The Doctor Who Has No Chance (Soulless 11)

I continued to squeeze my fingers as I listened.

“I’ve spent the last few weeks thinking about you, not her.” He shook his head. “You. I know I’ve hurt you, and I’m so sorry for that. I’m sorry that I’ve been a wreck for most of the time we’ve known each other. I’m sorry that the timing has been so fucking terrible. But she came to my apartment last night and made a move, and I could have gone for it, but I didn’t. You want to know why?”

I was speechless, so absorbed in his words that I didn’t feel like I needed to say anything at all.

“Because I’m in this relationship with you.” His elbows moved to his knees, and he shifted forward. “Even when you were with Zach, I was in this relationship with you. Even when we’re apart, I’ve been here. I’m here—and I want you to be here too.”

The eye contact became too much, so I dropped my gaze and stared at my hands.

He stayed quiet, giving me the opportunity to respond and all the time I needed to form that response.

It was a lot to take in, a lot of information in just two minutes.

“Baby.”

Against my will, my eyes lifted.

“Please.” He brought his hands together again, as if praying. “I’m not going to fuck this up again.” There was so much desperation in his eyes, so much emotion that he could convey all of that without using words.

“Can I…think about it?” I didn’t jump into his arms like I thought I would. I loved this man so much, but I didn’t just run to him in celebration. There had been no warning that this would happen, and I wasn’t ready to let the past go and move on…in that moment.

Disappointment entered every feature of his face, from his brown eyes to his tense jaw. His hands slowly lowered, and his throat shifted as he swallowed. He eventually gave a nod. “Yeah…take all the time you need.”

Twelve

Dex

A week went by, and Sicily didn’t address what I said.

She was quieter than usual, only saying the bare minimum when we were together, and her eyes were usually averted.

I was terrified her answer would be no.

That there was nothing I could do to get her back.

I didn’t want to move on with someone else, and I didn’t want to go back to Catherine, not when I now knew what real love felt like. It was like going from the generic shit to the real thing, and there was no going back.

But I told Sicily I would give her the time she needed—so I had to keep my word.

I knew she loved me, so I had to put all my faith in that.

My dad had been really quiet since that dinner a couple weeks ago. When I texted him, his responses were always short. I wasn’t invited over for dinner on Sunday nights like usual. He didn’t stop by after he did his patient care.

He just went off the grid.

I texted my mom about it. Dad doing okay?

She always texted me back right away, not matter how busy she was. There could be an emergency at the building, but that didn’t matter if one of us texted her. He’s okay. It just takes him much longer to process something.

My dad told me he had an unusual memory, where he could remember things exactly as they happened, and as a result, it was hard for him to not live in the past. It made him depressed at times, because the worst moments of his life were always fresh. Derek had the same problem too. I was grateful I didn’t inherit that, that memories faded, and so did the scars. Should I ask him to do something?

Wouldn’t hurt.

I texted him. Want to get a beer after work? I wasn’t sure if he’d go for it or not. He never turned me down unless he was committed to something, but he wasn’t in the mood for talking, obviously.

But he said yes. Sure.

Cool. Catherine came by last week…I’ll tell you all about it.

This story better end with you slamming the door in her face. My dad was not cruel, but he couldn’t suppress his hatred for her at all.

Not exactly. I politely asked her to leave.

You have the restraint of a saint, son. Proud of you.

“She tried to give me the money back. I put it in my nightstand, but I have no intention of depositing it.” I sat across from him at the table in the bar, the place crowded with people enjoying the departure of the winter season.

Dad was in jeans and a black t-shirt, his arms ripped with muscles and veins, his black wedding ring matching his normally dark attire. Instead of ordering a beer like I did, he went for a whiskey, so it was obvious he was still simmering a bit. “You have about ninety days to decide.”