let her know as soon as they possibly could.

  She heard footsteps all night, sounding like they were coming to the room and each time her heart would pound, yet they never did come until finally a Doctor appeared in the doorway.

  Her heart began to hammer and her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands as she braced herself for his news.

  “He’s out of danger.”

  She raised her head to the ceiling in relief.

  “He’ll be brought back soon. He’s in recovery at the moment but he’ll be ok. It will take him several weeks to recover fully though. We’ll keep him in here for the next two weeks.”

  “Doctor, thank you so much, thank you.”

  “Thanks Doc,” Brenton added, the relief on his face evident.

  “He’s a survivor,” she heard Brenton mutter as he grinned.

  Some time later Damien was brought back into the room asleep, the nurses telling Tara and Brenton that they were not to wake him, that if they were determined to stay, they would let him rest, that he needed to recuperate.

  Neither of them were prepared to leave him until he had come round and spoken to them, but they did as the Nurses told them, letting him sleep without touching him, though Tara longed to.

  Brenton fell asleep in the chair, finally able to relax, and Tara watched Damien as he slept, his face showing no trauma from the events.

  She wanted to touch his face, kiss him, hold his hand but she knew she couldn’t yet.

  At some point she must have drifted off, awakening to the sound of a gurney bashing against a wall in the corridor and as she opened her eyes she saw Damien looking at her. He smiled as he watched her.

  “You’re awake darling.” She reached for his hand. “How are you feeling?”

  “Sleepy.” He smiled again, the effects of the sedation not having fully worn off.

  “You’re going to marry me Tara,” she heard him say as his eyes closed again.

  She didn’t try and wake him up, letting him rest, hoping the more sleep he got, the quicker he would recover, but thrills ran through her; the dominance and assuredness of his character there still, even in a hospital bed. She grinned at him as she watched him sleep, a happiness she’d never felt before filling her, that he had pulled through, that he was back, self-confident and strong in his mind, despite the condition he was in. She loved him for that alone; his absolute strength.

  She found herself falling back to sleep, her cheek lying on top of his hand on the bed.

  The surgeon returned later that morning to check on Damien, and seeing them all fast asleep in the room, he coughed to wake them up. He needed to get her up off Damien’s hand so he could take a look at him.

  Damien expressed his gratitude to the surgeon for the work he had done on him, shaking the doctor’s hand though the effort to do so was hard for him.

  After the surgeon left, Damien asked Brenton to go and see on things at the office. He didn’t specify what things in front of Tara but she assumed Brenton knew what he meant.

  “I don’t expect you to stay Tara. You should go home and go to bed.”

  “Thank you but I’ve slept; I don’t want to leave you.”

  “Good. I’m glad. Stay with me.”

  His hand held onto hers and she sat beside him, stroking his head as he drifted in and out of sleep.

  She stayed with him all that day, leaving him only to get drinks or use the bathroom, and as night came she pushed the two armchairs together to make it more comfortable to sleep, unwilling to leave him.

  The next day, Damien was irritable when he awoke, swearing about being stuck in a hospital bed.

  “You should go Tara.”

  “It’s ok; I’m happy to stay.”

  “I said; I want you to go.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  His face belied what he said. The expression in his eyes was one of absolute torment. He looked haunted.

  “Can I get help? Are you in pain?”

  “Listen to me; I asked you to go. Now leave. I can’t..” He didn’t finish. His voice was cold, impersonal.

  She stood, confused by his sudden change.

  “What time I come back?”

  He didn’t answer. His eyes were searching as though he were thinking about something, anxiety clearly evident in him.

  She left him, finding the tension in the room too unbearable, his coldness too chilling. He seemed to be able to turn on her, just like that. Of course, being in a hospital bed seriously injured must be hugely frustrating, especially for such an active man like him, but he could be so mean to her and she hated it. He’d done it before; walking out each time he’d finished seducing her. There was something so wrong with him, deep down. The night she had stayed at his mansion outside of D.C., when she’d found him in his gym; fury in his body and tears running down his face. Though he’d looked terrifying, she had never thought he would hurt her; she knew in her gut he wouldn’t. It wasn’t his violence she was afraid of; it was his pain, and she remembered the words he had said to her then, “Some people don’t deserve what others have.”

  She didn’t understand him.

  Her heart broke for him, but for herself too. She felt wretched again as she walked out of the hospital. She wanted to walk back in there, have it out with him, but she couldn’t do that to him in the physical state he was in, lying there injured. She wouldn’t win anyway. He had a will that surpassed her own.

  She was going to call a cab but saw a bus waiting that she thought would take her just as quickly to the other side of town, back to her apartment.

  Back in her hotel room that afternoon, lost and confused once again, in limbo and seemingly rejected once more, she came to a decision. She recalled the conversation she’d had whilst in London, with her friend at Oxford University. With the help of Damien’s money, the money he refused to take back, she would do the PhD she had always wanted to do, but never been able to afford. She wanted passion and purpose in her life, and that was what she had found when she had been at Oxford studying. Not passion of the physical kind, nothing like her and Damien, but that didn’t exist any more, and she didn’t want it with anyone else. She needed something in her life, a purpose, an achievement. She’d put it on hold to save up for it but never got close. Perhaps now she could finally turn all this trouble to her advantage. She had to. She had nothing else. She couldn’t go back to her job in London; it would remind her of him too much.

  Though she didn’t want to think about leaving Damien; she knew it was the right thing to do. He would never love her. />
  Grabbing her laptop, she started researching current PhD projects being supervised at the University; already thinking of an idea of the thesis she wanted to do. She would have to write a proposal to be accepted. It would be a lot of work, but right now she needed a focus like she’d never needed one before. If she didn’t have something to do, she would go crazy at the loss of Damien.

  It crossed her mind to just leave tonight, but when she checked the flights there were none left that were not exceptionally expensive and she could not justify spending thousands on first class. She booked one for the following night instead, her hand hovering over the confirmation button as she thought of Damien, wishing things had not turned out this way, but pressing it in the end, knowing she had no other choice. Her time here was finished.

  The afternoon passed quickly as she worked on her research proposal, her mind occupied and refusing to think of Damien.

  She slept well, when she eventually went to bed in the early hours, having called the hospital just before she went to sleep, unable to stop herself, needing to check Damien was ok.

  She spent the next day working more on the proposal, needing to come up with a good one to be accepted to study there. It was hours until her flight that night. She went out briefly for food, bringing it back with her.

  She hadn’t decided if she would tell him or just leave. He would recover and carry on without her. She would go to Oxford and try to build her own life.

  The hardest part was waiting it out at the hotel, too early to go to the airport for hours yet, and eventually she found herself automatically making her way back to the hospital, to tell Damien, and then get the bus to the airport. She would have hours to wait in the departures lounge, but at least if she were there she couldn’t change her mind.

  She had to tell him, it was the decent thing to do; she couldn’t just leave him lying in a hospital bed wondering.

  As she walked into his room, she saw the look of confusion on his face as he saw her suitcase.

  “What’s going on Tara?”

  “I’m leaving. I’m flying this evening. I needed to tell you.”

  “To London?”

  “Oxford. Once I have a place there. I’m going to do a PhD.”

  He tried to sit up but couldn’t manage it.

  “You can do it at the University in Washington.”

  “No.”

  “Tara, please let me apologise to you.”

  “It’s ok.”

  “No. It’s not. There’s someone I need you to go and see, here at the hospital. Please go and talk to him.”

  “Who?”

  “He’s a doctor here. He’s just been in to see me. Hopefully he’s in his office. Please pass me my phone; I’ll call him and tell him you’re on your way.”

  She reached for his phone and handed it to him, suddenly concerned that he must be more seriously hurt than they had told her.

  She heard him talking to the doctor. “Yes, it’s fine. Please explain to her.”

  Her anxiety rocketed again.

  “Dr Robertson. Room 624, on the fifth floor. He’s expecting you.”

  “Ok.”

  She left her case on the floor by his bed.

  Coming out of the elevator on the fifth floor, she quickly looked for the room.

  Finding it she knocked on the door.

  “Come.”

  She went inside.

  “Dr Robertson?”

  “Yes. Tara?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please take a seat.”

  He was grey haired, with a beard and glasses and sharp grey eyes, smartly dressed, sitting behind his desk.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Damien has asked me to talk to you. It’s easy to explain; not quite so easy to fix, but he wants to try, and that is the most important part.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She noticed his name tag.

  “Psych doctor?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s not about his injury?”

  “Not physical injury, no. Damien started seeing me a couple of weeks ago. He should have come to me a lot sooner ideally, but the good news is he will get better.”

  “I don’t understand. What’s wrong with him?”

  “Physically nothing, well apart from a gunshot wound! He has something called Survivor’s Guilt; it’s a form of PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress; an extremely common condition for men who have seen some of the things he has. Many military veterans have it; few seek to face it and conquer it, but that’s what Damien has chosen to do. And for that I admire him. Many choose to drown themselves in drink, drugs, or promiscuity to seek a solution. Fortunately he has never succumbed to any of those.”

  He paused as she tried to take in what he was telling her.

  “He feels guilt at being alive, frankly, when others have perished. Guilt at not being able to save everyone, and that gives him flashbacks, nightmares. It also heightens his worries for people he cares about, and I take it that especially means you, given that he has told me you are to be married. Essentially, he doesn’t think he deserves to be happy, and so he sabotages the good thing in his life to ensure he cannot be happy. He pushes the thing that makes him happy away from him. He realises he’s doing that, but he wants to stop. If he continues to see me, for a very short while, he will stop. Things will get immensely better. He will understand that he does deserve happiness.”

  The doctor smiled kindly at her.

  “Will he be ok?”

  “Yes. Of course. He’s completely fixable.”

  “Thank you Doctor, for explaining it to me. I really do appreciate it.”

  She rose and left him, knowing he must be a busy man, not wanting to take too much of his time, and wanting to see Damien again now.

  She realised she had had no real understanding of the suffering Damien went through at times, no perception about it’s cause, and she felt a deep sense of sorrow for him now, realising how hard it had to be to admit to something like that, and have brave of him to open up about it.

  She wandered the corridor slowly as she processed the implications of this. She was glad he had sought the Doctor out. That he wanted to get rid of the pain. That it could be taken away from him. He didn’t deserve it.

  She saw a strong ray of hope for them, and the realisation came to her that he did want her; that he could love her.

  She made her way back to Damien’s room.

  “You spoke to him?”

  “Yes. Thank you. I’m sorry Damien. I didn’t know.”

  “Come here please. You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about. It’s I who needs to make it up to you. And believe me, I fully intend to.”

  He lifted his hand toward her and she took hold of it.

  “Tara, I know I’ve been difficult, and I know it won’t always be easy for you, but I’m in love with you, and that’s never going to change. I want you to be my wife. Because I love you. For that reason. And, let me add, I might be in this hospital bed, but I’m warning you, I will hunt you to the ends of the earth if you leave me. I’m never going to let you go. So don’t even think about trying it.”

  He was smiling; the look in his eyes both threatening and seductive, and she knew there and then that he would.