Disclaimer: I do not own Scrubs. Not even a little tiny piece of the set. Nada. Zipola.
Spinning
a story by Ryeloza
The world moves in circles, around and around and around until she can hardly see straight. She can't think clearly. She can't focus. She can't do anything but lie there and clutch the sheets as she rips what remains of her life to shreds.
It isn't good. But it is. It's dark and concrete and boring and life-altering and she doesn't know what she's doing or how she got here but now that she is she can't turn back.
She's never been good at turning back. Just running away and giving up and being aggressive and passive aggressive all at once. Because she's a contradiction. A bundle of nerves wound so tight and fraught with such energy that she can't help but bounce in twenty different directions at once, burning and scarring everyone in her path.
And here she is again, she thinks as he bears down on top of her. She closes her eyes and tries to stop her world from spinning.
After, he rolls off of her and lies back, a self-satisfied smirk on his face, his hands casually resting behind his head and she wonders just when she lost control of the situation. This isn't about her and it is about her and it's all just one big fucking fight for control between her and him and somehow this man lying next to her is struggling for his own control and this is how he attains it. By fucking her. By lying next to her with a self-satisfied smirk and thinking not about how he fucked her, but how he fucked over her husband. And she hates him for it. She hates herself for it. And she really hates her husband for it, because it's all about him in the end.
She gets out of bed without and word and calmly gets dressed, as though thoughts aren't flying through her head. He makes no move to stop her or ask her why she's leaving because he doesn't care. She knows he doesn't. And she doesn't care that he doesn't care because she knew what she was getting into the second she accepted the glass of wine. So fine. Let him lie there and imagine. He won't be smiling for long.
She leaves his apartment, the door clicking softly behind her.
It isn't until she's in her car that she let's herself go. Let's herself cry.
Because right then she realizes how much she hates herself and she just wants the world to hold still for a minute and let her off. Let her float away into oblivion, and then none of this will matter.
And it won't. It doesn't.
But it does. And it will matter.
She pulls it together and drives back to their apartment.
A/n: In case it wasn't clear, this takes place during Jordan's affair with Pete. I hope you enjoyed.
