“Hold your glass out for a minute, Natalie,” Dr. Greene interrupts my opening monologue, thank God. I do as she asks. “Ryker, what I’ve been explaining to Natalie, is the guilt she’s feeling is a bit like the water in that glass. Now, regardless of how little guilt she might have, or how much, the longer she holds onto it, the heavier it will feel. If she holds out the glass for a minute, it might be annoying, but then she could put her arm down and move on.” I make eye contact with Ryker as Dr. Greene says, “In Natalie’s case, she’s been holding onto quite a full glass for the last ten years.” His mouth twitches a little at the side.
“What do you feel guilty about, Nat?” Ryker sounds like he’s genuinely inquiring and that irritates me a little. I fight the urge to scream your entire life!
I giggle a little, rolling my eyes. “Where do I start?”
“Just be honest with him, Natalie.”
“Well,” I start, looking at my hands, “you know I feel guilty that I had you arrested, and that prevented you from reenlisting, like you wanted to.”
“Look at him, Natalie,” Dr. Greene urges.
Ryker shakes his head. “That’s not the only reason I couldn’t reenlist, Nat. And, even if it was, it wasn’t your fault. I was sick, and on drugs . . .”
“I know,” I take a deep breath, “I feel like I also contributed to your inability to heal when you got home from Afghanistan.” Despite my efforts for that to sound composed, the tears slowly rise.
“What?” He looks confused.
“I feel,” we must use ‘I feel’ statements, “that I put pressure on you to continue in a relationship, and you weren’t ready for that. But . . . I also feel guilty about the things I didn’t say to you when we were still together, and guilty about some things I’m feeling now.” Reaching for a tissue, I catch Ryker shifting uneasily in his seat.
“It’s okay,” Ryker whispers as he grabs my knee, “you can tell me.” Bless his heart, his eyes really believe his words.
I shake my head and look at Dr. Greene. “I don’t think I can do this.” Suddenly, throwing up in public seems like a much better idea.
“You need to get this out of you, Natalie. You’re ready to start letting this go.” She sounds like a recording.
“I’m mad at you,” I barely get out as a sob overtakes my voice. I can’t look at him as I say it.
“Look at him, Natalie,” Dr. Greene encourages.
When I do, I find him staring at me with an unreadable expression. He’s definitely clenching his back teeth a bit, though; I remember what his jaw looks like when he does that.
“I’m mad at you,” I say again, watching our entire relationship flash through his eyes.
Ryker wipes his palms on his jeans. “For what?” He doesn’t really want to hear why, I can tell by his tone.
“Look at him,” Dr. Greene says again, when my eyes have fallen to the floor.
Deep breath. You can do this. And, frankly, you need to do this.
“I loved you. I loved you, and you hurt me.” He nods and I watch his Adam’s apple twitch as he swallows. Once I get the first sentence out, I feel the gates open all the way. “I loved you and you wouldn’t let me talk to you about Lucas, even though he was my friend, too. You didn’t talk to me after we left his grave the first time, and it made me feel like I’d done something wrong.” I pause to reach for more tissues.
“Keep going, Natalie.” Dr. Greene. I wish she would shut up for five seconds.
Looking directly at Ryker, I continue. “You yelled at me, a lot. Or, you wouldn’t talk to me at all. I don’t know which was worse. I watched you slowly crumbling in front of me and there was nothing I could do for you because you wouldn’t talk to me. You told me you were in love with me, but you kept pushing me away. And,” I take a faltering breath, “you really did push me. Hard. And it hurt, a lot. I was trying to help you and you . . .for Christ’s sake, Ryker, you are like twice my size and you pushed me with all your force across your dad’s fucking driveway! And you know the first thing I did? I drove to Lucas Fisher’s grave and fucking yelled at him for breaking his promise and not taking care of you.
I’m mad that every single year since the year we broke up, I’ve gone to the Memorial Day service on the common, hoping to run into you, hoping to see that you were okay, and you were never there. Each year that I didn’t see you there, it reaffirmed that I’d ruined everything, Ryker.”
For a second it’s all too much and I bury my face in my tissues, sobbing a glorious ugly cry that I didn’t think I had left in me. I’ve never told Dr. Greene my real reason for going to the service every year. Picking my face up, I notice tears in Ryker’s eyes, too. That does it.
“There. Right there,” I continue, pointing at his face. “The last time I saw you cry was the last night we saw each other in my dorm. You told me if I called the police I’d fuck everything up for you and that I better not. Then you grabbed my wrists and saw my cuts and yelled at me for that . . .”
Ryker shakes his head. “I don’t remember any of that, Natalie.”
“Of course you don’t,” I say in a sort of sob-growl, “you were busy overdosing on Oxycontin because you were upset that I broke up with you!” Looking at Dr. Greene, I put my hands up. “I need a break. Can I go to the bathroom?”