Skeptics And True Believers

I don't really know where this idea came from. It is probably going to be a three-shot. I hope it's not too creepy, I just watched the Ring 2 (not scary fyi). I did some research on schizophrenia to make it as accurate as possible.
Italics are Addison's point of view, regular writing is Derek's.
The title is from the song Skeptics And True Believers by The Academy Is …

Don't be so scared,
we will not lead you on like you've been doing for weeks.
So you're selfish, and I'm sorry.
When I'm gone you'll be going nowhere fast.
Nowhere fast. Nowhere fast.

When Vera was born, full of laughter and light and joy, Derek and I still had happiness. I was thirty-one, he thirty-two, and we were nearing the end of our residencies. We took her home, held her chubby little hands in ours, and praised every coo, every smile.

Before too long, however, the doctors noticed some developmental problems. Nothing to worry about, they told us. Vera was just a late bloomer. Remembering the torture of being a geek in high school, I could sympathize. Derek, the famous neurosurgeon, was slightly more skeptical, but when the slow development did not turn out to be autism or anything serious, he settled for watching carefully, always one eye open.

And it seemed, for a time, that our fears were groundless, that they would take to the sky and be lost forever. Vera's growth exploded. Not physically, she'd always been tiny, but mentally, intellectually, she was the smartest child I'd ever met. I was perfectly serene around her; she provided leaps and bounds of happiness in my otherwise grey days. Because that's when Derek became not distracted, but obsessed with work and I became depressed, desperate, and Vera suffered along with us … and you know the rest. I guess I should have known.

*~*~*

"Long day," I comment as Meredith slumps tiredly into the lobby in front of the hospital.

"Yeah," she agrees and I smile as I looked up from my laptop, appreciating the inner sparkle that seems to be transferred to everyone she encounters, and the golden brown hair that catches the light just perfectly.

"Somewhere out there there's a steak with your name on it, and maybe a bottle of wine," I say, preparing to leave on our long-awaited first date. It has taken me two months to coax Meredith to this point.

"This is why I keep you around," she jokes.

"So we need to talk," I say. So much about my past she did not know, so much I had hidden and still desired to hide. It I could have taken a giant eraser and cleaned the slate that was my life, I probably would have.

"Wine first, talk later." Always the exhausted intern, of course.

"You trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?" I ask, recalling how we met. A one night stand. Very not my style, but it was a welcome distraction from my agony, and Meredith has slowly morphed into some sort of antidote for thoughts of what used to be my life, although this was extremely unfair to her. She has the right to know.

"I think I like this rules thing," she says, and I agree as we pull on our coats. Her collar becomes tucked under, and I reach out automatically to correct this, brushing the fine skin of her collarbone as I do.

It is only after this that I turn, see her. The effect is similar to being drenched in icy water, because shock isn't hot, it creeps over you, freezing you with cold. My vows cut me like fine wire. This doesn't fit, my brain protests. Addison cannot be here, a disharmonious chord in the new life I have built without her, a life strewn with forgotten memories, regrets, and a whole bucket of angst, but a new life just the same. As my old life clashes with my new, I know chaos will be born; nothing will ever be the same …

"Meredith, I'm so sorry," I mutter.

I could not and still cannot say that Addison was not beautiful, because it would be the most blasphemous lie. Her fiery hair is curled to perfection; her red lips could have tempted even the most virtuous angel. But where there had once been absolute strength and independence, I now perceive fragility. Her features are composed in a mask I know so well, yet there is a flaw, a slip in her disguise, and I see right through it. Addison is terrified.

Not of Meredith, surely. Meredith is still staring, unsure who this gorgeous redheaded siren is. But as Addison approaches, I see a small figure that sets my heart pounding: Vera.

My daughter, whom I had abandoned in New York, clutches at Addison, and Addison holds her just as fiercely. Something about Vera is not quite right either: her green blue eyes, so like my wife's, are never still, and they linger in strange places, like she is seeing things I cannot. Always small, Vera looks alarmingly skinny now, and so tiny in Addison's arms. No, while at another time, in an alternate universe, Addison would have surely come up with some snarky comment to introduce herself to Meredith, she only stands there now.

"Addison," I say. They seem to be the only words I could manage. "What are you doing here?"

"Vera," Addison says, still appraising Meredith and I but not addressing us, "Mommy needs to talk to Daddy for a second." Daddy. Meredith's eyes widen, her mouth falling open, staring between me and Addison, but she seems frozen to the spot and there's nothing I can say to make this better that wouldn't be a lie. "There's nothing scary here, I promise," she continues, and sets Vera on the ground. Vera's small flowered boots hit the floor, and she reluctantly lets go of Addison. Her are huge as she looked at me, betrayed, forsaken … Guilt has my heart in an iron fist. Still, she says nothing. This is strange. Vera was a talker ... at least she was when I knew her two months ago.

"What?" I snap at Addison once Vera has sidled slightly off to the side. "What could you possibly have to say to me?" As she straightens, I catch a glimpse of something else. A subtle bump under the black silk blouse. This must be a dream, I tell myself. It can't be true; I ran away, so far away and shut the door on my pursuing past. Apparently I am about to become a daddy all over again, or maybe, and the thought makes me go red with rage, maybe Mark is instead.

She doesn't mention the baby, however, when she speaks. "Vera was diagnosed with early onset schizophrenia seven days ago," she whispers in a broken voice, and I feel like someone has punched me in the stomach. She isn't here to disturb my Seattle utopia with Meredith; she is here to tell me personally that our daughter, our beautiful, wonderful, six year old daughter has a severe mental disorder. "I need you, Derek."

"You're married?" Meredith asks, her voice a wisp of sound in the living, breathing hospital, seeking to confirm her fear that now seems so insignificant in the face of my daughter's illness. "You have a wife … and a daughter, who's sick." Addison's hand flutters to her stomach as Meredith speaks, and I wonder whether she is perhaps feeling the baby's movements, feeling it kick … "And … you're …" Meredith chokes, eyes having followed her hand. "Pregnant," she finishes in a whisper.

"Mine or Mark's?" is all I have to say, and I can't deny that I am satisfied by Addison's flinch.

"Yours, of course," she answers. "I'm four months pregnant, Derek; you only left two months ago. Congratulations," she says, but her voice is sarcastic. It's too much for me to take in, right now, too much to fathom. I pretend that the child growing in Addison's womb does not exist, because insanity will become my constant companion otherwise.

"Mom!" Vera calls, as if to endorse Addison's earlier reveal. "Look, butterflies!" My six year old is pointing at empty air, a wondrous expression on her face, and the weight of the word schizophrenia settles in. Hallucinations. Delusions. Paranoia.

"Honey, there are no butterflies!" Addison says, her voice made sharp by fear.

"Yes there are, Mommy," Vera says, her voice strangely flat. "Right there." My eyes travel down her skinny white arm, adorned with a few beaded bracelets, onto nothing. There are, of course, no butterflies. But it is also apparent that Vera can see them perfectly clearly.

"Oh. I see them now," Addison lies, to comfort the little girl before the spectacle gets out of hand. "They're lovely, sweetie."

"Oh my God," are my only words. My daughter hallucinates. Sees things that aren't there. Schizophrenia … although I do not have a degree in psychiatry, I did study many neurological disorders extensively, to better understand what went on in my area of study, the brain. Schizophrenia is chronic, very difficult to diagnose in children, especially those under seven … and although it can be treated, it cannot be cured.

My thoughts are interrupted by a moan. Vera is still staring into open space, but her expression has become terrified and she runs toward Addison, her little hands clutching my wife's skirt. "The butterflies are being eaten by dogs," Vera sobs. "They have long teeth and their heads are upside down."

"They're not really there, honey," Addison murmurs, picking her up again. Vera buries her head in Addison's neck, and I remember what it is like to do just that, and how intoxicating her perfume smells …

"I can see them, Mommy," Vera says, but she closes her eyes tightly, like this can shut out an unfriendly and mysterious world. Her breathing evens, and as I watch she falls gently towards slumber on Addison's shoulder. I wonder if our other child is sleeping as well.

"She saw dragons on the plane," Addison tells me, and only then do I realize that Meredith has disappeared. "What did we do wrong, Derek?"

*~*~*

It started when Derek began missing dinner. Well, maybe I can't say that. It wasn't his fault, at least not entirely, because Vera had always been … a little odd. I tried valiantly to keep track of all her imaginary friends but there were just too many. Sometimes, when she spoke of them, she seemed so far away, but I told myself they were just children's games, games that by the time you are an adult, you have forgotten how to play.

There was more, now, and I partially blame myself. Derek has fourteen nieces and nephews, but Vera would never have anything to do with them. She'd stare, from the corner, simply watching them play, never joining in, no matter how much Derek or Carolyn or I coaxed her. Nancy's daughter, Kailey, is exactly Vera's age, but Kailey has always refused to play with her … because Vera tells "scary stories."

So, our daughter was strange. She was still brilliant, wonderful, amazing. She curled up to me on our couch on those cold winter days when Derek was absent. But as my husband drew farther and farther away, called by the hospital at all hours of the night, Vera became more distant as well. I'd call her, and she wouldn't be able to hear me. She'd walk around our house, shaking from sightless fears.

The night Derek left, she had screaming nightmares. Mark and I restrained her, tried to help, to do anything, but she saw right past us, to those dream-infested phantoms who were "trying to get her."

*~*~*

The ride to the hotel is completely and utterly silent. Vera is totally out now, sleeping against ice cold window of the car, her flushed cheek sticking to it. I am struck again by how young she looks for six years old, how unfair it is that she has suffered and will suffer more.

I can hardly look at Addison as we drive through the rain. It is difficult, because even the simplest gestures, itching her nose or tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, highlight how indescribably beautiful she is. Like a freaking angel, practically, and Vera looks just like her. But Addison has fallen, fallen from grace and heaven; she's Satan in my eyes now.

I carry Vera into the hotel, Addison purchases a room with her platinum credit card, and we make the awkward journey up the elevator. When the doors close and we begin to ascend, I think involuntarily of Meredith. Will she ever forgive me?

The room is white and bland yet comfortable, with an emerald plant marking the only color in the monochrome room. Addison pulls off Vera's boots and jacket and tucks her under the covers, pulling them up to her tiny pointed chin. Vera moans slightly in her sleep and Addison hovers, obviously worried, but our daughter's beatific face is peaceful and after a minute Addison sinks onto the second bed, leaving me standing by the door.

She discards her heels onto the floor beside Vera's boots and leans back against the pillows, but her stature is tense, perhaps she is waiting for either an apology or an explosion. But she gets none. Her hand moves to her belly, which at second glance looks abnormally small for 16 weeks into a pregnancy. "What now?" she wants to know, her voice dull.

I think for a minute. She cheated; she should be the one with the answers. I want to be rid of this mess forever, I want a new life, bright and shiny and new and not tainted with unpleasant memories. "I want a divorce," I say. "You and Vera and the … you can all stay here, I don't care. We'll get treatment for Vera. But I want a divorce."

"I have papers." She holds up a black briefcase and pulls a sheaf of paper from it.

I take them; tuck them away for later, because signing away my wife and effectively my daughter is harder and more nightmarish at second thought. Every birthday, celebrated with cake bought from a bakery around the corner, gone. Every Christmas, spent drinking juju over looking the snow swathed city, gone. Eleven years of us married, six of us with our daughter. None with our coming child.

The hotel room has a coffee maker, and Addison flits toward it before hesitating, her hand on her stomach. "We should talk," she says. "If you really want a divorce … we need to figure out what to do about Vera and …" She doesn't say 'baby' either. "Do you want some coffee?"

I shrug, anything to prolong what's coming. Her hands move quickly, deftly, and she remembers how I like my coffee, with cream and a dash of sugar. I almost hate her for it. I sink into the single white armchair in the room while she returns to the bed coffee-less and looking a little nauseous.

"You left us," she says.

"You slept with Mark!" I yell back, unable to believe that she is trying to blame this on me.

"Because you weren't there, Derek, you were never there! I watched our daughter go crazy right in front of my eyes and you missed every appointment I scheduled with a counselor for someone else's surgery!" she replies, vermilion hair in tangles around her face.

"I couldn't do it," I whisper. "You said she was disturbed, and I just couldn't watch."

"So you left me to do it," she finishes. "Lovely. How this will bolster your good guy persona," she rants sarcastically.

"We weren't the same, Addison." And I couldn't come home and face her eyes, huge in her pale white face, begging me to be home once in a while, nor my daughter's sightless visions, her wandering, babbling. I don't say this, but she infers it.

"So you avoided me instead of trying to fix it."

"And you slept with my best friend thinking that would fix it."

"He tucked Vera in to bed for two months, every day, before I slept with him. He was acting as my husband. I know you think I chose Mark to spite you, but really it was because … sometimes he reminds me of you," Addison says, but I won't afford her this one last thing, forgiveness. Because if I do, maybe I will find her red lips tantalizing instead of repulsive, and I'll begin to long for the New York brownstone that is my home, and I'll want to erase Mark's touches from Addison's bare body with my own.

And that can't happen. I won't give in and I won't go back.

"I'll pull some strings, schedule an appointment for tomorrow," I say. "I have to go check on Richard now … and we should stop by tomorrow, with Vera." I catch Addison's barely perceptible nod as I edge towards the door; she looks well on her way to the dreamland where Vera already sleeps.

But I do not go to check on Richard, like I told Addison. Instead I traverse the winding roads to Meredith's house, seeking some kind of atonement for what I've done. She's a breath of fresh air in an otherwise oxygen-less world consisting of my failed marriage and mentally disturbed daughter.

I knock, and when the door opens, I get the briefest glimpse of angry brown eyes before the door slams in my face. Apparently Meredith told Izzie, I think as I hear soft voices through the door. It opens again, and I am face to face with George. He glares and shuts the door again. So much for being liked by the interns.

There is a creak, and a gap appears between door and doorframe a third time. It is finally Meredith, her hair rumpled and her Dartmouth t-shirt hanging around her skinny frame.

We stare at each other for a minute, both unsure how we will breach this chasm of wordlessness and secrets. "Mer, I am so, so sorry," I begin.

"Don't," she says. "Save it, Derek. I don't want to hear it."

"I was going to tell you," I protest. "I didn't know Addie and Vera would show up."

"That's the thing, Derek. If I mattered to you, if I was more than just an escape, you would have already told me," Meredith said. Her voice is unbending, firm, but I can hear the sadness it carries.

"Listen," I say desperately. "Addison and I are getting a divorce. Two months ago I walked into my house and ... Something was different. I knew what I would find, besides my daughter sleeping fitfully. But then I recognized the jacket I stepped on. It belonged to Mark, who happened to be my best friend. And I walked in on them in bed together."

"But ... Why?" Meredith asks. "If Addison was already upset about Vera, why would she sleep with Mark?"

"I guess I was just ... a little absent," I admitted. "But it doesn't excuse what she did. And I came out here and met you, and you're everything I needed."

"You're really getting a divorce?" she asks weakly.

"Yes," I reply softly.

"But what about the baby?" Meredith asks, and she is braver than both me and Addison for saying what we won't.

"I don't know, Mer. But please, just … don't write me off," I say before backing away and heading down the porch steps. For two months life was easy … and now I don't even know what I want anymore.

I sleep fitfully in the trailer, the patter of rain sending my brain spinning into odd, freakish dreams that I attempt to forget as soon as I wake up. Vera is warm in my arms when we enter the hospital the next morning after treading through frosty grass, her legs wrapped around my waist like a much smaller child. Addison walks a bit to the side of us, and I wonder at this until Vera begins to speak.

"Daddy?" she asks. "Why did you leave me?"

"I'm sorry, baby," I choke. "So sorry."

"Why didn't you want me and Mommy anymore?" Vera wants to know, and I try to ignore the way her voice is flat, a dreadful monotone instead of the way she used to cheerfully babble.

"I'll always want you, Ver," I promise. "I love you, you know that."

"Is it because I see things? I won't see them anymore if you stay, Daddy. You can protect them from getting me."

"Protect you from who?" I ask her.

"Sometimes they talk to me," she whispers. "And they say they're coming to get me."

"They're not real," I tell her firmly, as if saying it aloud will make it truer in her monster-infested mind.

"Then why do they talk to me and you won't? Why do they visit me and you ran away?" she sniffles.

"They're not going to talk to you anymore Vera. And I'm not going anywhere ever again," I promise her. "We're going to see some people who will help you not see things. Is that okay?" I ask.

"Like me and Mom went to last week? He asked me lots of questions," Vera said.

*~*~*

I would have said that it was the sound of soft sobbing, coming from somewhere in the empty hole of a house where I still somehow existed, that woke me, but that would have been a lie, because I'd been awake for hours. It had taken me a long time to drag myself away from the banister by the door, because my husband wasn't coming back. Not after what I'd done.

Sleep evaded me, punishing me perhaps, and I could not delude myself that I did not deserve to burn in hell. Because when Derek missed Vera's appointment with the psychiatrist for a clipped aneurism, like he'd done dozens of times, I snapped. Mark was there. Mark held her hand while we waited and while I apologized and said that my husband wasn't able to make it.

That's when it occurred to me that Mark was a better husband than Derek lately. Why that led to sleeping with him in Derek's and my bed, midnight already passed and blue shadows creeping over silent furniture, I still have no idea. I felt empty, like Derek took my heart with him wherever he went and all my other organs paraded out after it. I suppose Lucifer might have felt the same when he Fell.

I pulled myself out of bed, still clad in Derek's Columbia t-shirt, and hunted for the mysterious sound in the moonlight clad house. It felt all wrong without Derek, like a setting for a horror movie, but I told myself that that was silly and continued.

I think my heart stopped that night when I saw Vera. In fact, I didn't even register at first that it was her. She looked like the ghost of a tortured soul, all bone white skin and terrified expression. Her small body was curled into a tight ball in the hall between the laundry room and the living room. The tile froze my feet. Her sobs echoed through the house, and I figured she must have known what had passed between Derek and me.

"Vera?" I asked, unable to keep the terror from my voice but trying to stay calm. "What are you doing up at midnight?"

I will never, ever forget her words, probably not even in death. "They're coming to get me," she sobbed. "I can't stop them."

"Who, honey?" I demanded. "Who is coming?"

Her eyes, the exact same azure shade as mine, filled with confusion. "They're coming for me," she repeats. "They always watch me. I hear them talk. Now they're coming!"

"No one's coming," I promised, sinking down beside her and pulling her frail body into my arms. "I've got you. You just had a bad dream, sweetie."

"I have bad dreams a lot," she said. "Even when I'm awake."

*~*~*

I can literally feel Addison shaking as we approach the door. As much as I wish I could easily discard fourteen years of knowing her, split into two years of dating, one year of engagement, and eleven years of marriage, I cannot. She is afraid of what will be said in his room, of what will be revealed. I'm just as terrified.

"Drs. Shepherd," a man greets as we walk through the door. He has warm brown eyes and hair to match, and soft, nondescript features. He wears a designer button up shirt, but the sleeves are rolled up. "I'm Dr. Nguyen. Nice to meet you." He shakes Addison's hand first, which she has to unwrap from around her midsection, and then mine. He is a child specialist, the best on the west coast and I called in countless favors to get this appointment.

"This must be Vera," Dr. Nguyen says, smiling down at her. She doesn't smile back, but her sweaty grip on my hand tightens. He isn't fazed, he gestures toward the couch in the room, and Addison and I sit a comfortable distance apart, Vera between us. There are toys and mind games littering the floor, enough to tempt any child, but Vera's eyes pass right over them.

"Now, at this first appointment, we're just going to try and hammer out some history. I'd like to ask you a few questions about Vera's childhood, and then I'm going to speak to her alone." Addison nods, perfectly attentive, but my thoughts wander towards Meredith. Is she here yet, perhaps scrubbing in on a surgery that is not mine?

Dr. Nguyen picks through every detail of Vera's six years, and Addison and I collaborate, answering as best as we can. We are, for a few minutes, reunited as an unbreakable team, just two parents fighting for their child. Is it wrong, I wonder, for me to ignore the fact that I have another child coming?

He asks what she was like as a baby, when she said her first word, when she took her first step. He wants to know what foods she liked and didn't like, about childhood acquaintances, where she went when we were both in surgery, where she was conceived. It awakens a flood of pleasant memories, dappled in sunlight and the green grass of Central Park, and I finally realize what giving up Addison will mean. It will mean indirectly giving up Vera, my unborn child, a part of me that they all hold; my resolve wavers.

Finally, after divulging for what feels like hours, Dr. Nguyen asks gently and carefully about our separation. Addison explains, in terms Vera will not be able to decipher, how our marriage crumbled and she ended up sleeping with Mark. I am surprised that she so willingly admits to it, and that she cries as she does. Involuntarily I reach for her hand. Comforting the devil. One of her hands rests in mine behind Vera's straight back, the other on our baby.

Dr. Nguyen cannot fail to notice this, and Addison confirms that we are indeed expecting a second child. I look at my daughter's face and realize she has no idea what we're talking about. I suspect she's not even hearing us.

"What if … will the baby be schizophrenic too?" Addison wants to know, and I feel, if possible, worse than I did before.

"It's possible, since he or she has a sibling that is, but not probable," Dr. Nguyen says, and I am reassured. "Now I'd like to speak to Vera, but first, I have some homework for you two before I see you next week. I'd like you to research your family histories and see if you can find anyone else with schizophrenia. Also, if you could provide a list of family, friends and teachers that I can contact for more information, that would be great."

I write down my mother, sisters, Savvy and Weiss, (grudgingly) Mark, Vera's first grade and kindergarten teachers, Sam and Naomi, and the daycare at Mt. Sinai. Sympathy twists inside me as I realize we have no one younger than adults to write down, because Vera doesn't have any friends who will willingly play with her. Then we both stand, and I hug Vera's tense shoulders tightly while Addison kisses her forehead. "We love you," she whispers.

We are almost to the door when Vera turns to acknowledge us. "Where are you going?" she asks, and I realize that she suspects we are abandoning her again.

"You're just going to talk to this man," I say. "He'll help you, Ver, okay? We'll be right outside."

"Promise, Daddy?"

"I promise."

"You can call me Dr. Caleb if you like," Dr. Nguyen offers as we leave. There is a grey velvet couch outside and Addison sinks onto it, her back pressed up against the wall. I sit next to her, trying to sort out conflicting feelings, and because of that it is several minutes before I notice that Addison is crying quietly.

When your child is sick, all rules can be broken, because you do anything to stem the freely flowing worry. For a moment, it doesn't matter that Addison slept with Mark and let his hands roam all over her cream skin and she opened her legs for him on our bed. It doesn't matter that the life we built, the things that happened all because two people fell in love, are crumbling. All that matters are my sure and steady hands, pulling her body against my chest and swinging her legs over my lap so I can cradle her like a small child.

Mascara stains my charcoal sweater, but I couldn't care less. I just let Addison cry. She tries to hide it from Dr. Nguyen's secretary, who sits calmly at her desk, but she has a stuffy nose and her cries are choked and loud. Even when she calms I don't relinquish my hold because my body is screaming that this is right, perfectly right. So for the first time, I put my hand on her rounded stomach. I hate to admit it, but the bump is kind of cute.

Her crying breaks the part of my heart that still has fissures from her betrayal; a part that I thought had hardened into stone. She outdoes every expectation, disproves every prediction. If I love Meredith so much, why do I feel like a failure when I hold a broken Addison?

"Did you sign the papers?" she wants to know once she has wiped her eyes and found some semblance of tranquility.

"No," I say.

"Why?" she asks incredulously.

"Because …" But I can't explain, because it is partially incomprehensible even to me. "Because I don't know if I can," I finally tell her. "And because I don't know if I want to. Signing away fourteen years of my life and part of myself, well, I'm not sure that I'll be able to, Addison. And I'm mad as hell that you slept with my best friend, but … things were bad all around. I don't know if I can forgive you yet. I guess I just need a little time."

"Time," Addison replies slowly, her head in my sweater. "Okay. You can have all the time in the world because I will not be able to sign those papers unless you do. And if you do … we'll have to still be in the same place because Vera needs you."

"I'm not going anywhere," I tell her, just like I told Vera a few hours ago. Her hair is trailing over my shoulder, her designer skirt riding up from her awkward cradle in my lap. I can see a sliver of skin just where her stomach begins to curve and I slide my thumb over it, reveling in its softness. How Addison can be so broken and together at the same time I cannot fathom, but it's part of the reason I love her. I still love her and part of me needs her and maybe it always will.

We're lost in a dark wonderland and we don't know where we're going. Addison and I, we hit walls, searching for our children, being hindered by Meredith and Mark. Our hands are clasped, but shadows engulf us and we let go. We stumble, lost, and then find each other again. This time, only our fingertips touch, but it might just be enough for forever.

I am content until Meredith invades my thoughts, standing still and vulnerable before me. This is the way my life works. What would she say if she discovered me and Addison's entwined bodies, my hand on my baby, Addison's head in the crook of my neck?

My heart rips. How to choose? The woman that is easy, fun, and makes perfect sense, or the one who drives me insane and away but just brings me back for more pleasure with a side of agony?

Would you believe me if I said I didn't need you?
'Cause I wouldn't believe you if you said the same to me.
Near death, last breath, and barely hanging on.
Would you believe me if I said I didn't need you?

So ... what did you all think? It was long, I know, I applaud you for getting through it. Let me know if you think I should continue.