The Doctor Who Has No Chance (Soulless 11)

One

Dex

My life was so fucked up right now.

I hated myself for what I’d done to Sicily, for making her cry like that, for hurting a wonderful person who deserved to never be hurt. I hated myself for getting involved with her in the first place, for being spontaneous, for getting jealous of Dom, for finding her drop-dead gorgeous in the blue dress…when I knew I was too broken.

When I knew damn well I’d never be able to give her anything real.

It was the most fucked-up thing I’d ever done.

We promised we would always be professional, that we wouldn’t let whatever happened between us personally affect our jobs, but I didn’t expect her to keep that promise.

She didn’t owe me a damn thing.

So, when I showed up at the Kline Clinic and my morning coffee was on my desk, along with my favorite breakfast, I was surprised. Slow-cooked oats with chunks of strawberries and bananas. When I took a seat, I saw my morning schedule, my call list, and everything else that needed my attention.

But I didn’t see Sicily.

After breakfast and notes, I went to my lab and worked until lunch. I wasn’t as focused as I usually was, because my mind was half on the conversation I’d had with Sicily last night…and half on Catherine.

Getting married…un-fucking-believable.

At lunchtime, Sicily didn’t come into the lab to inform me of anything, so I excused myself and returned to my office.

She was there, perfectly dressed and done up like nothing had happened the night before. She placed my food on the desk along with a couple papers she needed me to see.

I stared at her, but I didn’t know what to say.

What the fuck was I supposed to say?

When she turned around, she gave a slight jump, because she obviously hadn’t been expecting me there. A flash of rage moved across her expression, but she quickly covered it up, adopting a look of indifference…with just a touch of rage.

I blocked the doorway so she couldn’t get out.

Her hands came together in front of her waist, and she stared at me, waiting for me to say something.

I felt like shit. Lower than shit. “I’m surprised you’re still here.” I didn’t want her to quit, because she was a godsend. She made my life manageable, helped me reach my full potential, understood me so well that I never really needed to explain anything to her. But I would never ask her to stay.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

I didn’t answer the question. “I want you to know you aren’t obligated. You don’t owe me anything.”

Her expression quickly changed, disappointment creeping into her beautiful features.

“What?”

She cleared her throat before she shook her head. “Nothing.”

Maybe she hoped I would apologize and change my mind about the whole thing, but I never would. Being a terminal bachelor was the only option that made sense. Maybe it was possible to have a successful relationship, but I was too broken to have one now. I was permanently fucked up in the head.

“Unless you want me to quit?”

“No,” I said quickly. “No, I don’t. I just…don’t want you to feel obligated to keep your word.”

“I don’t feel obligated. You broke your word, so I can break mine.”

I winced slightly at the insult. “I told you I would try—”

“And you didn’t try.” She kept her voice steady, as if we were talking about something less emotionally explosive, the weather or sports. “You gave up. But that’s fine. Whatever. The reason I’m staying is because I believe in the work you do, and this isn’t just a job to me, but a way of life. My personal opinion of you is poor, but professionally, I still admire you as much as I always have.”

And just like that, she made me feel worse…without even trying.

“Let’s just move on, alright?” Instead of waiting for me to step out of the doorway, she squeezed by me, turning her body so she wouldn’t have to touch me at all, getting to the other side, her heels tapping against the floor less and less the farther away she disappeared.

With no motivation to work out, I just went home and lay on the couch. Sometimes I watched TV, but most of the time, I just stared at the ceiling. The year after my divorce was the worst year of my life, and now it felt like I was repeating it…round two. “How could she do something like that?”

A knock sounded on the door.

It was too much effort to talk, so I chose to stay quiet, just hope that the visitor walked away.

“Son?”

I closed my eyes and sighed.

He gave another knock, this one a little louder.

Derek had obviously told everyone. Now another intervention was on the way.

“I have a key. Should I just let myself in?”

I opened my eyes and sighed. “May as well…because I’m not getting up.”