Amelia never knew when it would happen. That was one crucial and depressing fact she had learned over the course of ten years of sobriety. She could go weeks, months even, forgetting she had ever taken drugs. Her life would be good (god forbid she ever dare say it) and the only time oxy would cross her mind would be a passing wonder at why she'd ever used it in the first place. But then it would happen. A sudden wave, a craving, an itch at the back of her throat. It was scary- definitely- but most days she could overcome it. Go to a meeting, remember the steps, go to work and sooner or later the distraction will be enough until it passes. There were some days, however, when the random, sudden cravings fell at bad times. Awful times. Times even a meeting couldn't fix. It was like she was being called by a siren song- as much as she knew she shouldn't follow it, the inevitable truth was that it was too late. And that was all. A random configuration of a craving and a dark day had the devastating potential to ruin years of work. Ten years of freedom from the prison of drugs out the window.
Today was that day.
Amelia's body was on autopilot. Her feet knew the way all on their own, which freed her mind to chant its now never ending mantra: "I want my drugs. I need my drugs."
Owen ran past her, clearly on the way to a trauma. He was in a hurry but Amelia could tell that he immediately sensed that something was wrong. Off. She cursed herself for falling for someone who was so damn perceptive.
"Amelia? You don't look so good. Are you... okay?" He knit his eyebrows together and a wave of panic shot through Amelia, chilling her to the bone. He knew. Damn it. He knew.
She stopped in her tracks and distractedly looked at him, trying and failing to convey a sense of calm to mask the panic and desperation she was feeling.
"Uh huh." she replied flatly. The emotionless tone was all she could muster in a moment when her other option was the utterly desperate, whining voice inside her:
I want my drugs. I need my drugs.
"I'm fine." She smiled weakly, knowing that on any other day this would not be enough for Owen. But he was on his way to a trauma, so she figured it would have to be.
She was right.
Owen looked her unconvinced and put a hand on her shoulder. "You really don't look too good. Go take a nap in an on-call room and I'll bring you a coffee after my trauma, okay?"
I want my drugs. I need my drugs.
"Okay." Amelia forced a smile. "Thank you, Owen. Really."
She watched him walk down the hall and tapped her foot impatiently as he waited for the elevator door to open.
I want my drugs. I need my drugs.
The minute it closed, she turned and walked as fast she could down the hall.
New pharmacists were naive. Amelia knew this. They didn't know the signs or the tricks of addicts, were never suspicious. They just filled prescriptions like they were supposed to and did their jobs. They also didn't know Amelia, another plus of Grey-Sloan Memorial's decision to hire several new ones over the past few weeks. Amelia's hand was beginning to sweat, and she wiped it on her scrub pants to avoid smudging the ink on her prescription slip. The one she had hastily filled out for herself, knowing that the woman behind this desk wouldn't think twice. OxyContin. Amelia's handwriting made the letters twist into each other in a beautiful swirl. OxyContin. So beautiful. So dangerous.
Her entire body felt the craving now. Her muscles were tensing and she couldn't stand still. The minute the prescription bottle was handed to her, Amelia had to swallow hard to keep herself under control. She knew she had to be careful, just drive home, but half of her wanted to screw safety and down a couple right now. Miraculously, she convinced herself not to.
Why now? Why today? Why throw away everything she had worked for in LA, with Addison and Charlotte? She had come back from rock bottom, from nearly losing her job and her friends and her life to this. The successful, brilliant surgeon who had tackled a never-before done surgery. And succeeded.
Therein lies the problem, Amelia thought bitterly as she climbed into bed with a glass of wine in one hand and her treasured bottle of oxy in the other. Because she hadn't succeeded. All that talk of being a superhero she'd given Edwards was crap. A superhero would have saved Nicole before she'd lost her vision. A superhero would have made sure that at the end of the surgery, Nicole Herman was still Nicole Herman. Still able to be a world-class fetal surgeon, still able to save the babies that no one else could save. Now all of that was taken away from her. With the loss of Herman's eyesight went her talent, and with it her life's work and Amelia's pride. She wasn't a superhero. No. She never would be. She would always be twin B, the "other" Dr. Shepherd, the screw-up, the black sheep. Hurricane Amelia.
"Well," Amelia whispered to herself as she took a swig of wine to wash down the two round pills that she'd craved for so long. So damn long. "Let the hurricane begin."