More Than Words

Chapter 12 - IMPAIRED

IMPAIRED (adj.)

1. being in an imperfect or weakened state or condition; diminished in function or ability

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Evan

Maybe Monday's run-in with Ryan was a fluke, because it's just about noon on Saturday and if I make it out of here in the next 20 minutes unscathed, then I don't have to worry again until Tuesday.

But my life wouldn't be my life if everything went perfectly, now would it?

"Evan!" I hear someone shout my name from within the hospital lobby. I spin around to find the source, praying that I'm wrong about whose voice it is.

"Ev, wait up." Ryan slowly jogs over to me, beaming at me like I'm his favorite person in the world. "Hey, I'm glad I caught you."

An uneasy shiver quickly goes through me at the image he's inadvertently painted for me. Him the hunter, stalking me, the prey, waiting for the right time to strike. Something about it feels awfully foreboding, but I expend conscientious effort to suppress those thoughts.

I give him an expectant look that I hope is just annoyed enough that he gets the hint that I'd rather not be talking to him but not so annoyed as to come off as rude. Because despite our history I don't want to be a complete bitch. "What's up?"

"What do you think about dinner tonight?" When he smiles I can't tell if it's sincere or if it just looks that way because he's so self-assured.

"I can't," more like won't, "sorry."

"Then how about lunch? Right now?" The bastard can still read me like a book. He knows I hate confrontation and he knows I hate disappointing people so he takes advantage of that fact and presses me. "Come on, sweetheart. Everyone has to eat."

"Please don't call me that, Ryan. We are not together. You left me. Remember? You left me. Why on Earth would I agree to go anywhere with you?"

"Ev, come on," he scoffs a laugh of disbelief, "the distance would have killed us. I did that for us, sweetheart. To protect us. Not because I didn't love you. Come on, let's get out of here, we'll go have a nice lunch, and we'll talk things out and whatever."

I'm looking around for an excuse to run, any reason at all — a former patient, a colleague who let me borrow their pen last year and I need to return it to them finally. Anything. But as I look around I notice people looking over at us and whispering to each other.

Of course, that could just be my disputably justifiable sense of paranoia talking. My anxiety meds do a lot of heavy lifting by helping me let go of things easier but it doesn't necessarily stop me from still internalizing things. Like right now. When it feels like the walls are closing in on me and everyone is staring and pointing, they're obviously talking about me, what other explanation is there?

"Evan?" Ryan waves his hand in front of my face to get my attention.

There's no time to consider if this will help me or hurt me, I just need to get away from all these eyes. "Sure, fine," I drag him by the elbow out of the lobby as fast as I can. "I have, like, maximum ten minutes and then I have to run."

"What if I want more than ten minutes with you, Evan?" His long strides easily keep pace with my record breaking speed walk and I do not like how dark and serious his tone just got.

"That's all I have to offer, Ryan. I don't have any more to give. Take it or leave it." I throw my arms out wide, exasperated, depleted. We stand at the threshold of the hospital cafe and it feels like a metaphor for our lives.