Disclaimer: I own nothing – all of Holby belongs to the BBC, I barely have any claim over my own imagination.
Anyway….enjoy.
Deep down she knows there's something not completely right with Max, a little niggle warning her to stay away. But she ignores it, pushes it out of her mind because she so desperately wants him to be a normal, uncomplicated guy. She craves stability and normality for once in her life, and like a small child, perhaps if she ignores the signs then the problem will go away.
It doesn't of course; it only gets worse until she's consumed by his lies and her own guilt. Until it's too late to walk away and pretend nothing happened. It's only when others get involved that she realises she's in too deep and by that point she's already committed. She's dependent upon him; he's made her see the light. Shown her how she can handle a career and still have fun. And why shouldn't she? She's tried it the other way, all thanks to a complicated guy, and what did she get? A well-thumbed paperback and a broken heart.
She knows Max is lying about the drugs, or at least about his reasons for having them. She might not be a doctor but even senior nurses know Comoxidan's not a drug prescribed for depression. But she doesn't say anything then either, because that would complicate her happily, simple new life. It goes against everything she believes in and was trained for but she lets him do it because what's one or two packets of painkillers anyway?
When he begins offering them to her as a hangover cure she's doubtful, but his explanation comes so smoothly and sounds so honest, that she accepts it. The drugs do more than cure her nausea and headaches; they also numb the pain that she's locked away for months on end. The hurt and confusion of Luc's disappearance and his blatant disregard for her feelings have been heavily smothered by an avalanche of alcohol-fuelled nights and caffeinated days. It hurt less if she didn't let herself think about him, if she could pretend it never happened or that she couldn't care less that he'd gone.
She does care though. As hard as she tries to fight it, a lump still sticks in her throat when she hears his name, or remembers an encounter they'd had. The book he left, 'Live Every Day' with its deceivingly cheerful photo of a sunset on the front, has been haphazardly abandoned on a bookshelf, quite conveniently next to a bottle of whiskey. There's one of those which she always reaches for first, but her hand never quite makes contact, preferring instead to seek solace in the comfort of a familiar, cold bottle. Plus, Luc never did approve of her drinking; so the fact that he's sent her reaching for the bottle is a satisfying two fingers up to him.
But then he ruins her perfect little bubble by brazenly appearing in the lab, disturbing her and Max with nothing more than a stunned expression and still no offer or an explanation. As if she hadn't meant anything to him. Like he truly believed she was fine with the way they'd ended. She has an inkling that Sacha is behind his return; he was always sticking his nose into her business because of his blatant dislike of Max. He claims to have her best interests at heart but what he doesn't appreciate is that it's easier to stay in the bad relationship that's dragging her down then it is to get sucked back into one which requires so much effort just to stay-on track and communicate.
She storms off after he calls Max a sociopath, but deep down she's beginning to consider what he said. What she really wants is to turn around, slap his arrogant smirk off his face and then throw herself at him. But she can't. He hurt her, humiliated her, and now she's clinging to the tiny amount of pride she has left. She has to take what's left of her self-esteem, and her pride, and move on. Show him how she's enjoying life without him, how other men still find her attractive and want to be with her. Even if her heart isn't fully in it.
When Max leaves she falls apart. Not in a dramatic, teary sort of way. But behind everyone's back; they're all busy playing with their perfect lives, whilst she's left clutching a packet of painkillers as the only reminder of yet another failed relationship. What right does she have to mess it all up? She pretends she's fine when she's breaking down. When the pain's gotten so real that she can barely breathe and that she's afraid she'll never recover.
Why should she bother? She's obviously incapable of being loved by a decent man, but any human being really. No matter how long it took them to earn her trust they always let her down in the end so she can't let herself make the same mistake again.
So it's in that dark, clinically cold changing room that she swallows the pills and closes her eyes for a second, imagining the drugs swimming through her bloodstream already, numbing the extensive pain she just can't seem to shake. She savours the minute of silence, the one calming factor in her chaotic life, and laughs bitterly when she realises what she's done, what she's become.
Having seen it before, more times than she cares to remember, she knows it's a slippery slope down from here. She'll never find the answers she's looking for, or comfort her inner turmoil. She's spinning out of control, round and round, faster and faster until she can't remember which way is up. It can't continue like this, eventually she'll burn out because in the end we all fall down. She'll end up more messed up than before; and strangely she's ok with that. If no-one else cares then why should she?
Thanks for reading – feel free to review/concrit/flame/bash but just let me know what you thought!