Page 49 of Deprivation

* * *

The following morning, I’m discharged, and my mother and father bring me to my apartment to rest. Neither speak during the ride home. I’m not entirely sure what Gabe told them, but my utter humiliation will not allow any conversation where his name might come up. Quite honestly, I’m too heartbroken to speak. They offer to come up and get me settled, but I beg them to simply drop me off so I can rest.

* * *

That evening there’s a knock at the door. Expecting to see Nate or my parents, I swing the door open to find my cheating ex-boyfriend standing before me.

“What’re you doing here?” I bark, dumbfounded at his presence.

“Well, that’s some greeting. I came to check on you, beautiful,” he garbles almost incoherently. “Come on, Kat, let me in.”

“Why the heck should I? While I’m lying in a hospital bed, you’re taking nurses to Christmas parties!” I yell.

He stands up straight, holding his hands out. “Babe, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I left last night when they said you’d sleep through the night after the meds they gave you. I went straight home,” he states a little clearer now but still slurred. I’m sure he’s drunk. Sadly, this is a common occurrence with Gabe.

I try to consider whether there’s any chance he’s telling the truth. Was I under the influence of pain killers when I spoke with that nurse? If not, why on Earth would she say he’d taken her coworker to a Christmas party if it wasn’t true? But, then again, she thought Gabe was my brother, so she clearly didn’t have a full grasp on the situation.

“Why are you drunk, Gabe?” I ask skeptically.

“I lost my baby, and I’m probably losing you to PA school. Merry fuckin’ Christmas to me.”

I consider this momentarily and start to reassess my stance. I have no proof he’s done anything wrong. And from what he’s describing, he’s hurting far worse than I’ve given him credit. I still don’t understand the marriage and kids conversation. I do care for him deeply, despite my obvious mistrust. Plus, this loss affects both of us. We’ve both been dealt devastating news.

The magnitude of all that’s transpired begins to overwhelm me, and I walk toward him wrapping my arms around his neck. Pulling him into me, I begin to cry. This is all too much.

“Do you want to stay?” I ask, knowing that if he says ‘no’ I’ll have to drive him home because there’s no way he can get behind the wheel of a car. I don’t even want to consider how he got here.

“Yes, Kat. I need to hold you,” he whispers.

Walking him to the bedroom, I push his weary body down so that he’s sitting on the edge of my bed.Story of my life, I’m discharged from the hospital, but yet I’m taking care of him.Now sitting face-to-face, the overwhelming stench of alcohol nearly takes my breath away. I slowly unbutton the smooth, shiny buttons of his crisp white dress shirt until I reach his pants. I look at his haggard face, eyes closed, allowing me to remove his clothes for him in his stuporous state. As I pull and tug the shirt from his pants to unbutton the remainder of the garment, I briefly ponder if it’s possible to get him into the shower.

Distracted, I notice something red at the base of his shirt. I finally manage to completely remove the clothing, and he falls backward onto the bed and immediately begins to snore. Shaking my head, I redirect to the red stain on the shirt. On closer inspection, it’s bright red. It doesn’t appear to be blood.Lipstick?Pulling the edges of the shirt together I discover the two smeared marks form the shape of an open mouth.But what is it doing down-

I immediately run to the bathroom and vomit the contents of my stomach. This doesn’t take much, as I haven’t eaten anything solid today. What remaining tears I have left rain down as I comprehend what I’ve seen. Standing up and moving to the sink to wash my face and brush my teeth I look into the mirror.

“You willnever everlet a man do this to you again, Katarina Kelly. Do you hear me?” I shout.

Spinning from my position at the bathroom counter, I stomp back over to the bed and look down onSleeping Beauty,undisturbed by my rant. Shoving his shoulder in an attempt to get answers, I ask, “Gabe? What were you doing earlier tonight, honey?” I coax him, trying to prevent myself from choking the life out of him. “I was thinking about you earlier,” I continue, bile returning to my throat.

“Hmm?” He offers an indistinct moan of a reply.

Trying again, I ask, “Did you see Stephanie tonight? How’s she doing?” I ask, trying to fake concern.

“She’s good, babe. She’s back with Syd.” His answer is barely audible.

“Oh, that’s great. Was he there?”

Shaking him a bit to elicit an answer, I wait impatiently. “No, she bolted. Left us when Syd called.”

“Oh.” I hesitate. “Us?”

“Yeah.”

“Who else was there?” I softly implore.

“Just Jen.”

Running back to the bathroom, I receive instant confirmation. There’s nothing left. Nothing left in my stomach and nothing left of my life here. I’ve devoted the last three years and my onlynormalrelationship to the biggest douchebag of all. I decide to call Rachel of all people, and ask if Steven can come and get me. Humiliation be damned, I’m packing an overnight bag and leaving this asshole for good.

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