Love Contractually

Chapter Twenty

I should have been sectioned. This whole plan was insane. How I could think that this would work, or worse, hope that Thomas would love me back? I should've been sectioned and saved from all of this.

Part of me knew Thomas would not love me. Sure, I had hope, maybe he would at least try. I did not see him hating me this much. During one of my day shifts, he reorganized the kitchen, separating what we are each allowed to use. He doesn't even want to share plates. He has a schedule, days where he wants to use the washing machine and dryer, and days where I am allowed to use it. Even the gym has an opening time for me.

He has spoken to me. Once. He got me to sign over all but one percent of my stake in the hospital. Any less and it would break the contract and I could take more from him in the divorce he won't sign yet. The one percent means I lose my office, so I am back to using normal call rooms. I'm mainly on night shift apart from two shifts a week. One for clinic, one for scheduled operations. It's like being a junior again. The bad sleep, the bad call beds. But at least I can breathe most of the time. I didn't realise how heavy it was, pushing down all of the feelings I have for him.

The thing that worries me most is what he said to Betty. It's been two months since our breakup dinner and while I almost never see Betty because of my shifts, when I do see her, she doesn't look at me. She stares straight ahead and sniffles every time she passes me. I'd love to know what he said, but I think that would break my heart even more.

The worst part is the fact that I still love him. I let myself cry every morning before I sleep, my brain tormenting me with the memories of us together. I remember our first kiss, the first time he held my hand. I remember his moans, but that doesn't do much for me anymore. The thing that still kills me, the thing that still makes me dry heave, is the memory of his laugh. The proper laugh, the belly laugh he let out only to me. The one only I could bring out.

I can sleep better now. I have a clear conscience, or at least it's clearer now I am not lying to Thomas. I think the crying helps too, it wears me out and I pass out. I can force sleep when I cry and exhaust myself. Thankfully only dreaming of him once or twice a week.

"You look like shit." Teddy, my regular surgical nurse says as I walk in to work. I passed Thomas on the road, him coming home as I go in. But not even that can help. "Why do you keep taking all of these extra shifts? It's not like you need the money." She says as we walk to the handover room.

"I need to." I say simply. Thomas has signed me up for them. He keeps his days off; I work every hour I am legally allowed to. He's punishing me I think. I doubt he does it because he knows I usually love hospitals. I don't argue, though. I can be good, now that I've ruined everything. He wanted decades. So did I. But now it looks like I'll only have him in my life for just over two years.

On call, I am ready to do emergency surgeries whenever they come in, otherwise I check on patients who need monitoring after surgery, or I try to catch some sleep in my on-call room. When it hits the holidays, I take any shift admin wants, so I work Christmas eve, Christmas, boxing day, new year's eve and new year's day. I leave a gift at Thomas's door for Christmas, but it is kicked back to my side of the hallway. It's small, maybe he just tripped on it. But I've learnt not to hope.

By the time Valentine's day is in view, everyone just assumes I will take on the shift. It does make me quite popular, but people can tell I am avoiding things by basically living here at the hospital. So the thankful smiles turn into sympathetic ones, and people start giving me their cafeteria credits, saying I need to eat more.

"A lot of broken hearts around valentines." Betty says as I check on one of Thomas's post-op patients. It's the first week of February and it's been so many months since someone in my 'family' has spoken to me.