Chapter 16 Curtain Call #2
“I can’t unsee that, Catherine, no matter how much you want me to.”
“I know. And I’m not blaming you—”
"Aren't you?" Theodora's question emerged quietly, without accusation, just tired recognition of subtext Catherine hadn't meant to reveal.
Catherine opened her mouth to deny it, then closed it again. She didn't blame Theodora for the seizure, of course she didn't, but she blamed her for being there to witness it, for caring enough that it mattered, for prying open feelings Catherine would rather have kept contained.
"I don't know," she admitted finally, the words costing more than she'd expected. "I just—I can't do this right now."
Theodora nodded slowly. She looked down at her hands, then back at Catherine, and something in her expression had shuttered.
The earnest concern from earlier had been replaced by something more guarded, more self-protective in ways Catherine recognized because she employed the same defenses herself.
"Which part?" Theodora asked. "Are you asking me to leave the room, or are you asking me to leave you?"
The question was direct and quiet, carrying no anger despite how much it must have cost to voice.
“I’m sorry,” Catherine choked out. She met Theodora’s gaze, willing her to understand even as the words hurt more to say than to hear. “I wish—” She broke off, tears slipping down her face despite her effort to contain them. “I wish we’d had more time before everything went wrong.”
Theodora wiped at the tear running down her own cheek. “So you’re ending it.”
Catherine bit her lip hard, trying to steady her voice. She looked at Theodora and immediately wished she hadn't because Theodora's expression was so open and so tired and so ready to absorb whatever Catherine was about to do to her.
“Yes. I think it's for the best.”
Theodora was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice carried a weariness that matched Catherine's own. "You're embarrassed and scared that I'll eventually leave, so you're leaving first. Is that about right?"
She wanted to deny it, wanted to explain. But the explanation was somewhere she couldn't reach right now, and maybe Theodora was right anyway. Maybe that was all it was. And Theodora deserved the world, but Catherine could start with giving her honesty, “Yes.”
Theodora's eyes lingered on Catherine's face for a moment longer. Then she rose from the chair, her movements slow as she reached for her fleece. "Okay," she said.
Just that. One word carrying acknowledgment without agreement, acceptance without understanding. Catherine felt the finality in it, the small death of whatever they'd been building before four missing hours had changed everything.
"Okay?"
"I'm not going to argue with you. What’s the point?
" She looked down at her fleece, then back up at Catherine with fresh tears on her cheeks.
"I could stand here all night telling you that what happened doesn't change how I feel about you.
But that's not the issue, is it? The seizure happened to you.
How you process that is your territory, not mine.
I can respect boundaries even when I don't agree with them. "
Her quiet dignity made Catherine's throat constrict. It would be easier if Theodora raged, hurled accusations, slammed the door on her way out. But this calm acceptance was unbearable. Not that she had expected anything else from her. It was one of the reasons she loved her after all.
"I'm sorry," Catherine said again, because the words felt necessary even if they were inadequate.
"I wish I were—" She stopped, unable to finish the sentence.
Wish she were what? Braver? Less damaged?
Capable of accepting intimacy and vulnerability simultaneously?
All of it felt true, and none of it changed the reality.
Theodora's voice dropped to a whisper. "I wish we'd had more time, too.”
Catherine's eyes burned as Theodora crossed to the bed. Her palm found Catherine's cheek, thumb brushing away her tears. She bent down, her lips brushing Catherine's forehead with such gentleness that Catherine almost broke.
Their foreheads touched, and Catherine could feel Theodora's breath against her skin as she whispered, "Take care of yourself, Catherine." She paused, her voice catching. "And call Liv. Don’t deal with this alone, okay?"
Catherine nodded, not trusting her voice to respond.
Then she watched Theodora turn away, watched her step fully into the hallway without looking back.
The door swung closed on its own, inch by inch, the low hiss of its pneumatic arm stretching time like a held note. When it finally clicked shut, Catherine's face crumpled.
The tears came slowly at first, just a few escaping from beneath closed eyelids to track down her cheeks and soak into the thin hospital gown.
But then something broke loose in her chest, something she'd been holding back since the moment she'd woken and seen Theodora sleeping beside her bed, and the crying became complete.
Her shoulders shook, her breathing fractured between muffled cries, her whole body curling inward under the enormity of what she’d ruined.
The chair where Theodora had kept vigil stood abandoned next to her bed, and Catherine couldn't stop staring at it, couldn't stop imagining Theodora sitting there for hours while Catherine was unconscious, waiting with the patience of someone who cared deeply.
She let herself feel it then, the reality of what she’d just done.
Not the seizure or the humiliation that had brought her here, those would come later; they’d require processing she wasn't ready for yet.
But the immediate loss of Theodora, the deliberate severing of something that had barely begun but had already mattered more than Catherine had let herself acknowledge.
Later, the nurse who came to check her vitals pretended not to notice her red-rimmed eyes, for which Catherine was pathetically grateful.
She answered the woman's questions with clipped responses, accepted the small paper cup of medication without comment, and signed the discharge paperwork with a sloppy scrawl.
Her neurologist would be contacted. Follow-up appointments would be scheduled. Yes, she understood the risks. Yes, she’d fill her prescription. Yes, she had someone to take her home.
That last one was a lie, but Catherine had become adept at appearing completely fine when she was anything but.