Heart pounding, breathing labored, she turns in circles trying to find a way out; a way back home. All around her are the moans and groans of the dead and dying. They fill her soul with dread, make her feel like she's suffocating, like her limbs are weighed down with the cries of pain and anguish by those around her. She doesn't want to be here; doesn't want to see it. And then, the black door from her nightmares, dark black ebony with carved faces mid-scream, a high shrill sounds and the door creaks open.
"And that's when I wake up." She looks up from her lap to the blonde psychiatrist sitting across from her. Unfortunately, she's been here enough that they're on a first-name basis.
"And you think it means what? That you were supposed to stay dead?" Always blunt, comes with the territory.
"Yeah. I mean, it's different now. All I can think about is what I want to do. What I have to lose, and six years ago it wouldn't have been much."
"But now you're a successful doctor, a sister, a friend, and lover?" She looks up and away at the tank with the brightly colored fish where most have died and been replaced. She curls her arms around her knees, tighter.
"No," looks down, "not a lover. I haven't spoken to Mark yet. Well, he hasn't talked to me. We're just, not speaking." The blonde raises an eyebrow.
"And why not? He, you both love each other very, very much. You both want a life together. What's the wait?"
"He's scared. I'm scared. Neither of us want to lose each other again. We've been on and off and on and off and on and off and off and then I died. We're sick of losing each other. So we're not speaking."
A sigh from the shrink. "So, long-term career wise: goals. What're we thinking?" She unravels herself and sits cross-legged, leaning forward a bit.
"Well, after my residency I'll go into neurosurgery because it's practically been decided since I was an intern. After that I'm going somewhere; wherever the best program is-"
"Seattle Grace-Mercy West." A glare.
"No. I'm leaving. I can't be around everyone who treats me like they're happy to have me back-"
"And I'm sure they are-"
"They're not. Well, ok they might be, but I'm not. I mean, yeah, I get it; I died, life is changed forever for me. Everyone's been doing such a fantastic job of helping me cope: Alex and Christina are my drinking buddies. But. I can't move on. I can't look at or hear a plane, I can't be in the pit, I can't lie down without freaking out and going back there."
She looked at her, eyes shining with a helpless, heartbreaking expression.
"I can't move on. And I talked to Derek about what it could be, but he doesn't know and he's too busy with Mer, Zola, physical therapy, regular therapy, and his life saving surgeries. And I can't think of anything it might be so it has to be psychological right? Right?"
"It's possible. But you're going to have to face reality sometime soon ok? So the nightmares will stop at least." Pause.
"How do I face reality? I'm alive. I mean otherwise I'd be dea-" A nod from the blonde.
"Oh. Alright. Well, um, I'll see you next week then?" Another nod.
"Ok, um, alright. Bye."
"Goodbye Lexi."