Chapter 1 - 2,553 days
2,553 days. . .
What goes around, comes around...
It's a proverb that holds true to her heart. It's accurate. Very much so. It's real. Her reality. It's factual. Again, it is what her life has become now.
Sadly, she's living proof of her own salacious actions. It's the downfall, the consequence of feeling oh-so lonely that one melancholy night.
But, technically, it wasn't only that one night she had felt so lonely, it had been months and months too long. A repetition of going to bed alone with half a bottle of Cabernet in her system. A repetition of staying at the hospital longer than any of them should. A repetition of how was your day, asking without an intent of listening or even caring - habitual. Routine, it was what's expected and that was that. And that night was her undoing, a lapse of judgement.
Karma.
What else can she say other than karma's a real bitch.
It's a Hindu and Buddhist belief, stating that the sum of a person's actions determine the person's next incarnation in samsara, also called, the cycle of death and rebirth.
The concept had fascinated her. She had learned it on her trip to India with her parents a very long time ago, some two decades ago. It was one of the handful of trips her parents had decided to take her and her brother along with them.
Cause and effect.
How can a life be determined by the direct result, whether be it good or bad, of a previous life?
Good deeds results in happiness and prosperity for the next life. Bad deeds contributes sadness and future suffering.
What we experience now is the result of our own past's actions and our future is a function of our own choice and making.
If that's the case then she loathes previous-life-Addison for banishing her with eternal suffering. But then that means next-life-Addison will also be condemned to forever hell for she is not a good person. She's a fucking horrible person. And this is her punishment, being stuck in this box - somewhat in a literal and figurative sense.
She wondered what previous-life-Addison had done. What had she done so bad for she to suffer her wrath? Had she too slept with her husband's best friend?
Immense sorries to all future Addisons.
She's apologising in advance since she can only imagine the misery her future-self will have to endure.
Tied to eternal suffering.
Addison laid awake on the squeaky and rusty single bed that barely suffices her Amazonian legs. It was just enough and just enough wouldn't have ever been in her vocabulary. She don't think she've ever slept on a single mattress before. All the beds she've slept on had more than enough length for her long legs, more than enough room for two bodies, more than enough space to stretch. This child-like size bed didn't come with any of that comfort.
Double. Queen. King. California king. Now, that's a word in her vocabulary bank that she'd like to use more often.
But that was more than seven years ago.
Everyone - family, husband, friends, colleagues - must have forgotten her already.
Derek probably had a long time ago.
Her parents, she don't think her parents had even noticed.
Mark, she was just a fling, a one night stand to him.
Her friends and colleagues, well, they have their own lives to worry about.
Sighing, what else can she do?
It's not like she could just walk out of this - whatever this is - room. She had tried to escape years ago. Of course, she had. She wouldn't be called Addison Montgomery-Shepherd if she hadn't.
She tried a handful of times until she realised there was no point and no possible way in getting past that fucking maniac. Also, he had hit her so hard one day with what she believed was a ceramic toilet lid, the heaviest object in this room, that she had spent days to hinge off the seat, which actually was used to her disadvantage because instead of him being slammed by it, it was she who was. Resulting in her landing awkwardly onto her right wrist - her dominant hand. Her miracle hand. That was where she was able to heal.
Every surgeon's worst nightmare.
Till this day, she've never ever tried escaping ever again.
She gave up.
Have you learned your lesson?
She just nodded at him, very slightly, cradling her broken wrist in her other hand, as she gasped for air. Leaving her to wonder whether he had noticed her confirmation - the maniac craves on being acknowledged and if he isn't, she gets punished. But he must have because he was already by the door, pinning in a code like he always does.
She didn't need an x-ray to confirm that the intricate bones of her trapezium and carpals hadn't had set properly.
Till this day, her wrist aches. Sometimes so terribly. Till this day, her hand shakes. She knows she's never going to operate ever again.
It's been seven long years since she touched a ten blade.
She has taken an early retirement.
So much for hundreds of thousands spent on medical school. She didn't even get to finish her residency. She was just on her first year before all this happened.
Peering through the duvet, unbeknownst to the jolly little boy, who's now greeting every object a very good morning, a daily routine of his, she watched as her son whisk from object to object around their condemned hell.
A 13ftx10ft.
She thinks it's that size. She don't really know. An estimation. It's not like she has access to a measuring tape.
Oh, and she've also never lived in a room this size before.
Her last known address was in New York City in a brownstone she shared with her husband.
That was living. She had a life, though not a perfect and happy one and one she took for granted. At least she was free. Addison had freedom. Happiness is void without freedom. She had to learn that the hard way. This, this isn't living. Living wasn't supposed to be waiting for the necessities and groceries she had to practically beg on her knees for before he would bring them for her - begging for more food, vitamins for her and her son. She's mere existing, surviving for no one else other than her boy. If he wasn't born, she would've gladly begged to be killed.
Are they even in New York City?
Maybe somewhere further north because it gets really cold in the winter season.
Maybe the suburbs or the counties.
Monroe.
Albany.
Nassau.
Yonkers.
Plattsburgh.
Watching intently, he now pushed a button to the CD player, a gadget she earned by doing something she really doesn't want to say - maybe sometime in the future she'll talk about it but definitely not now - and the soft mellow of Clair De Lune began playing.
Her fingers started floating with the keys. Like they would when she plays it on the piano.
He hummed through the Debussy's D-flat major eloquent movement and spun around the small room, she giggled.
He is her whole life. She never thought she'd be able to love someone as much as she loves her son. Words cannot describe the deep affection she feels. Love? She don't think it should even be called love because love is overrated and the term has long been overused.
She loves sushi. But not the raw fish ones.
She loves being a doctor. Giving babies a second chance in life is a reason on it's own.
She loves watching old movies. Those cheesy romantic ones.
She loves her parents. Her brother, Archer, included.
She loves her husband.
This, it's beyond love. She's empty without her son. He gave her purpose.
But he must have heard her chuckle, she had hastily closed her eyes, because he now had stopped on his toes and was tiptoeing towards her on the bed.
A jolt to her legs as she felt the flimsy mattress dip a little with his familiar weight, and he crawled towards her.
"Ma..." A little hand was now patting her cheek, "Are you wake, Ma?"
Slowly opening her hooded eyes to see a small round face with bright blue eyes, she pretended to have just been woken up and yawned and stretched her long limbs.
Her son was beaming at her. He's most likely happy now that she's awake.
"Happy birthday, my sweet baby." she said and pulled him closer to tickle him. He squealed, trashing his tiny arms next to her, pleading for her to stop, laughing as she brushed her fingers over his overly sensitive tummy.
Just like her, that's his tickle spot.
"Ma!" he laughed as she showered his face with kisses.
"Okay. Ma's going to stop. Okay. Happy Birthday baby!" she composed herself before placing a kiss to his forehead.
"I'm not baby, Ma. I'm five." he held out his little five fingers.
Addison brushed his smooth dark brown hair over his eyes and peered into her son's blue eyes that says he's a Montgomery, without a doubt. She can't believe it's been five years already.
Whoa!
She've done it all by herself.
"C'mere," she lay back down, pulled him to rest on top of her and she wrapped her arms around his small frame, "I'm know. Ma just can't believe her baby's five already."
He pouted a little, brows knitted together, seemingly thinking about something. "I was four last night but when I woken up in dark light, I'm changed to five. Like magic. Like from TV. Poof!" he made a sound and gestured with his hands the aftereffect. "And before that I was three, then two, then one, then zero..." Counting until he had no fingers left.
Addison watched him enthusiastically, watching him think is her favourite pastime.
She knows what he's thinking now.
"Where was I before zero?" his tone was innocently curious.
He's a very curious boy. Very talkative too.
"Well," she gathered herself, pulling him off her and allowed him to climb onto her lap, and he looked up at her with bright eyes.
Teaching him about things, reasoning with him about this and that and life in general have also been one of her favourites because he actually listens to her and believes every single word that comes out of her mouth like it's the gospel.
She had to mend her passive aggressiveness and pessimism by telling him some fairytales here and there, amending her stories to child-friendly viewers.
She only wants him happy.
"You were up in heaven."
"Was I one, two, three, four, five up in heaven?"
"No, sweetie. You don't age until you zoomed down-"
"Through skylight." he interrupted and pointed up at the ceiling where a skylight, their only window, was. "You were sad until I was in your tummy."
It's the story she told him last year, when he turned four.
"Yes, I was." Addison said, pressing her thin lips to the top of his head and inhaled his scent. She can still smell that fresh newborn scent on him.
She's still sad.
"I cried and cried and cried until I didn't have any tears left." she said, "I just lay here and counted the days."
"How many days?"
Hmmm?
How many days has she been locked in here?
"2,553 days as of today."
She counted. Every morning. She remembers.
Still managing to keep track of her sanity. She's a smart woman and that's why she graduated on top of her class in medical school.
"Whoa! That's so many many days!" he beamed too excitedly.
"Yes, Christopher."
Derek Christopher Shepherd
"Then you got fat."
She grinned. She had always envisioned herself carrying Derek's child. She even had a picture in mind and still does - him resting one of his hands on the swell of her belly. Going through pregnancy, an exciting new beginning, together with him. But this was her fate. "I could feel you kicking."
"What was I kicking?"
"Me, silly."
He lifted his head from her chest, "No, Ma. You're being silly! It's not possible."
Ahh! But it is. She's very glad to explain to him her specialty, the science behind and how, in fact, it is possible. But he's not old enough yet to fully comprehend the human anatomy.
Maybe when he's six. Or seven. Or eight. Or nine...they're never leaving this godforsaken place.
"It's true. From the inside." she said and gently rub at her tummy. The human body is a wondrous treasure and a very resilient one too. It can protect one from trauma and even heal without a trace.
"And when you were coming, I can feel you and I thought Christopher's coming. And you zoomed down from heaven through skylight first thing in the morning on March the third."
He placed his ears to her tummy. "You're hungry, Ma." he whispered.
"It's ok, honey."
Yes, she is. She didn't get to eat very much yesterday. Nothing for dinner, in fact.
She's not all that hungry too often. Sometimes she'll just have cups of coffee to fill her up. She's perfectly fine. Functional.
It saddens her that he knows, he's aware of their living situation, poor, aware that they have certain times that they could eat, certain amount that they could eat, ration, limited amount that they could eat. She'd give him her portion, he needs food to grow, for nourishment. He's so small for a five-year-old. A five year old shouldn't have to worry about these things.
What he doesn't know is that he's rich and if they get out of this place, they'll have all the food in the world to eat, all the money to spend and all the space of a comfortable home. He'll be able to go to school and have a career of his choosing.
He'll have a trust fund too.
She hadn't used hers yet, she'll give him hers when they leave this hole.
When she was five, she didn't have any of this to worry about. She had a nanny, Clementine, who kept her company and took her to the park, piano classes and ballet, and the housekeeper would cook all of their meals. She lived in a mansion in Connecticut with her dysfunctional family.
She didn't have anything to worry about.
"You cut the cord and I was all blue. But you're a baby doctor. You save babies and you save me. And here I am."
There was a bit of a complication as he zoomed down from heaven. He was a breech baby, and in danger of suffocation. His legs came through first instead of his head, like she had hoped. She didn't know. It wasn't like she had an ultrasound machine with her. She was relying solely on luck for the months up to her first contraction. Thirty four hours later, her water broke. Luck had never been on her side.
She froze. She had cried and screamed even harder. She knows she won't be able to live if she were to lose him. She really wanted to meet him. Excited.
Her worst nightmare was playing right before her as she performed her on birth. You're a surgeon, Addison. You're in an OR. Your patient is in labour. The baby's in distress. There were no means for a c-section. She was alone. So, she did what she thinks everyone would have done if they were in her position, she prayed which was odd because she had never believed in God. Gently and forcibly, she pulled him out of her.
It was a miraculous day.
Shaking the both wonderful and horrific memory, she laced her hair through an elastic band. Her shoulder-length hair had stopped growing a long time ago. Vitamin deficiencies. Her body's in survival mode right now and apparently glowing skin and healthy hair aren't a priority.
"Have you brush your teeth, Christopher?"
He gave her a big nod.
"Did he came by yesterday night, ma? Did you tell him is my birthday today?"
He.
Christopher knows to never speak of him.
"C'mon, let's go wash our hands." she quickly changed the subject. She loves kids, they're very distractible. "We're making a birthday cake."
"For me?!"
He's never had a birthday cake before and she finally got herself to ask the maniac for a box of cake mix, some eggs and milk.
"Yes, it's all for you, baby."
And so he excitedly dragged a chair towards the sink and climbed on top of it, leaning over as she slathered their hands with antibacterial soap. Like she would when prepping for surgery.
She removed all jewellery. In this case, she had none because he took her wedding band. So, she pretend to remove her wedding band from her finger and slip them into her pocket.
Then, she lathered their hands and arms with antibacterial soap. And let Christopher blow bubbles with his soapy hands.
Since she doesn't have a nail file, that step doesn't need to be performed.
Two minutes each. She started timing as she looked at the old clock and began scrubbing each side of each of their fingers, between their fingers, and the back and front of their hands, all for two minutes.
Then, their arms. Reminding Christopher to keep his hand higher than his arm at all times.
"You know why we should always wash our hands?" she asked, now at the last and final step, the rinse.
"There are germs everywhere. Germs can sick you."
"That's right. You're so smart." she praised his intelligence. "Germs can make you sick, but germs can also kill you. So always remember to wash your hands."
She loves that kids are like sponges, very absorbable, very malleable. She can't help but think, so gullible too. So full of wisdom and positivity, so what she's not used to. But his positivity is too what's keeping her from losing her mind.
"Ma, how did you get the stuffs to making the cake?"
She poured a bit of the milk into the batter, flexing her aching wrist before continuing to mix. She knows where he's getting at.
It's the same question but asked differently.
He is her son. He's passive aggressive in his own way.
"Ma, did you tell him is my birthday?" he asked louder this time, thinking she hadn't heard him.
He is her son. He is very persistent.
And this is what she doesn't like about children, they can be so utterly pertinacious and tedious.
"Maaaaa..." he patted her cheek with a soft little hand, trying to get her attention while she continued to ignore him. Irritation creeping in.
"Ma, can you hear-"
"Stop, Christopher! Stop it! I told you you are not to talk about him!" she shouted, slamming the fork into the mix, causing a few to splash all over the table.
The second she ended her sentence, the second she turned around and look him in the eyes, her heart seized to exist. Melting into oblivion. Tears well up in his eyes and his lower lip turned upside down, trembling and she felt like she's the devil, Satan.
She must be. There's a reason why she's here.
"Christopher..." she breathed, attempting to reach for him, to console him, but he whimpered and climbed down the chair, stomping towards the bed with both arm around his eyes.
"No!" he shrieked, shooting her a wounded look before throwing himself onto the bed.
Running her fingers through her hair, she breathed a shaky breath and told herself that she has no permission to break alongside her son.
So, she straightened up herself, smoothing her hands over her rumpled clothes and closed the short distance between the so-called kitchen and the thin material that she's forced to call sheets.
Oh how she misses her designer kitchen in her brownstone. Though she barely even know how to cook and hardly ever does use that kitchen for it's conventional use, to her, that isn't the purpose of a kitchen. Cooking. Designing her kitchen has been more therapeutic than anything really. For show. Screaming wealth to any guests that they may have. She doesn't know why she does it, spending thousands of dollars in redesign that kitchen every other year. From modern to contemporary then back to modern again. It's a never ending cycle. Those two accents, she has always adored and Derek, he knows to never say anything about it. But he had, once, in spite.
It's difficult to explain and definitely harder to grasp around the logic - she knows that - but perhaps the black and white or steel forefronts, the eco-friendly Poggenpohl textured teak lava and terra melamine cabinetry, the BLANCO steel fixtures, Miele appliances and caesarstone surfaces were her zen.
Her kitchen was her happy place.
She's living in a box now. She has no kitchen. She has no bathroom, nor does she have any bedrooms and definitely no guest rooms. She's living in a room where all rooms are cramped into one. Never in a million years would she have thought that was possible. And for Addison Montgomery?! Never!
She's not in her happy place.
This is a shoebox.
So, this is what her shoes felt like?
Whenever he gets like this, she's immediately hit with her bare reality. She's reminded of where they actually are.
One might think being stuck here, all-day and every day, she wouldn't and couldn't have a problem of remembering where she is. But the thing is, whenever they're laughing and smiling and listening to classical music, she's able to forget. She's able to trick her brain into happiness.
With caution, she sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing out the wrinkly bedding - she doesn't even what to think about it's thread count and she have since she've had plenty of time to gawk at the sheets.
"Christopher..." she rested a hand on his shoulder but he brushed her fingers off.
"You're so mean, Ma." he cried into the sheets. "Why you always so mean!"
She smiled sadly, wiping her hands over her tearless face, stroking back his reddish-brown mane. He's in dire need of a trim, a long and overdue one. But he doesn't trust her around scissors and she doesn't trust him around her son.
It was a deal she made with the maniac. He's not allowed to lay a finger on her son or even dare look at him - she hides him in the cupboard whenever he's around - and in return, he could do whatever he pleases with her.
She sighed loudly, "I'm sorry, Christopher. Ma's just tired."
"You're always tired then." he spat, looking up at her with his bloodshot eyes before planting his face back into the mattress.
She is always tired.
She has no energy. She feels thrice her age.
But she fears one day her body will shut down and she'll die in her sleep. Christopher will be all alone. No one to fend for him. An orphan. She doesn't want to think what he'll do to her boy if she were to be dead.
She's not so sure if she can go on like this any longer.
"Christopher..." she was wrenching him by the shoulders but he twisted harshly, quickly and her bad wrist caught with the friction of his pull. She gasped at the sudden pressure to her wrist, swallowing a curse.
"Christopher, I'm sorry. Okay. I'm sorry. Ma's just tired. I know it's no excuse but, you know, I don't like talking about him..."
Blinking rapidly, the way she does when she fights back tears.
"But I'm five now. I'm old. Why can't I see him? I know he comes here from the outside every night."
She was afraid he'd caught up to that and even more terrified for him to see what he was really doing to her. But Christopher was supposed to be sleeping.
What does she really expect?
He's a kid. He's curious. And he's smart like his mother.
She can't get mad at him. After all they live in a small space. He's bound to notice.
"Ma just wants to protect you, okay? Trust me, Christopher. You trust Ma right?" she asked as she rubbed her aching wrist.
She's going to need to ask for more painkillers.
He nodded.
"I'm sorry. Will you forgive your naughty Ma?"
Shaking his head - no - he wriggled around and leaned back against her. "No. You're not naughty, Ma. You're just protecting me." he whispered, stroking her cheek.
"That's right." she felt a strong rush of protectiveness, just the same one she had felt five years ago when she was in labour. She knew then that she had to keep him safe.
Gathering the small boy in her arms, she hummed a tune her nanny used to sing to her as a child, rocking him until their pounding hearts synced.
"I forgot to have some when I woke." he said softly and pressed a small palm to her breast.
"That's okay. You're five. You're old now."
"Silly Ma!" he lightly slapped her forehead, "I need your milk so I can have muscles bigger than Superman. Like from TV."
So she laid down on the single bed with her boy tucked close to her chest, praying to anyone upstairs, anyone who's willing to listen to her relentless pleas, to hear that she've understood, that she've learnt her lesson, that she'll be a good person for now and forever.
She understands karma, so, now can she go home?
-:-
She checked the old clock on the far right hand corner, 12:10, it read.
After nursing, Christopher hadn't thrown any more tantrums and she's glad that he has finally simmered down and was back to being his jolly self.
They successfully continued making the batter for his birthday cake without any interruptions and she put the tin into their low voltage Trusty Toaster Oven.
Ma, can I lick the spoon?
No, sweetie. You'll get a stomach ache.
Ma, why is Trusty Toaster Oven hot?
Electricity helps heat up the oven and that cooks the cake.
"What's electricity?" he asked now.
"Never mind, sweetie. It doesn't matter." she sighed, "For now, you're too young to understand."
It's a line she says whenever she doesn't know what to say or was just simply too tired to explain to him.
"Okay. Next week when I turn six, will you tell, then?"
She smiled and propped her elbows onto the table, taking a slice of apple from his plate.
"Next year." Addison corrected, "You mean...next...year..." she trailed off and closed her eyes.
Next year?
The thought saddens her. Staying here for another year! She can't survive that! Not for another years! She wants to get out of here. She needs to go back home. She needs for them to get out of here because their shallow graves are what's next for them.
If they'll even survive for another year that is.
Some nights, she lie awake and stare up at the ceiling, plotting a way for their escape. But they all seemed so dangerous. It's not just her life now.
Some nights, she drifts on thoughts of Derek. Has he forgotten about her? Has he found someone else? Has he forgiven her? Will he ever? Does he ever think about her? Does he still hate her or does he love her?
Hoping it's the latter.
Does he even know she's missing?
That she's trapped in a shoebox with a child.
She wants to beg for his forgiveness. She's really good at begging now. Practically mastered the art.
He has to forgive her.
Their life is uncertain.
Their life is in the hands of a maniac.
Who knows maybe one day he'll snap and kill the both of them.
"Ma, why are you crying?"
"I'm not." she reassured, "Ma's just tired."
"Promise?" he held out his pinky, not quite convinced.
Locking her long pinky finger, in comparison to his, "Promise." she said with a smile then.
And since this Trusty Toaster Oven isn't one of her premium Miele ovens, it'll take about over an hour for the cake to bake. Sometimes even longer. But it doesn't really matter since while they wait and breathe in the heavenly scent of vanilla, she can busy herself with chores, like she always does. And Christopher, he's sitting by the table, drawing pictures. Like he always does.
Yesterday, he drew a beautiful picture of the two them holding hands and with a heart in between them. She loves it. It melts her heart. But the only issue she had with his masterpiece was the fact that he had drawn a box around them, signifying where they are.
She's now her knees scrubbing the cold and concrete floor, because it's Tuesday and that's what she do on Tuesdays, and with her left hand because her right was throbbing. Looking back at her son, she saw him stick out his tongue, another sign that he's thinking.
"You are you thinking over there, sweetheart?"
He beamed up at her, picking up a slice of apple with his fingers.
"Use your fork. Germs." she reminded him.
"Oops, sorry, Ma. I don't wanna go back to heaven early."
"And I don't want you to."
She never even want to think about that.
"Ma, how old are you going to be on your birthday?"
She stopped what she was doing and for the first time in many years, she allowed herself to think about her birthday. October 13. Having not celebrated it in seven years, so that would make her..."Thirty six."
"Wow!" he exclaimed, "I only have ten hand fingers and ten foot fingers, I cannot count to thirty six."
She's turning thirty six this year.
Thirty six?
She's so old.
Remembering like it was yesterday that she was celebrating her twenty ninth birthday. It was the last birthday she had celebrated.
Derek had remembered and had made reservations but the catch was that he didn't told her that he was still on-call, so when he was paged, he left her there all by herself to cover the cheque. On the contrary, he reimbursed her once he got home the next day. And she couldn't even start an argument with him because she understood.
"Yes, sweetie. Ma's ancient." she said tiredly before turning the tap to run a bath.
"What's ancient?"
"Well, it means very old."
He laughed, "You are very old, Ma."
She smiled. She knows he meant no harm but it still stung.
She is old, feeling way older than a thirty-six-year-old.
She had spent her thirty through thirty-fifth birthday in this fucking hellhole.
He took everything from her.
"C'mon, sweetie, let's go take a nice bath then once we're done we can have some cake." she said, holding out her hand to her son.
Nodding, he tucked his little hand into hers comfortably and they made the short distance to the tub together before she undid his ponytail, as well as hers. They both stripped down bare and then slid into the warm tub.
She reminded him to scrub between his toes and behind his ears. And helped him shampoo his long hair, "Close your eyes, hun. You don't want soap in your eyes again, now do you?"
"No." he shook his head and shut his eyes very tightly.
Once they were done, she dropped the clothes that they previously wore into the tub, so that she could hand wash them later.
It's not like she has a washing machine.
And she just has to say one thing, washing clothes by hands is the worst chore there is.
It is a literal chore. Hard labour.
She doesn't understand how people do it. The fabrics are rough against her skin and it hurts her hands. Now, her once smooth and soft hands are no longer smooth and soft. They've harden over the years.
"Ma," he interrupted her thoughts. They're now on the floor, legs crossed and watching TV, enjoying a slice of cake. SpongeBob SquarePants. Their favourite.
When Christopher wasn't born yet, cartoons were her escape. She would lie on the cold ground - alone and terrified - and allow herself to immerse into the comedic and fictional world of 2D. Then, for a while before he comes back, she'd remember how to laugh and smile.
"Can you tell me another story of your friend Addison?"
Addison
It's odd hearing her name coming out of her son's mouth. It's odd hearing it, period. It's been quite some time now.
She's not the same Addison she once was seven years ago, 2,553 days ago.
Looking back, they're two very different women.
To her son, Addison is merely a tale she tells him. Addison is my friend, she had explained to him. He has no idea that Addison is really actually his mother.
She glanced down him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Sure. Remind me what story I told you?"
"You told me that she is a baby doctor too. Like you, Ma. And you two are best of friends. Like you and I. And you work together in hospital. And one day a fat lady come to hospital with very painful tummy ache and then baby zoomed from skylight."
She remembered that day, it was her first day as an intern.
"Ok. Would you like a happy or sad story?"
He stuck out his finger and pressed it to his temple, "Sad. Because you told a happy one last time."
"Ok..." So, where does she start? "It was pouring so terribly that night..."
Seven Years Ago
Addison's cries were lost beneath the thunder that rolled overhead, like a prelude to a great song, impetuous rumbling permeating the air every bit as much as the heavy rain. She's sorry. She wasn't thinking. She was drinking. She's lonely. With each and every crackling boom, her shoulders shook with terrified sobs.
He's angry.
What's Derek going to do?
He had just stood there, by the doorway of their bedroom, staring at them in utter discontent. His fist was clutching the knob so tightly that she really thought he was going to yank it out of it's screws and flung it at her.
Derek had literally just caught them - his wife and best friend - red handed, in the throes of passion.
Mark had one hand on her thigh, hiking her higher, spreading her further apart, just the way he liked and the other was tightly against the headboard.
The two people he trusted immensely in this whole entire world had just betrayed him with their insatious act.
The door had pitched forward with a loud bang as Mark, who was determined to screw her right through the mattress she shared with her husband, was on the verge of finishing.
"Seriously, Addison!" was all Derek had said and in that quarter of a millisecond, the heat she was feeling turned to icicles.
Her blood ran cold.
It was all in her head. It must be all in her head. It ought to be. She hoped that the voice she was hearing, in this case - her husband's - was all in her head. Seriously, Addison. He's always saying that to her. It wasn't anything new. Seriously, Addison. But when her eyes had flung open and as her eyes met those directly above hers, fear, a confirmation, it was then that she knew she was so wrong.
So very very wrong.
Derek's home.
But he's never home. She just never know when he'll come home anymore.
He was supposed to be home because they had made plans to go out for dinner but he never showed up. He was supposed to be home and that's why she got herself all dressed up in red. He was supposed to be home two and a half hours ago.
But he is not supposed to be home right now.
After that - seriously, Addison - it was as if everything heightened. A quarter of a millisecond later, everything sped up so quickly and in lightning speed that her brain didn't know how to comprehend her reality. She couldn't grasp what was happening or whether it was really really happening.
Derek walked out. She heard the front door slam shut. Mark pulled out so quickly. She gasp in pain. Sorry, Addison. And she, she just laid there, staring up at the ceiling, her heart pounding so fast, she thought she was about to have a heart attack.
What have she done? What have she done? What have she done? What have she done?
Seriously, Addison.
She slept with Mark!
Now, she's curled on the foot of the bed, dressed in one of Derek's old shirts with her knees tucked close to her chest. Resting her aching head against them, her cries just like the thunder above, were violent to her ears. But soon came a rolling sound that dissipates into the surrounding walls.
She wants to hide. She has nowhere to hide.
Seriously, Addison.
Jumping at the sound of the front door slamming again, she quickly got up - Derek's home - frozen in fear as footsteps ascended the stairs.
He is stomping very purposefully. Each harsh step, his soles met the wooden flooring with burning rage.
"Derek."
He didn't even look at her, didn't or couldn't or wouldn't - she doesn't know which but either way he was looking right past her, behind her as he marched for the closet.
"Derek! Derek! Derek, listen to me-" Addison chased after him, tears streaming down her face. Her words were cut midway as a clap of thunder shook the blackened sky which only seemed to pester his anger towards her.
A boom like that could only mean that the heavens were about to let down a deluge of misery - she knows it to be true. God never liked her.
"Listen to me. Derek, you can't do this. Please...We have to talk about this."
"No, we don't."
He gave her the dirtiest of looks, very briefly, before turning his attention back to the closet. She hung her head in shame in return.
She didn't know Derek was capable in giving nasty looks.
He's a gentle soul.
"Give me a chance to explain." she pleaded, attempting to rest a hand on his shoulder, but when she saw what he was grabbing for in the closet, she winced. "Wait, Derek-What are you doing with my clothes? Derek!"
But he was quick, very quick, too quick for her. Normally, she's like a cheetah. Her movements were always faster than his. Maybe it's because of all the liquor she has had earlier. But she can't really blame it all on hard liquor because she barely even finished her drink. In one swift motion, he had an armful of her clothes in hangers in his arm.
"Derek, don't!"
And just as quickly, in another swift motion, he was walking away from her. She reached out for him, successfully grabbing his shoulder but he shoved her hand away with a rough shrug.
Before she could even get herself to chase after him, he was already dropping all her clothes onto their bed and just like that, he yanked his favourite 800 thread count cotton fitted sheets from the mattress, harshly bunching her clothes along with the sheets.
"Derek, please don't do this!" she panicked.
She grabbed him.
"Don't you dare touch me with those hands, Addison! Don't you make me hit you!"
He's mad.
He wouldn't.
She knows he didn't mean it. He's just angry. He'd never. Never. She knows he'd never. Right?
This is all wrong.
She followed him down the hallway towards the stairwell, with her slippers pounding down the steps. "It was one time! One time. Please listen. It just happened, Derek!"
With the sheets and her clothes still heavy in his arms, he stopped on his tracks to glare at her. Rage and the tiniest linger of pain were in his eyes.
"I know that's what people say. I know that's what gets said - I don't know how it happened - I don't know what I was thinking. He was here."
And by the exhale he gave her and the low chuckle that escaped his tense lips, she knew there was something wrong with what she had just said.
This is all wrong.
She wasn't planning on sleeping with Mark. Never. She never even had a desire to. She don't think she've ever even thought about it a day in her life. Never. Like she said, he was here, that's how this all started. And now, he's gone. He left her like her husband's about to. He had ran off, and was half dressed as he hit the door.
Mark was here, like he had been for the past few days when Derek hadn't. Mark was here, keeping her company when Derek wasn't. Mark was just here, making her laugh and smile because he knows she felt abandoned. She doesn't know how he knew that but he knew. He knew just how to make her feel better about herself, he knew the right words to say, he knew what to do, he knew how to get in her pants.
I'm here, ok. I'm here for you, Red.
She just smiled shyly and looked down at her lap, tucking a few strands behind her ear. He must have sensed that something was bothering her.
How can he not? Her eyes were puffy and red. It was so utterly transparent.
She was crying.
She and Derek had had another one of their quarrels.
You're beautiful and your husband's a mad man for not noticing that...Anymore.
Next thing she knew, he was next to her on the couch - no, he had been next to her on the couch, now he's inches away from her. Looking into her, not just at her. Into her. His gaze was hot against her skin.
Mark..., was what she said so softly, pleadingly.
Maybe she was begging with him to stop whatever they both knew was about to happen. Maybe she was soliciting him to touch her, to kiss her, to fuck her. She don't know. But she never should've looked into his eyes because it shadowed whatever illicit thing she was feeling inside. They were different, she noticed. Darker.
He took her wrist, gently drawing circles with his thumb. So smoothly and softly. She don't really know why but that - heated tenderness - went straight down south. And because he's Mark, he's skilled, he must know that that's what girls relishes and just like a statistic, she was relished.
She couldn't stop him even if she wanted to and she didn't.
Derek won't be home tonight, he's never home anymore, Addison. So, what's one time?
She convinced herself when he began stroking her inner thigh, watching as his thick fingers crawl higher and higher, agonising second after agonising second. She was already squirming underneath.
This is all wrong.
She yelled after him as he opened the front door of their brownstone, "You screwed my best friend and all you can say is 'He was just here?'" Derek shouted back and she watched in slow motion as he hurled all of her clothes out the front door. Immediately, soaking the delicate fabrics with the harsh rain.
She's sobbing harder now, not knowing what to do next, not knowing what to say to get through to him, to get him to listen to her cries. So, she stood at the bottom of the stairs, her shaky hands covering her tear stricken face.
He's quiet now. He's thinking.
"Get out."
The words made Addison shudder and she shook her head.
"No."
Taking a step towards her, she was quivering, shaking her head, mumbling no, no, no and she gripped the banister tighter.
"Get out, Addison."
"No. No, I'm not going!" she shouted. Trying to sound a lot more adamant than how she's actually feeling. Weak.
"Get out of my house now!" Derek yelled, fully prepared to drag her out himself.
Our house...
"We have to talk about this. I'm holding my ground." she pleaded, her hands holding the banister like her life depended on it.
She crouched low on the step, he can't drag her out of their home. He wouldn't, right? "I'm holding my ground, Derek. I'm holding my ground! We don't quit!" she screamed at him.
Gripping her wrists with intense force, "Get out." he repeated again and again as he pried each and every finger of hers off the banister.
"Ow! Derek! What are you doing?" she was pulling herself back, trying to hold onto something but he was obviously stronger and high with rage. So, she fought, struggling against his restraining hands as he led her to the front door.
"Derek, no, no!"
He was flinging the door open with one hand and she tried to peel off the hand that had a death grip on her wrist, but she was no match for him.
Just like that he slammed the door in her face without even looking at her and she was now on the other side of the door, in the pouring rain.
"Please. Derek." she sobbed, hastily banging the thick door with her fists. She can feel the freezing cold rain soaking through her clothes.
This is all wrong.
Derek wouldn't leave her out here. He wouldn't, right?
But then again, she too thought wrong. Everything about tonight was all wrong. She never had an inkling, a day in her life, that she'd sleep with Mark Sloan.
She don't really know anything. She've been poisoning herself with false beliefs all this time, making herself feel better.
"Derek!" she screamed on top of her lungs. Not caring about their neighbours anymore. They live on the Upper East Side and on a normal and uneventful day, she would've cared. A lot. One can't put a price on reputation.
Their reputation means everything to them.
They're doctors.
She's certain their neighbours can hear them - her. She's certain their neighbours can hear her sobbing for Derek to let her in.
"Please. Please. Please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You have to give me a chance. You have to give me a chance to show you how sorry I am. I'm sorry, Derek."
She was now slowly and weakly fisting the door, her body shivering, he still hadn't open the door. Or even peeked through the curtains.
She checked.
He doesn't care. He doesn't care about her anymore. She thought he would. She used to be everything and more to him.
What happened to them?
"Derek...please..." She was on the concrete stoop, on her knees, sobbing, her hands against the cold wooden door, her eyes staring without recognition at the blank wall ahead.
At ten past as she checked her Clé De Cartier watch that Derek had gifted her for her birthday, she realised that she've sitting idly for a little over thirty minutes.
"Derek..." she whispered. She don't think he've moved an inch as well. She couldn't hear anything on the other side.
No ruffling. No footsteps.
Closing her eyes in tears, she closed them tight. And she counted while she rocked there on her knees. She counted slow; counting, counting until the tears stopped trickling and her eyes could confront her reality.
Eleven, oh-three. The hands on the watch read.
A long, shuddering sigh, she is still here. Cold. Salty tears running down her cheeks.
It had stopped raining a while ago.
Running her fingers through her very wet red hair, swiping at her eyes with her palms then, she decided that she'd better head over to Savvy's, not Mark's because it'll make things worse, or she'll catch a cold.
She'd let her in. She knows she would.
So, she put on whatever bottoms she could find with the pile Derek had thrown - a pair of soaked black slacks - because it's better than walking thirty plus minutes half naked in New York City.
Numb.
Her head was pounding but other than that intense pressure in her head, she feels nothing. Nothing at all, she's floating through the streets of New York.
Surrounded by darkness and because it's New York City and women shouldn't be walking alone and vulnerable like she is, she's avoiding all life, never taking her eyes off the filthy and wet New York City pavement.
How did they end up this way?
It was all her fault. Their end is all on her. But it takes two to end a marriage. She just escalated their ruins by sleeping with her husband's best friend.
A loud crash. A boom. She was startled.
A homeless man with a raggy old coat collapsed to the ground, along with his mountain stuffed shopping cart that landed on top of him.
"Sir!" she run towards the needy because that's what a good citizen would've done and not just turn 180 degrees. Besides she's a doctor. She helps people in need.
Crouching beside him, "Sir, are you ok?" she asked as she pushed the weighty cart off of the stranger.
He just moaned something incoherent, clutching his arm.
"Sir, you might have dislocated your shoulder or broke a bone, do you mind if I check your arm out?" she held him by the elbow and looked the hazel in a beanie in the eyes.
"It's ok. I'm a doctor."
This might be his only chance with a real doctor.
He was reluctant at first but complied not a second later.
As she moved his arm, slowly and gently manoeuvring through its hinges - up and down, left and right - she never saw his other hand that was now raised above her. She never saw the object in hand.
But she definitely felt it.
She never would have thought that today will be her last day of freedom.
"So, where is Addison now?"
Christopher was looking at her with sparking ingenuous eyes and his question hit her close to home.
"Somewhere."
She should've turned 180 degrees or not decided to leave that stoop.
What's a little cold in comparison to no freedom, seven years in this shoebox?
But she can never deny Christopher. He's the best thing that has ever happened to her.
She's nothing without him.
"Like you and I, Ma?"
"Exactly like you and I." she smiled at him.
Day in and day out, it's this room that they've been stuck in. He've never seen the vast and colourful world, the outside, the whole other world that's on the other side of this four concrete walls.
She is all he has ever known. And may ever know.
She is all he has. And he too is all she has now.
"But she didn't mean to tell a lie. She's sorry, right?"
Chewing her bottom lip, "She's so very sorry, honey." she said, willing her voice to not crack.
She's not going to cry.
"Is she lost now, then?"
She stopped, looking into eyes that were exactly like hers, thinking of the right answer to that question.
Is Addison lost?
Is she lost?
Was anyone looking for her on the outside?
It's been seven years.
She doubts they are.
If they have been, they must and should have lost hope a long time ago. They most certainly have given up already.
She's probably dead to them.
If they never had, then that means she might as well stay in here for eternity because, at least, she's in a place where she's wanted and needed.
She's loved. She has all that she ever needs here. Her son.
Because she cannot go back to a world where she's hated and unwanted.
Has Derek forgiven her?
Because she cannot face the fact that it's true, that nobody is looking for her.
"No. No, she's not."
Has anyone been looking for her all these years?
Hey guys! What do you think? Does Addison deserve this to happen to her? Do you guys like the story? Shall I continue? Shall I not? If you think so, please do let me know! I'd love to know your thoughts! Thanks so much for reading! Please review! I love hearing from you guys!