January 6th, 2005
The pads of his fingertips rub the worn leather steering wheel of his beat up 2003 Land Rover. The sky is murky, a swirl of dark clouds coinciding with an overcast of gloom. Salty droplets of rainwater sprinkle his windshield, plop, plop. His mind is swimming, a pile of mushy jello seeming to replace what was once his brain. He's so hammered. He wonders how he's managed to make it here; in fact he's curious as to how he's still not drunk from the night before. He's thankful he hasn't reached the point of nausea, though he's certain it won't be long before his gut is roiling like a washer on spin cycle.
He proceeds to think on the bright side; he's endured worse hangovers. Thoughts of the blowout he threw a few months back comes to mind. Snickers fill the cabin of the car, though he's not sure why he's laughing. In truth he doesn't remember most of the party besides the booze and some blonde with beach balls for breasts, shoving her hand down his crotch. The chortles help him nonetheless. He can feel his clenched muscles releasing the dissonance they'd held captive since the previous night. Why is he doing this? There were a million and one reasons he had to quit, to reignite the engine of his SUV, to drive down the opposite road and never look back. It all seemed so much easier. As unfortunate as it seemed, his one reason seemed to outweigh the others. Nothing in life ever comes easily.
His hand curls around the key, keeping his engine humming, out of the ignition. The warm gusts of air blowing from the vent halts abruptly and the rumbling melody of his car hushes to an eerie quiet. His forehead meets the torn black leather of his steering wheel. I can do this, I can do this, I can do this, his mantra.
He doesn't bother shielding his ravenous dark mane from the brewing storm above his head, he simply locks the vehicle and trudges toward the gymnasium. His hands scrunch inside the pockets of his leather jacket, beads of water cascading down his forehead. His heart thumps like a base drum on steroids, pulse, pulse, pulse, he can feel his blood drifting cold once his feet cross the threshold.
His cheeks are flushed with the exact hue decorating the ball of his crooked nose. Goosebumps brush his pasty skin as heat radiates his flesh. He doesn't remember a time he'd felt so useless, so helpless. Almost as if he were less of a man, shaving bits and pieces of his manhood, inch by inch as his feet trailed him along the empty corridor.
A glimmer of yellow catches his attention, his light at the end of the tunnel, he presumes. His hand bunches the crinkled paper buried deep within his coat pocket. Turn around, his conscious chirps, Its so much easier to leave. Again. Go have a drink. His brain and heart have an imaginary tug-of-war, he decides to wait and see who wins the latter. His heart seems to be persuasive this morning, stupid feelings. He wants to do this. Though truthfully, he needs to do this. Not just for Addison, the woman he intends to marry, but for himself. For his career. For his life. It's important he at least tries, trying is better than not trying at all. He'd be an even bigger coward to give up so easily. In fact he would contradict the meaning behind his profession, save lives, don't destroy them.
Forget his manhood, forget his pride, forget the overwhelming embarrassment hopping up and down his spine like a rabbit on a pogo stick. So he does just that, dropping everything he'd tried so hard to maintain, into his mental waste basket. The gymnasium lights blind him, all of them a scorching sun, disintegrating his corneas. Mentally he knows the lights aren't that vivid. He has a hangover. His vision replenishes itself, growing accustomed to the light source. A circle of plastic chairs is centered in the gym. A slew of people filling them awkwardly; some chewing hair, others biting nails. Is that who he was? A member of 'Freak Village?'
His stomach churned, gurgling with unsettlement. At this point he's not sure if it was the alcohol he digested the night prior making his gut turn to knots. He can assume it was the anxiety overpowering him, alongside the loss of his strength and pride. He's nothing now. He certainly feels like nothing. His eyes catch a glimpse of the double doors, his mind teetering the notion of escaping. Leaving would be so much easier.
A voice grips his attention. "You must be our new member." The mystery mans tone bounces along the bleachers, the walls, the ceiling, echoing against his eardrum. He nods like he's uncertain, though deep down he's extremely certain. His shoes squeak along the flooring, squawk, squeak, squawk. Eyes beat him down like a baseball bat. He's feeling far more exposed than he'd ever felt in his life. Their orbs peel his layers intricately, like they're deciphering whether or not he's worthy enough to be accumulated into their freak filled equation.
"Yes." Derek huffs. He's out of breath suddenly. A lump blocks his airway, he can't breathe. His hands shakily pull the crumbled lined sheet of paper from the safety of his pocket. Within moments this cluster of people would be aware of his name and his disease.
The man with overly moosed tresses scans the paper. A grin stretches along the apples of his cheeks. "Derek!" His stomach coils like leafs on a vine. Perspiration lines his brow and hairline. He feels as the equivalent to a nervous sixth grader during a school talent show, freezing during the performance unable to move a single limb. "It's so great of you to join us."
Derek wishes to snort, there was nothing great about any of this. This gymnasium was filled with nothing more than a clot of sick and mentally disturbed human beings. Though he has no right to judge, he's officially 'one of them' no matter how hard he'd be willing to deny it. Derek grunts, in no mood to covey real words.
The man doesn't seem to notice his inability to communicate, in fact he does nothing more than smile and shove his crumpled sheet of paper into the depths of his pants pocket. "How about you take a seat next to..." He drifts. Derek takes a three hundred sixty degree glance at the people, quietly hunched over in chairs. From a far, they seem almost normal. In fact nothing about a single one of them indicates a single sign of an illness. But that's the thing. Not a single person in this gym have anything physically wrong with him, including himself. Though they have mental disabilities that are a little too complex for an ordinary doctor to fix.
"Hm." The mans rugged mumble pulls him out of the water, that has seemed to suffocate him as he dove in deeper. "How about, Meredith." His bony finger directs him to a woman, head down, blonde locks cascading down her face as a shield of some sort. Derek watches the groups expressions whiten, eyes widening, he can even hear a few teeth chatters. What the hell was so bad about this Meredith girl? She couldn't be worse than Mark Sloan his manwhore of a best friend. She couldn't be worse than himself.
Derek simply nods, strutting to the empty blue chair. His tush finds a new home on the seat. His hands curl around the caps of his knees. He finds himself curious to know more about the woman he's sitting next to. Not in a romantic get to know ya' way. But an I'm intrigued at how mysterious you are kind of way. Derek's pointer finger twitches as an overwhelming amount desire to poke this woman's shoulder washes over him. He's anxious for her to lift that head of gold.
"Let's begin everyone." The mans voice distracts Derek from his primary goal, though the thought isn't all lost, perhaps on-hold for the current moment. "Including you, Meredith." A grunt rings Derek's ear. The woman next to him was beginning to sprout like a flower in the spring. Her hand brushes the honey-blonde tresses from her face. Derek studies her facial features attentively. To the naked eye, her skin resembles porcelain. Freckles cover the bridge of her petite nose and the apples of her cheeks. Her lips are a rosy plum. Her eyes drew him into a different stratosphere. Two emerald orbs placated against her skin. Specks of cobalt lined her pupils and her iris was a swirl of green and grey. Derek is mesmerized. He knows those eyes could reel anyone into an everlasting trance.
As unfortunate as the circumstances were, he wasn't blind. He could see clear as day the darkened circles rimming her under eyes. To the average human being, they may see it is a result from lack of sleep. Some may assume its inherited. As unfortunate as it was; Derek knew better. He too noticed the dilation in her eyes, the scabs lining her arms. Those purple bags weren't the aftermath of fatigue, they were the side effects of drug abuse. Derek hadn't so much as heard a single squawk spill from this woman's lips and yet he found his stomach rumbling like an earthquake. Why had this gorgeous woman resulted to drugs?
Then again; why had he chosen the path down alcoholism? At times, Derek Shepherd hated life more than anything else. It was so cruel and there were so many people who didn't deserve it's everlasting wrath. Double single malt scotch was his enabler, but it helped clear his brain from the gnarly thoughts of the outside world.
"For our newest member, I'm Finn. I'm the proxy for this group of individuals and I'm excited to work with you all." Derek drowns most of Finn's spiel out, his attention directed at the blonde beauty, twirling a lock of her hair between her fore and middle finger. In his eyes, he takes note of how distracted she is. Appearing almost as if she'd been transported to a different galaxy. Her mystery spiked Derek's curiosity and he was determined to engross his time into detecting her background. Normally, he wasn't a nosy person. Other people's business simply wasn't his. He feels like a hypocrite against his own words, but something about this woman was reeling him into her direction. Like a moth to a light.
"Derek." Finn's voice distracts Derek and he mentally scowls at the diversion. "How about you share first." He doesn't seem to be asking. More along the lines of stating. Assuming it's Derek's only option on the menu, he exerts a strenuous breath from his lungs, inflate, deflate, inflate.
His vision is diluted by the shaky tears brimming his waterline. Is this what he's amounted to? A freak in a gymnasium sharing his disease aloud like its 'show and tell' day at school? Admitting he's an alcoholic means he truly is one. How did he get here? "I'm um." Derek's tone is shaky, his palms are clammy, the back of his neck is slick with sweat, and anxiety squeezes his gut like a vice. Through the corner of his eye, he sees Meredith gazing at him, waiting for him to utter something more intelligent. He doesn't understand why he cares about her. What's so special about Meredith? But in the back of his mind he can't find himself giving up or amounting to even larger coward than he already was. It isn't just for Addison, of for his Job, maybe it isn't about Meredith either. Derek's aware he needs to pursue this for himself.
"I'm Derek Shepherd, I'm twenty-seven years old. I work at Seattle Grace as a surgical resident. I have a girlfriend, her name is Addison Montgomery. I have four sisters, all very girly." He breaks, chuckles a bit, releasing the fear chafing his insides. "And I'm an alcoholic. I abuse alcohol, I get too drunk, and I do things I shouldn't. And I need help." Derek never like admitting to needing any kind of help. He felt worthless and he didn't want anyone's pity.
The cluster of people clap slowly, what's there to applaud? But he doesn't dismiss their acknowledgement of his speech. "So you're a doctor?" A rich, Boston accent fills the silence of his own personal bubble. Derek's attention snaps to the junkie blonde sitting next to him.
His cheeks prick a fever, he knows he's blushing. "Well working my way there." He smiles, running a hand through his dark tresses. In an attempt to ignite a topic deeper than his profession, Derek stretches an arm out, his fingers wiggling. "I'm Derek, but I'm sure you already knew that." He grins another of his signature grins, 'the McDreamy preen', or so every one of his colleagues called it.
Meredith's bottom lip twitches to the right side of her cheek, a cat like smirk of mischief decorating her facial features. "Meredith, Meredith Grey." Her hand clamps around his, a firm fit, the right fit. "You don't seem like an alcohol abuser, ya' know." Her comment makes his stomach twist and knot like a pretzel doing somersaults. "In fact," she begins, tugging her hand from his own. "You seem like the kind of man to go against alcohol." Her smirk from only moments earlier reappears.
"Well, you don't seem like the type of woman to be a drug addict." Derek hadn't meant for that to slip. Hell, he wasn't even sure where it came from. He knows how the offense feels to be called out like that, out of the blue with no remorse. His irises study her face rapidly, in a way that resembles cramming for a chemistry test taking place ten minutes from that moment. To the naked eye, she doesn't appear to be insulted. Though why would she show her weakness? Then again her weakness may have been plastered on a flashing neon billboard as it was clear she was here. Meredith was right there alongside Derek, showing her weakness clear as day.
"And how would you know if I take drugs or not?" Meredith's arms envelop her tiny chest. The plum cashmere sweater eclipsing her torso rides up, Derek catching a glimpse at her bare tummy.
His cheeks burn, he knows blush is dusting flames of fire across his neck and cheeks. Her tone didn't indicate annoyance, though he isn't completely sure of his observations. A lump equivalent to a grapefruit lodges between the thick, pink slime walls coating his esophagus. "I um." Derek's lungs feel deflated, lifeless. "My sister." He spurts. "My sister, she's a drug addict. She has the same dark circles under her eyes and the picks on her arms."
Silence rivets between them periodically. Derek's chest tightens, had he upset her? He was well aware of the way drug addicts reacted to certain commentary, his sister was one and he was a flipping surgical resident. He dealt with drug abuse cases all the time. "Hm." The sound of her hum pricks Derek's ear. "I guess 'crazy abuser' runs in the family." She lifts a brow and the smirk she'd carried moments earlier returned for an encore.
Derek snorts, his front teeth gripping the bottom of his lip, yanking and teetering the red skin. "Yeah." He murmurs. "Yeah I suppose it does." Derek's leans and rests his back against the cold, shiny plastic of his chair. He's virtually tuned out every bit of information Finn has asserted but he can't find himself caring. Relief washes him over like a wave of calm. He'd walked in this room with his head held low, a coward. Now he sits with the slightest gleam blanketing his orbs. He doesn't feel as alone, as he's now met someone who seems characteristically in the same boat as he was.
It felt good to share his darkest secrets with someone that didn't present him with a disowned glance.
It felt damned good.
So I know what you're all thinking; why are you starting a third story when you haven't even finished the other two? I know it seems rash, like a super bad idea because I still need to finish the others! But in all honesty I've wanted to do this plot line for sooooo long and I honestly didn't think I'd be able to wait until my other two stories were completed.
I want to let you all know that I have decided to keep my chapters much shorter than they've been in the past. I've been trying to do 5,000 worded chapters almost 6,000 and I honestly just can't do it, for the reasons being I don't have the time and I don't have that much to discuss in one chapter. This goes for my other stories as well. I won't be making them too short but bare minimum will be 2,000 words.
If you haven't figured it out yet; this story will involve drug use and alcoholism. If these topics disturb you I'd recommend not reading anymore. For my readers I won't change the rating to 'M' unless completely necessary.
Honestly I'm really excited for this. I haven't seen a story like this done before and I've been dying to write it. I would love, love, love, for your feedback. Please comment and let me know what you liked, what you didn't like, what you think will happen, what I can improve on. Again, please comment and let me know it inspires me to keep the updates coming.
Thank you for reading and I love you all!
