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And that’s the thing. I know he didn’t mean it. He’s spent his entire life looking out for me. What happened this morning stemmed from his own emotional pain. Mark’s lashing out at me because he doesn't have anyone else. And as Dr. Friedman pointed out, he feels safe enough to unleash his pent-up hurt and rage on me. He knows I’ll still love him despite his horrible behavior.
That’s what true friendship is. Being there even when – or maybe especially when – someone pushes you away out of hurt or fear or grief. Mark’s feeling all those emotions right now.
Fear.
Pain.
Grief.
I tilt my face toward the sun, letting it warm me while I come to grips with this morning. Part of me wants to talk things out with him, but another part, a larger part, dreads facing him. This morning’s evisceration was devastating, and I’m too emotionally fragile to withstand another explosion like that today. Despite my anxiety, I walk back toward the hospital, though I stall at my usual deli to fortify my nerves with food.
I’m ordering a sandwich and tea when a familiar figure struts through the door, causing the little bell above it to tinkle. Stubbs saunters over, winking at the buxom waitress. “Damn, sweetheart, you’re beautiful,” he says, holding her gaze. “Bring me whatever she’s having.” The strawberry-blond waitress looks at me, blushing furiously, and I nod with a barely-concealed grin.
“You’re shameless.” I shake my head as he slides into the booth. “I hope you like BLTs.”
“Bacon!” he exclaims in mock horror. “What about my girlish figure?” He grins and pats his washboard stomach with one huge hand, and I smile despite my mood.
“Glad you’re smiling, Green Eyes. I knew you wouldn’t bail because of one tantrum.”
My smile fades as I shrug halfheartedly. “He didn’t mean it.”
Our waitress returns with two iced teas. Stubbs winks, and she smiles shyly. When she walks away, he sighs appreciatively at the view before returning his attention to me. “That doesn’t make it hurt any less when he’s being an ass,” he comments.
I drop my eyes. “No, it doesn’t.” I unwrap my straw and slide it into my glass, toying with the wrapper.
“He loves you,” Stubbs announces. “You know that, right? Says you mean more to him than anyone.”
I nod. “I love him, too. That’s the catch. The people you love hold the power to hurt you the most.”
He bobs his shaved head in agreement, pulling a toothpick from the dispenser to chew on it. “I had a nice long talk with him after you left.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Really? He didn’t seem particularly conversational to me.”
He chuckles. “You weren’t as charming as I was. I called him a pussy and threatened to beat his ass.”
I can’t help laughing. “It didn’t occur to me. I wish it had.”
Stubbs shrugs massive shoulders. “It’s a guy thing.” He takes a long swig of tea. “I challenged him to either put up or shut up, made him realize it wasn’t me he was mad at. It wasn’t you, either. When he eventually got his panties out of a twist, we got down to what was really bothering him.” He tips his head. “I assume you’re interested.”
I nod. “I’m all ears.”
Stubbs uses his toothpick to punctuate his words. “Powerlessness. Mark is used to being in control. He craves it. He coordinated missions. He'd identify a problem, find the solution, and fix it. That’s how he handles things. Now his body and mind aren't responding like he wants them to. It reinforces his loss of control.” Dark eyes study me. “Like when you were captured. That was outside his control. He can’t handle not being in control. It makes him feel weak.”
“Feeling powerless brought all that on this morning?”
He shrugs again. “Yes and no. Seeing himself as weak or vulnerable in one area makes him re-experience feelings he had back then.”
“He honestly blames me for getting captured?” I squeak.
Stubbs shakes his head vehemently. “That’s not what I meant. Mark can’t make his body do what he wants it to. That reminds him of the powerlessness he felt when you were captured. He doesn’t believe for a second it was your fault. He blames himself for sending you into an ambush. Being powerless scares him. Losing you terrified him. He carries a lot of guilt for that, and deep down, he’s scared he’ll lose you again. Fear breeds fear, just like hurt breeds hurt. All he needed was a trigger. You showed up later than normal, and like a wounded animal, he lashed out at you because you’re safe.” He grins broadly, flashing white teeth that contrast with his dark skin, and lays a huge hand on his chest. “I, however, am not safe. When I got in his face, his brain quickly reminded him he wasn’t mad at me and encouraged him to regroup to avoid getting his Pretty Boy ass kicked.”
I laugh in spite of myself. “I think you’re secretly a big teddy bear.”
He flexes one huge bicep and winks. “Part of my charm, baby.” He gestures to my phone. “Have you listened to your voicemails?”
I wince. “I turned it off when he started calling. Is it bad?”
“There’s at least twenty. I’d delete them, at least the first dozen or so. No one needs to hear that crap. I know I wish I hadn’t.” He makes a face. “At first, he was still carrying on like a little bitch. Then he got all weepy and emotional. It was like being trapped with a drunk teenage girl.” He grins. “He did send one text after we talked. That’s probably the only thing worth your time.”
