Chapter 30: Blood on the Floor

On the way to the hospital, I asked if we could get a full blood panel. I wanted to get that out of the way, so I wouldn't have to repeat it for my annual medical checkup. Sarah said it would be easy to arrange. In the hospital, she led us to the lab, and specified full blood panel. While I waited for my turn (there were four patients before me), Sarah left for the Orthopedics department; 'to put an appearance' was how she put it. She would be catching up with me after doing her rounds.

An eternity later (I hate waiting in hospitals), my name was called, and a nurse directed me into a small room. She pointed me to the chair in the curtained area, and told me somebody would be with me shortly. Arranging a tray with needles and test tubes, she closed the curtain and left. A few minutes later, a woman in doctor's whites opened the curtain. It was Lizzie. Closing the curtain behind her, she turned her attention to me.

Oh, shit! OK, Mitch. Chin up, be civil... whatever happens.

With that thought, I readied myself.

Giving me a cold smile, she greeted with, "Good morning, Mitchell. Nice surprise."

I doubt that, Lizzie!

"Good morning, Lizzie. Nice to see you, too," I replied with as warm a smile as I could manage. It didn't have any effect at all, and I prepared myself for the worst, and to try my utmost to be polite. But, I was determined not to let her get away with anything.

She scanned her clipboard, and without raising her eyes, said, "Full blood panel," before she paused, her eyes catching something. "You're also taking the 'test'." Looking at me, she gave a nasty grin and said, "Sooo... Are you scared you caught something nasty from that little slut?"

"Lizzie. You're a doctor; I'm a patient. We're not at a party. We're at the hospital, and this isn't a social visit. I came here for a blood test, not to discuss my sexual history. Are we clear on that?"

Ignoring my remarks, she attacked again. "What? Did I strike a chord?"

From her question, it was obvious she was going to keep on insulting me and Sarah, and I didn't care for her attitude. So, I decided to return fire on another front to see if I could get her to back off. "Do you want me to file a complaint for unprofessional conduct, Lizzie?

Her eyes tightened for a moment, but she marched on. "Sarah is a slut-"

"That's enough, Lizzie," I cut her off sharply. Standing up, I said, "I see we have to do this the hard way."

"What are you doing?" she asked, suddenly alarmed, as I headed towards the curtain.

I turned to face her, and replied, "What do you think? I'm going to file a complaint. With your attitude, I wouldn't be surprised if this is not the first time this has happened, with a patient or one of the staff members."

"You can't do that!" she cried.

"Lizzie, are you delusional? The last time I checked this was a free country, and if I had complaints, I could voice them. I didn't know I have to ask your permission," I came back.

"I... I meant... you don't have to do that," she replied, stammering.

"What do you suggest I do? Sit here and take your abuse?" I asked, pointedly.

"I apologize," she said quickly.

She could see I wasn't impressed by her response. Collecting herself, she tried again, with a pleading tone. "Please, Mitchell. I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything."

"I was... I was hurting and angry," she offered, with a small voice.

I was getting pissed off with her attitude. When I had rejected her advances, she had resorted to a verbal attack, and brought it on herself. What's more, during the whole exchange I had never resorted to name calling. Now, instead of acknowledging her own fault, it looked like she was blaming me. I was almost tempted to give her a piece of my mind, and teach her a lesson. I wanted her to acknowledge her part about what happened at the party, but...

Why don't I ignore her, and get on with the program? Why am I trying to get to her? What do I care?

Then, why did I respond to her attacks? Why do I feel like teaching her a lesson? Why do I want her to acknowledge her part? I even wanted to hurt her. Am I just as spiteful as she is?

I never had been. I had hurt people before, with angry words when they tried to hurt me, and afterwards they had kept away from me. A few had tried to come back, but I had ignored them and, not getting a response, they had quit. I could be like a deaf and mute wall, when I wanted to be. Lizzie had been another one, trying a second time to hurt me, and I had responded, threatening her. Now, I wanted her to acknowledge her fault. Why?

Then, another thought crossed my mind. Why did I resort to threats? I could have just ignored her, until she had run out of invectives and attacks. Eventually she would have stopped, seeing she was talking to a wall. It was a time tried method, and very effective. In fact, some of the people who had tried to come back at me had been hurt more, because I was indifferent, not responsive to their attempts. It was an adaptation from Go Rin No Sho, Musashi's timeless strategy guide; 'being the mountain', immovable, indestructible. So, why didn't I try that? What did I care what she said or thought? She didn't count, and neither did her opinions or invectives. And, I seldom held grudges; it was a waste of time and energy. Did I hold a grudge against Lizzie?

I stood there, glaring at her, then took a deep breath trying to calm myself. I decided to let it go. Without a word I turned on my heels, walked back to the chair, and sat down. Leaning over, I clasped my head between my hands, my elbows resting on my knees. I kept massaging my forehead and temples, trying to ease the tension. But, my mind was still busy, trying to find answers to the questions that bothered me.

"Why do you hate me so much?" she asked with a scarcely audible voice.

I don't hate you, Lizzie. I just don't like you. Not one bit!

I didn't hate her, but I didn't like her, especially after the way she attacked. She was a vicious, spiteful little bitch. Previously, she had been just annoying, but now, she was an ugly little thing. I didn't care for her attitude, and manners, but they weren't enough reason to hate her. Was there ever a reason to hate somebody? Perhaps. But, I haven't found it yet. Composing myself, I turned my attention to her. She was standing there with the clipboard clutched to her chest, arms crossed. It was hard to miss the defensive posture. As my eyes took her in, I tried to soften my expression. She was watching me like a hawk, apprehensive, and irate at the same time. Although she tried to hide it, I could see the hurt and vulnerability.

"I don't hate you, Lizzie," I said, softly. "I never have."

She got a puzzled look. I wasn't sure if she was reacting to my soft tone, or expression, or both. I couldn't get a good read to judge if she believed me. Lowering my head and resting it between my hands, I thought about what I wanted to do.

Do I want to explain to her why I don't hate her? What do I care if she believes me or not? She wouldn't understand anyway.

Then, why am I considering if I should or not?

My thoughts were running in all directions, looking for a clue, trying to figure out the answer to that question... And, I stumbled onto something else; how Dana had lent a helping hand to me at the airport.

Why did she do what she did?

She was hurt in the past, and saw me hurting. Even though she didn't know a thing about me, she had guessed something bad had happened, and had taken a chance with me. She said as much, when we were at Sarah's discussing opening up our relationship. And, I had discovered her generous, kind, sharing soul, and had responded to it. If she hadn't crossed my path, I would be...

I thought about 'what if Dana had not crossed my path?' I was staggered by the implications. I wouldn't have learned things about Reina, I wouldn't have gotten involved with Dana, and I doubted I would have accepted Sarah's offer... If I had, it would have been a friendly, casual thing, but now it might be... I was aware of Lizzie's presence, standing there, watching me, and I could feel her apprehension and confusion, radiating out, in waves.

She brought it on herself, and deserved it...

Did she deserve it?

Of cour-

Why?

Because she hurt me.

Yes, but...

Suddenly, I wasn't so sure. I knew I didn't like her, but... it was my hurt and resentment responding. Did she have any redeeming qualities? I had no idea.

Did Dana know if you had... any qualities?

No, she di-

I realized I didn't know much about Lizzie. Almost nothing. What's more, I didn't understand why I was reacting to her so strongly. I went over the incidents at the party. At the time, when Lizzie had tried to get intimate with me, I had felt annoyed, and wanted to teach her a lesson. Now, I realized I had been very much offended by her actions, and very angry at her. After Sarah and I had put on the show for everybody's benefit, Lizzie's attempt had felt like a slap on my face, an affront; especially the thought she could sway me away from a woman I was involved with-it had been a carefully orchestrated show to prevent any such attempts, but that was besides the point. Afterwards, when I had taken up Sarah on her offer, and unsure if I was cheating on Dana, my guilt had added up to my anger at Lizzie's actions. Now, I guess, I was projecting my own guilt as anger at her. I suspected she was jealous, and I didn't care for that quality in any person, especially when they lashed out at anyone. She would probably go on with her life, doing the same thing to many others...

Could I make the effort... do I want to make the effort... to make her understand? Why should I?

Well, why did Dana do what she did?

She did it because she saw the hurt?

Yes, but-

But?

She had a generous heart, and that drove her to take action.

She... yes, she decided to do something about the situation, didn't she?

My eyes returned to Lizzie, taking her in. Her question to me was a trigger... haunting me... I kept thinking about her jealousy, her bitchiness, and vicious tongue, and her attacks, comparing it to my earlier impression of just annoying. Because I disliked her, I was tempted to say she wasn't worth the effort, and she didn't need the time of day from me or an explanation...

And who am I to judge? Why don't I make an effort?

She viciously attacked both Sarah and you.

And what am I doing? Am I any better? I call her spiteful, jealous bitch, and put her aside. If I don't-

If I didn't make even an effort, I would never know. It was all about taking chances, like Dana had taken with me. I'd been lucky... Making my mind up, I decided to give it a shot. The question was, could I pull it off?

Damn good question! How to go about it? It's going to be tricky.

Tricky? You're joking, right? Fuck, man! You don't know what you're getting yourself in. It's going to be like crossing a mine field. She's hurting, scared, suspicious, and her anger could flare at any moment.

I knew I was going to fly seat-of-the-pants, but I needed to work out a general plan and consider possible scenarios of how things could play out, otherwise I was bound to fail. Even then, there was very little chance of success depending on how receptive she would be, how open to the idea of looking at her own actions.

As I got busy working on the general outline of a plan, I turned my attention to Lizzie, and said, "I'm sorry, Lizzie. I wasn't ignoring you. I was thinking why you should believe what I said. I hardly know you, and I doubt you know much about me. I think you deserve an explanation, but it might take a bit of time. Do you have the time? I know you're busy, and there are patients, but this is important. Please?"

I must have caught her off guard with my request, because I saw her expression change from surprise to suspicion, to confusion, before she assumed a posture of relative calm, and seemed to consider my words. Perhaps, she sensed I was serious and sincere. After giving me an appraising look, she said, "Yes, I have the time."

"Thank you, Lizzie. I appreciate it. Please take a seat, and give me a second to collect my thoughts."

She pulled up a chair, setting it some distance away, but the distance between us was closer than before, which gave me a slight hope. In the meantime, I tried to formulate my thoughts; how to approach the subjects, in which order. There were ideas already taking shape, and I went about organizing them. The first step was to gain her trust, and I had an idea I wanted to use; remove the threat of complaint, consequently remove her perception that I was holding her to ransom. Blackmail or leverage might get you cooperation but it was nothing other than arm twisting, and trust never came into play. That was going to be tricky, because I suspected she didn't know anything about me. I didn't expect her to buy into my words, and knew she would need some concrete evidence. I kept working around the problem until I had a solution to my dilemma; how to remove the threat and make her believe I was sincere. I had no solution to deal with the question of her jealousy, and how to make her see it, and decided to wing it out if we ever came to that part. To tell the truth, I was dreading getting into that part, and was hoping we wouldn't.

Collecting myself, I turned to face her. "Lizzie, as I said, I don't know how much you know about me. Before I get back to your question, and explain, I have a question for you. Do you know that if I make a promise to someone, anyone, I keep my promise?"

She thought about it for a moment, and carefully choosing her words, she replied, "I've heard something like that."

"Do you also know that I keep my promises, regardless of the situation? Have you heard that I don't renege on a promise, because I'm at odds with the person at a later date?" I asked.

"I-I've heard that, also" she answered, hesitantly.

"Good. I didn't know if you knew those things about me. I believe in 'a promise is a promise'. I make a promise knowing that I intend to keep it, and I don't make promises lightly."

From her expression, it was obvious she was wondering where I was going with what I said. I didn't keep her waiting long.

"As I said, I don't hate you, Lizzie, and I don't have any interest in hurting you. For what it's worth I have no intention of hurting you professionally. So my promise to you is that I won't file a complaint... whatever happens from now on."

For a moment her eyes widened in surprise, but it was quickly replaced with a skeptical look.

"You may find that hard to believe, but I meant my promise, and if you'll allow me I can prove it," I added.

I didn't need a crystal ball to know that she was wondering how I could prove such an impossibility.

"By any chance, do you have any extra paper on that clipboard that I can use to scribble a note?" I asked.

When she heard that her eyes tightened, and it was obvious she thought the ax was going to fall.

"Lizzie, it's not what you think. If I wanted to file a complaint, I would be already at the front desk, doing just that. I made you a promise, and if you give me a chance, I'll prove it," I said, trying to reassure her.

Even though she was scared, she seemed to consider my words, while keeping her eyes on me, trying to figure out what I was planning to do. She knew I could have filed a complaint, and I haven't done that, yet. With a curious expression she slowly pulled out the first few pages-the patient forms that were already filled-in-and hesitantly passed the clipboard and her pen to me.

"You can use the back of the empty forms."

I pulled out one of the empty forms, and turning it over, quickly scribbled a short letter, dating and signing it. Holding onto the clipboard, I looked at her.

"As I said, I don't hate you, Lizzie. I don't hold grudges, and I don't go out of my way to hurt people. I have nothing to gain by hurting you. This is a no-strings-attached letter that you can use in any manner you want," I said, and held out the clipboard with her pen.

After a momentary pause, she took it, holding it as if it was going to burn her hand, and put it on her lap without a glance. Instead, she kept watching me. She was hesitant to look at my letter, and I got the feeling she was trying to figure out if I was setting her up in some way. Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her, and she scanned the contents of the letter. As I expected, her eyes flitted to me immediately for a few seconds, before returning to read it.

It was a short, 'Thank you' letter, commending Lizzie as a doctor for an excellent and professional service; the kind that patients write to show their appreciation. After she finished reading it, she kept her gaze on the clipboard, lost in thought. I guess, she was trying to come to terms with what I had said, and God knows what else. We both knew that I had no way of putting an official complaint when I had signed a letter to the contrary. Trying to give her some space, and privacy, I decided the contents of the tray with the needles and test tubes required my close examination, thus, I turned my gaze to the little tray. As the silence dragged on, I thought about what was in store for us in a short while from now on.

She broke the silence with a soft, "Thank you, Mitchell."

I turned back to her, and tried to gauge her mood. The apprehension she had had was gone, and she seemed calmer and more composed.

"I'm sorry for what happened," she said.

This time she sounded sincere, and I waited to see what else she was going to say. To tell the truth, I didn't have much faith, because of the words she had used. She didn't say "I'm sorry for what I did," instead, she used, "for what happened," and that implied she was distancing herself from her own actions.

Not only that, but that also implies you're not fully responsible for what happened!

As the thought crossed my mind, I felt something stir inside me. Although she sounded sincere when she offered her apology, I wasn't sure if she realized what she was doing. I waited patiently, to see if more was coming, but when she didn't continue, I felt disappointed. Her apology felt hollow, and now, I could feel resentment welling up inside me. I didn't want to engage her any more. We still had a journey if she wanted to go the distance. I didn't know if she would take the steps, and I dreaded accompanying her on that trip. From the looks of her simple apology, I suspected it was going to be an arduous journey, and I didn't feel ready and up to the task. What's more, my resentment could complicate the difficult task more than it already was. The silence dragged on, as she mulled something in her mind, and I was caught between hope and dread; hope that a proper apology might be forthcoming, and dread if she would choose any one of the dangerous destinations awaiting us.

You chicken shit! Looking forward to high tailing at the first opportunity!

Yeah? Well, I'm not ready. I'm not Dana. I have my own fucking problems to deal with. Jesus, man! Didn't you hear the lousy apology?

What did you expect? A gift wrapped letter in neatly scripted hand writing? You know she has issues, and maybe she can overcome them, maybe she can't. Are you going to quit on her?

Aaggghhh! Shut your trap! You always get me into trouble.

My thoughts were interrupted by Lizzie. "You don't like me."

Although she offered it as an observation, it was a question.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Lizzie. I don't like what you did... what you do."

"But you never liked me, Mitchell. Why?" she asked.

Now, her previous question made some sense. Initially, she thought I hated her, and now, she thought I never liked her.

"Never is a big word, Lizzie. In the past, I didn't know much about you to like or dislike," I replied.

"But you avoided me," she came back.

"Yes, I did. I'm not going to deny that. After a few occasions of meeting you, I avoided you, but, that's got nothing to do with like or dislike. I did the same to a few other girls, like your friend Macie, for example. While some girls tried to gauge my interest a few times, they quit after I indicated my disinterest. Macie, you and another-I don't remember her name-were more insistent, and kept ignoring my hints. After a while, I found the attention annoying and irritating. Since none of you seemed to give up, I tried to avoid you all. You're a beautiful woman, Lizzie. You must have had unwanted attention from some guy who didn't take a hint. Just because I avoided some girls doesn't mean that I didn't like them. I just didn't want to keep fending off the attention. So, in the past, I didn't particularly like or dislike you. I wasn't interested in anyone."

She thought about what I told her, then asked, "Then, why did you do what you did?"

"I just told you, Lizzie. I thought you understood."

"That doesn't explain anything," she replied.

"Umm. What are you talking about, Lizzie?" I asked, confused by her reaction.

"Don't play games with me, Mitchell," she retorted with an irritated tone.

I didn't like her tone at all, but trying to keep my composure, I calmly replied, "I'm not playing games, Lizzie. I don't understand what you're getting at."

With an exasperated tone, she said, "I'm talking about that slut. Why did you..."

I didn't hear the rest of what she was saying, because when she used the word slut, and I made the connection to Sarah, my resentment turned into instant anger. As my anger welled up, I heard the rush of blood in my inner ear, rumbling like a freight train, and the rest of her words got lost in the noise. I felt my temples throbbing with each heartbeat, and the heat of my anger. Then, my training kicked in, and I took control of it, shaping it. It became a cold wind, sweeping through my body, filling me with an icy chill. With a detached aloofness I contemplated my next action. My mind was already busy going through a list of choice words, making selections-like ungrateful, miserable, venomous, bitch-for an opening salvo of my verbal attack. Just as I was getting ready to tear into her...

"I-I... I'm sorry... I am sorry!"

She was fortunate, because somehow her voice made it through, and that was what saved her. It focused my attention on her, instead of what I was planning to unleash on her. I caught the alarmed look on her face, and that had been enough warning for me to clamp hard on my anger, and stop myself from opening up on her, as if pulling on the emergency brake in a runaway train. I averted my gaze, and tried to get rid off my anger and resentment. My heart was beating hard, and I tried to calm down, taking deep, cleansing breaths to get rid off the tension I was feeling.