Warning. Mentions of sexual assault. Warning. Read with caution.
Find Your Voice
Chapter One
ADDISON, DON'T!
. . .She was life itself. Wild and free. Wonderful chaotic. A perfectly put together mess. . .
-:-
Her whole body is churning, head to toe and everywhere in between. Everywhere. Her thoughts, her blood, her heart - oh, especially her heart - are all racing. Her face is hot to the touch, her fingers clutching her hot buttered rum is cold as ice. Though her extremities are always just that - cold. Her mouth is as dry as the Sahara Desert. She tries to swallow; it's sandpaper. God! Even her hair is freaking out of place and she knows the reason as to why. It's because she's here, in this god forsaken city.
A city that she dropped everything back in New York for just to be called Satan.
A city that's telling her that she've moved for no apparent reason now.
A city that clearly, with her lack of friends, doesn't want her.
A city that's as moist as the Amazon.
A city where she moved into a tin can because Derek said he'll give them a try.
Christmas makes you want to be with the people you love.
Yes, it does and that's why she wishes she could spend it with her husband.
Christmas makes you want to be with the people you love.
She has to read in between the lines to understand that one.
It's saying - no, it's a clear indication that he doesn't love her anymore and especially by the way he had looked at her.
It's not the same. It's not like before.
Christmas makes you want to be with the people you love.
That used to be her - the people that he loves.
They're not looking at each other. They don't dare say a word to one another. But he's all she can see in her peripheral view. Hunched back. Hands folded together. Jet black curls falling forward. And she tries to pull away from him. But how can she when there's a distance of the Great Wall between them?
She wants to though - to pull away, that is. Because maybe if he held onto her, cling onto her or try to stop her from escaping, that way she'll know he actually still cares about her feelings.
But he mustn't. He really mustn't because if he really actually still cared, he would have suppressed the urge to completely ruin Christmas for her forever since he knows just how much she loves this time of year and how much it means to her. He knows. He freaking knows that.
He must still remember.
She knows he does.
He just doesn't care anymore.
They used to love Christmas. It was their holiday, not an explanation needed. Christmas was their's and only their's and everyone who knew them knows that.
We love Christmas.
Nothing will ever be the same.
There's tension. There's heat. There's hate. There's silence. And there's a mountain of said and unsaid regrets between them.
He's right there. Just...right there, silent and not looking at her while she is looking at him. She's hoping that her gaze will encourage him to cast a glance her way. She doubts he ever will. She can only hope so. So, he could see the devastation his words has caused her.
Maybe that's why he's not willing to face her, because he knows. He knows that he've hurt her and he doesn't need the guilt right now.
But she's hurt.
He has hurt her.
But she hurt him first.
He's beside her. She can hear his long, dragged and tired sigh that is anything but. It's directed towards her. The fall and rise of his breathing is one that's unfamiliar to her now - maybe Meredith can decipher that one for her. He's sitting next to her with intentional space, looking into his scotch like it holds the fucking answers.
Is he waiting for her to saying something?
She wants to say something, anything really, but she doesn't. Only because her brain and lips aren't cooperating and she knows it's a painful mirage her broken parts have conjured up in an attempt to save her from herself.
She looks back down at the bar, needing to see something bold, solid, something real. She grabs her glass and downs it in one gulp. That much is certainly real.
I'm lonely, Derek - that was what she had said to him. She sounds pathetic, she's well aware of that phenomenon. Lately, it's all she is and sound. Pathetic. It's just that he hasn't touched her in so long that she thinks she's forgotten how it feels to be loved by McDreamy.
That is what the interns are calling her husband. Meredith included. It's inappropriate - to her, it is. He's an attending. But it only seems to fuel his ego.
I'm lonely...
She's so fucking lonely and she wants him to be her Derek again. She needs him to believe how sorry she is. Why can't she get that through to him anymore? Why don't he listen to her anymore? Why can't he believe her anymore? Why can't he love her like before? She is sorry. She wants him to want her. Again. Like before.
Hurt.
But she hurt him first. Remember?
When he speaks, she knows for certain that he's real - really real and had said all those (the truth) to her - the voice that has visited her so often in her dreams unchanged by their time apart.
"Addie, it's Christmas."
She knows.
Why is he saying that?
But before she can stop herself, her brain is rushing headlong down a familiar path, playing a familiar game - that of trying to figure out if this distinction in nomenclature means something particular. Like that he's telling her to stay because he actually still loves her.
You crazy fool. He doesn't love you anymore. He basically spelt it all out for you. Stop wanting what you can't have.
The more pragmatic side of her brain interrupts.
He's past you now, Addison. You did this to your relationship. It's all your fault. You wasted your time here. Go back to New York. Salvage what's left of your life there. He left you hanging with your goddamn hand in the air. No high five for you or declarations of love for the dying or not.
She shuts both sides of her brain down, focuses on scrawling on words. "I-I gotta go, Derek."
No hidden or underlying message there. Just a curt, straightforward plea. I gotta go. And it's partly because this desperate scrawl is all her muddled brain can handle.
She wants to scream bloody murder when she walk out to the parking lot, remembering only then that she doesn't have her car.
Derek drove them to the hospital in his jeep the other morning. Though the jeep was all wrong for her because she doesn't, have never and have never thought she'll ever ride one, she kept her complaining to a bare minimum.
She's trying. It's all she can do.
She can't stay there or here any longer.
Nobody wants her here.
She's the devil.
Seattle, itself, doesn't even want her since it's purposefully messing with her hair in a bid to kick her out.
She's going back home with no husband. Only divorce papers. He has to sign it because it doesn't even make any sense for him not to.
All she has left with right now is just enough cognitive ability to understand that she needs to make it to her car, that's in the woods.
Can't he see that she's trying to make them work?
She still wants a drink though. Needs a drink. She's craving to drink. But she just doesn't want to go back into that stupid bar with all it's damn cheer and optimism. Positivity. She's done with optimism and smiles for a while, she thinks.
Indiscriminate shapes begin to blur past the window of the cab she managed to hop in to, falling into stooped hunches until she's pretty sure they're suffocating her, judging by the heavy lead weight on her chest.
But that doesn't make any sense. He knows her. She knows he still does. And he must have known that whatever he was going to say will - WILL eventually crush her to pieces. So, that contradicts whatever he was hoping to accomplish.
Her lungs are chugging desperately for air. The taxi driver is looking at her from his mirror. She doesn't care. She assures him that she's just fine. She just wants to get to that bar - whatever bar he's going to take her.
Meredith wasn't a fling. She wasn't revenge. I fell in love with her.
Oh, she knows.
Derek loves Meredith. Meredith loves Derek. Everyone with eyes can see that. The only ones who can't seem to see that are Derek and Meredith, themselves
It's bad enough that they're - she's hospital gossip. A laughing stock. Now, every nurse and doctor, scrub technician and orderly will know that she lost her husband of eleven years to a one night stand. An intern.
A third wheel, that's what she is.
She's the third wheel in her marriage with her husband.
Sometimes she wishes she was blind because, in that way, Derek and Meredith can make googly eyes at one another and she'll be in total oblivion about it all. That would be much much easier for all of them.
For her. For him. And of course, for Meredith.
That doesn't go away because I decided to stay with you.
She understands. Sure, she does. Love just doesn't go away no matter how many times you wish it upon a star. Yes, she understands. But when is he going to start trying. When? She've been waiting and judging by what he had just confessed to her, he's never going to.
Why decide to stay with her, then?
To hurt her?
Okay. She knows she have hurt him first.
After the day she has had, she needs to do something, something to keep her from sinking into an even deeper despair then she already is in. She needs to quell her burning thoughts and as she downed drink after drink, noting that after the third, the disgusting, burning taste of whiskey seem to dissipate into that of satisfaction, she no longer feels despair. She is feeling rather light, as if she were in a bubble and everything around her is suddenly funny and joyful.
Oh, she understands why Amy does what she does. But that doesn't mean she's doing what she does.
Or is it did?
She isn't so sure anymore. It's not like she's very much liked by the Shepherds these days. They don't exactly talk to her now. Not at all actually. And it isn't like she's picking up the phone and dialling their numbers too. She also isn't exactly their number one fan lately. Well, it's not like she ever was to begin with. But talking about her is a whole other story. She's most definite that she'll be the gossip at all family gatherings to come.
They'll talk and talk and talk until the story twists and turns into something completely different.
About how she broke their beloved brother's heart, how she left him, how she slept with his best friend on their bed, how he had caught them in the throes.
She can already hear their criticism running around in her head.
Rich. Entitled. Demanding. Brat. Cold. Arrogant. Overbearing. Skank. Cheat. Bitch.
As she thinks about all the adjectives, really, they're all accurate.
She understands where Amy is, or perhaps and hopefully, was coming from, that's all she's saying. The impulsion. The irrationality that doesn't seem all that irrational at the moment. The bad decisions that just keeps on piling till you throw your hands in the air and scream, fuck it. Because you've had enough and you've absolutely resigned yourself from anything and anyone.
New York is where she wants to be in right now. But that's thousands of kilometres away and that's a dream that'll probably be fulfilled a week later because it's Christmas and it's difficult to get a flight last minute.
She really just wants to go home though. She wants to be with people that actually likes her.
She presses a finger to her cheek - yes, she can't feel her face.
Now, she understands why Amy does what she does. But it isn't a something for her that she craves.
She thinks she'll die without him.
Is that how Amy feels when she doesn't get her fix?
She'll die without Derek. But the thing is, she knows it's a lie that she tells herself. It's not true - she knows it deep in her heart. It's the utterly terrifying fear that she'll lay alone forever that's eating at her.
What if she ends up alone?
What if no one will ever want her?
Because she's not getting any younger and her wrinkles aren't getting any smoother.
She glances into her tumbler, and sighs when she realises there is only a sip left. Tipping it back, she finishes it off, slamming it down onto the counter and calling for the bartender to fetch her another. She should really stop it at that and somehow saunter off to the woods and pack her bags because suddenly the world is spinning and she don't think she can walk in a straight line, let alone up a hill - a rather tiny one, a slope, maybe - without having to grip at her heels and walk bare foot into prehistoric times.
Maybe she can just find her way to a hotel - any hotel and throw herself onto a large and empty bed, and be grateful for the darkness that will engulf her.
Or, maybe she'll get lucky tonight and find someone to take her back to his place.
That's exciting. It's been almost two decades since she's had a one night stand.
Mark doesn't count because that wasn't so much as a one night stand than a series of mistakes after what ought to only be one night of misjudgement.
Derek hasn't said that he loves her...she don't recall him saying those three words to her recently. He's either not sure, or he really doesn't love her anymore.
She frowns at the thought and she feels tears clouding her vision as she wills herself not to cry, not to break down again. She honestly doesn't understand why he's not willing to save their eleven year marriage.
Her husband, Derek, doesn't want her.
She'd spent months tracking him down, and when she finally did, he, then, spent months playing with her emotions and getting her fucking hopes up, only to change his mind again and shoot her down.
Screw it, Addison thinks bitterly. Screw him. If he doesn't want her, then why try and chase it? Why try chasing him?
A sharp whisk of the glass pulls her out of her head as she downs her fourth drink in one gulp, then forces herself to sip the fifth a little slower. Not that it matters, really. There's nowhere she needs to be tomorrow, no one who will be hurt by her hangover or her lack of focus. Still. She has just enough self-preservation left to know that she should probably take it just a little bit easy tonight.
It's easy enough to pick up a guy. It always is. Midway through her fifth drink, the bartender sets another in front of her. "From the gentleman in the corner." he says, gesturing towards a man at the far end of the bar.
He's hot. Mysterious, good looking even with his chiseled jawline. His muscular arms are bulging through his t-shirt, and his smoldering eyes are undressing her. He catches her gaze, and lets a slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.
Definitely not a guy whom she'd go for. But...what the heck! It's not like she's ever been consistent.
She studies him for a moment, then finishes her drink. Slamming it on the bar, then swallows the shot he bought her in one gulp before sliding off her barstool and walking towards him.
He doesn't say anything as she approaches, just holds her gaze. She stops in front of him, studying him for a long moment. His eyes slide down her body, stopping at her chest, her legs, before moving back up to her face.
"Let's get out of here." she rasps.
He follows her out of the bar without a word.
She should really be ashamed of herself since she's too old for this - she's far past her twenties. But she'd spent all of her twenties with Derek.
Don't she get a free pass for that?
XXX
She's had plenty of sex since she'd started dabbling at the age of eighteen. Mostly with the man she has spent a third of her life with, if not, almost all.
They've had all kinds of sex. Awkward first-time sex. Make up sex. Shower sex. Slow, tearful and passionate sex. Breakup sex. Adventurous sex. Super loud, let's piss the neighbours off sex. The oh-my-god-we're-married sex. Casual, let's get it done sex.
Rough sex, though?
Sure, they've done it in that nature a handful of times and she never complained. It's not like she's all that innocent in the whole dominant-submissive shebang. She most definitely doesn't have a halo around her head.
Biting. Clawing. Bruising. Hair fisting. Drawing blood. Shoving one another up against the walls. Fighting for dominance.
She enjoys the occasional pain and hardness that the kind accompanies and entrails. And it's something she've only ever discussed with Derek, felt comfortable in exploring herself with him. It's not something she's ever spoken out about with anyone else, certainly not with any of her other bed-mates and definitely never with any of her girlfriends.
But her current partner, whose name she never bothered to get - he seems to like rough sex a lot more than she's comfortable with.
When they reach his apartment, he shoves her on the bed, face down. And she can't help the yelp that she cried. She can't exactly breathe with the grip that's forcefully pressing her down and she really isn't sure how she had even managed to get to his bedroom as quickly as she did.
She did, though. And she's starting to regret this very decision.
Before she can really react and say something, he's on top of her, biting and sucking hard on her neck and on every exposed skin he can reach, all the while painfully groping and manhandling her breasts over her top. She panics and tries to shove him off, but he digs a knee hard into her back.
Now she really really can't breathe.
"Mmm, your ass." he murmurs in her ear, sliding his hand between her body and the mattress, unbuttoning her jeans. He works the zipper down, then shoves his fingers into her underwear and roughly inside of her. "You ready, baby?" he grunts and she swallows hard, chewing on a groan.
His other hand is pushing down his own jeans, she realises after hearing the distinctive sounds of a button being unbuttoned and zipper unzipped.
"Stop." she begs. She can barely breathe, can barely move. She tries to push herself up on her elbows, tries to roll over, but his weight is pressing her into the mattress, sandwiching her tight.
She needs to try a harsher approach.
"Get off me!" she yells, but her voice lacks volume and strength, and he doesn't even seem to hear her.
"Oh, yeah. You like being fucked like this, don't you?" he breathes in her ear. It's ragged and hot - his breath, and she can literally feel it condensing on her own cold skin.
He removes the grip that's seizing her air supply, only to be replaced by rough, disgusting, slobbery kisses. She sucks in a sharp breath, eyes wide with fear as her stomach tingles.
Why is he doing this to her?
"NOOOOOOOO!"
His grimy fingers shove her underwear aside, and suddenly, he's inside her. Pain ripples through her abdomen and she moans, pressing her face into the mattress and closing her eyes tightly. He thrusts again into her, harder, and she chokes back another moan.
The tears fall as muffled, yet desperate pleas escape her. They last only another moment before she stiffens completely as she realises what's happening to her. Her body going limp, her jaw going slack, and her eyes are so wide she's sure they're going to pop out of their sockets. So, she squeezes them shut and clutches the comforter between her fists to have something to hold onto and focuses on anything but this.
Pain erupts from her core, radiating through her entire body until he's up and gone from the room and into what she thinks is the bathroom.
Laying there for a second no longer, her body still in shock, her mind tries to process what had just happened.
Addison pulls up her pants and attempts to flee the apartment. She's shaking so badly that she can't even manage to button her jeans. Her legs shakes as she stands, too weak to carry her weight and she almost face plants onto the wooden floor.
But she manages to regain composure and opens the door to a corridor where a couple, who lives two door across, raises a questionable brow at her dishevelled outer.
Does he know what's happened to her?
What about her? Does she know?
Are they judging her?
But then she thinks, rationally, that there's a slim chance any of them had any clue as to what had happened only a few minutes ago.
It doesn't matter.
She sniffles, wiping at her eyes before she heads towards the elevator, not uttering a word to a single person before she flings herself onto the street.
What just happened?
That...did not happen.
No, it didn't, Addison. You're not a statistic. You're not one of them. You're fine. You're okay. More than okay, actually. You wanted it, remember? You were the one who picked him up. You were the one who took his drink. You were the who approached him. You were the one who willingly got into his car. No one had a gun to your head. You were the one who wanted to get fucked. Remember? Remember, Addison? You can't cry wolf now because the stranger didn't please you to your liking. You can't cry wolf because he, not once, had loosen the vice grip he had on your neck while he defiled you. You can't cry wolf because no one's ever going to believe you...and with your history...forget it. You asked for it.
Because at any point of tonight, she very easily could have done things differently. She could've not run off, for instance. She could've stayed at Joe's with Derek and have a better than what now is the worst Christmas of her life. Nothing can top this, she knows it for sure. She could've not acted like a spoiled child. The thing is, she is spoiled. Always been. She could've not drank as much as she did. She could've rejected his offer and not leave the bar with him. She could've not been so fucking needy. And she could've not gone to his apartment.
She could've...
She could've not been so impulsive.
The night is cruel and unearthly. The wind is whispering secrets to her. She's listening to them, listening intently. They're whispering ideas she thinks she wants to test out but does not have the courage. Not yet.
She might just take up on their offer.
Cold and moonless the Christmas night is, quiet, and she clutches her coat tighter around herself. She feels sick - oh-so sick to her stomach that she stops to vomit into the gutter. Her stomach twisted and heaved as it expels all the alcohol she had ingested today. She can't remember if she has had any food.
Lunch, perhaps.
Right, she actually was hoping they would have dinner together, or something close to that.
Never now.
She's on her hands and knees on the curb, retching and gasping for air.
She wants to go home.
In all honesty, the trailer seems to be the best place to call home as of this second. It's tight, safe and warm. She can curl and hide away somewhere and anywhere inside that metal and never ever show herself ever again.
But Derek is the last person she wants to see at this moment in time. No, it's the other way round. She wants to see Derek; she just doesn't want Derek to see her. Not like this. She don't think he'll be home though, and that's all great for her. He'll probably be at Meredith's. She's sure of it.
Taking a deep breath, Addison nods to herself.
Okay, she thinks silently. Once she's home, she'll take a shower or five. She'll scrub herself raw until she can't feel her skin.
Yes.
You're doing great, Addison!
She manages to climb back to her feet, wobbling unsteadily. She stumbles down the street, holding onto the wall for balance, her whole body shaking violently. There are tears streaming down her cheeks, and she can't seem to stop them. No one pays her any attention, and she's grateful.
Then, she'll pack her things and write a note for Derek to read when he gets back. And this time she'll really really go back home.
The walk is long and tedious, at least it is in her mind, but she slowly finds herself making her way up the tiny hill and across the bushes and up the tin steps to the tin front door.
It's dark. No one's home.
She makes it to the door of their home, digs her keys out of her purse. It takes her several tries to get the key in the lock, but she manages to get the door open, and herself into the threshold. She hadn't wanted to come back home, hadn't thought she could, but for a brief, horrible second, she's so relieved that Derek isn't here. That he doesn't have to see her like this.
Addison collapses to the ground as soon as she's inside the trailer. She feels her knees split open as it connects with something sharp. She fumbles for the phone in her pocket, but it isn't there. "No." she cries. "No, no, no!"
That did not happen.
She curls into herself on the floor and cries, banging her fists against the tin and taking gasping, wheezing breaths as she wails.
She can't.
She can't...
She wants Derek to take her hand and promise her that it's all going to be okay. She wants him to hold her in his arms and kiss her hair. But she's pushed him so far away that he'll never come back to her.
XXX
The scraping sound of a key attempting to jam into the lock outside is unmistakably loud, waking him up from the sleep he's just managed to give himself.
He had tried waiting up for Addison, so they could talk, or at least attempt to start a conversation because they didn't to exactly that at Joe's. The night didn't go as he had anticipated.
No surprise there, though it was for him.
She ran and he can't exactly blame her for running.
Although it's now hard to believe, his true motive really wasn't to hurt her. Though that still is what came about tonight. He had hurt her. Badly too. He'd be classified as a stupid fool for not noticing that.
He notices her, he thinks he should tell her that.
He can see it - the twinkle in her eyes dying down like an inflatable balloon.
No spark. No light. No flame. Just dull orbs of green-blues.
She needed space and he's more than qualified at understanding what that need means and so, he granted her just that and didn't chase after her.
But when ten o'clock turned eleven and that magically changed to one in the morning, he concluded that she'd decided to sleep at the hospital and he'll just surprise her with breakfast in the morning and they can start their much needed and dreaded conversation at that.
And now, he's wanting to swing his legs out of bed and flick the table lamp on, but then, he doesn't. He stops and squints - something or maybe it's the creative curses Addison is murmuring that is making his chest tight, and cold to run up his spine.
She's crying, miserably gasping for air and mumbling questionable tangents in the air.
His limbs fill with dread, and he can barely manage to get himself to move with the deep anguish in her cries.
She's scaring him.
Addison doesn't cry. Not at all. Fine, she's only human. So, sometimes. Perhaps, even rarely. A few exceptions here and there. Still, generally, she doesn't cry.
But this - this isn't just crying. It's more. It's something else.
It's breaking his heart to hear her like this. He did this to her.
He's hurt her.
The last time he's heard her cry this much was when they were in their twenties, interns with two different last names.
Dr. Montgomery. Dr. Shepherd.
They were a lot different back then. A lot less sad and complicated, he thinks.
She was beating herself up for killing that baby when she obviously hadn't - a cruel but necessary lesson from Richard, who was Dr. Webber to them both back then.
Through the mist of black and hard sniffles, he can only make out the back of a kneeling figure with stooped and quivering shoulders.
"Addie?"
He calls warily and he sees her visibly jump at his voice and clears what he knows is tears with the back of her hands.
What is he doing here?
She might have just made a mistake of going back home.
He's here and he's going to know something's wrong. He's going to know that she's just been violated.
She hears the creak of the equally tin bed, which means he's either turning to his side or getting out of bed. And when she hears the jiggle of the chain on the table lamp, she yells, "Don't!"
"Don't?"
It's a reasonable question. Why doesn't she want him to turn the lights on? She don't want him to see her so ugly.
She's Addison - always prim and proper.
He's her husband. He has seen her at her worst on countless occasions. But it's different now.
They're different.
"No. Sorry, Derek. Umm...did I wake you? Sorry...just, just go back to bed. Okay?"
Her voice cracks higher at the end, like she's swallowing a cry.
"What are you doing on the floor?" he gets up, walking towards her and she murmurs something he couldn't quite catch.
The floor is cold against his soles and he realises and is coming to terms with all her top complaints about the trailer. It's cold and to be honest, sometimes he does feel as though they're packed like sardines, void of any life and fresh air.
"Are you alright, Addie?"
And he tries to draw up every possibility as to why his wife is on the floor, sobbing wildly and uncontrollably. He winces slightly, wondering if it still might've been from their conversation earlier.
"I'm okay. Just...go away, Derek...Please."
He doesn't believe her at all. She's not fine. His mind and body is telling him to turn the lights on because something is so very wrong with Addison. He can feel it in his bones. So, he fumbles with the switch on the far corner of the wall, immersing the trailer in just enough soft brightness to bring light into the pitch black.
She covers her face quickly, whimpering at the stiffness of her body.
She can still feel his hands all over her, his harsh breath in her ears. He's still everywhere on every inch of her skin and she wants nothing more than to submerge in hot boiling water.
There's no bathtub in the metal box.
"I'm fine." she says, her own voice more aggressive and angry then she intends. "Why don't you just leave me alone, Derek?"
He's getting a lot more irritated by the passing second and her stubbornness isn't making things easier on either of them. "Addie. Look at me."
That - she didn't mean it like that.
She shakes her head, "I'm, ahh, really, just really tired." she hopes he can hear the apology in her words.
He still doesn't understand why she's covering her face.
"Addison, I don't have time to play games with you."
When she absolutely wants to be left alone and all by herself, he wants to pretend that he still cares.
She sighs in frustration and so does he.
"Addison," It's an exhale and he crouches by her side, attempting a softer and less rude approach, "What the hell is going on?"
He puts a hand on her wrist, trying to push her hands away from her face and she does, unexpectedly too and with no small effort.
She isn't sure what happened - she flinches. Violently. She yelped like he had just slapped her across the face.
It looks like he did by the way she's looking at him.
Derek, too, draws back like she's hit him. He stared at her, mouth open in shock.
"Sorry." she says, trying to calm her racing heart, trying to turn away so he wouldn't see her. Too late, she knows that now. "I'm just...I just want..." she can't figure out what she wants, what to say, what to ask for.
He sees it - what she's hiding, revealing more than what he's prepared to comprehend.
She's a mess of tattered, ripped clothing, jeans unbuttoned, smeared makeup, and messy, more than just tousled hair and Derek finds himself piecing it altogether until his own eyes are clouding with tears and he's staring at his wife in disbelief.
No! No!
But it's unmistakable. He's seen it plenty of times at the hospital. Girls like her - battered, scared, shaking, crying, trying to look as though they're okay when they're really actually not.
There are bite marks on her neck and scored flesh from where canines abraded her tender skin. Dried red on her bottom lips that's beginning to swell badly. He can see all the purpling impressions over chafed skin and his blood begins to boil.
No! No!
It's a sight difficult to wrap his head around.
Who? Who? Who?
He's going to kill that disgusting pig.
She begins to sob again - loud, disgusting cries that are causing her to breathe in shallow breaths.
He just watches her. Raw and expelling what she has left. The pain she is in, he feels it too. He'd rather go blind, really. And deaf too.
Who did this to her?
"Who-" he wanted to engulf her in his arms which in hindsight wasn't the brightest of ideas because she began screaming on top of her lungs, piercing his eardrums.
There's no life for miles on end, otherwise cops would've already been at the door.
"Addie! Addie!" his tone is urgent.
She doesn't listen though. She's wailing and pushing him away.
"Addison." It's a plea.
He doesn't know what else to do since she's clearly somewhere else.
He doesn't know how to calm her down.
He doesn't understand why this happened to her.
It's not fair.
"Hey, hey. Addison, darling, please calm down," grabbing her face between his palms. "It's me. It's Derek. It's just me." he shouts a decibel above hers. But it all seems to just be making things worse as she tries to frantically claw at his face and scream at him not to touch her.
He doesn't know what to do for her now. "Addie, you're safe." he says softly. Is she? Is she even safe with him?
His heart is pounding violently against his chest, his vision blurs at the squirming cold in front of him. He tries to shake her, snap her out of this trance, but she just cries out louder.
Their equally blue blues met and what he sees is raw and pure fear in her eyes. She's afraid of him. And so, he respected her wishes and he let her go. Not give up on her. But just let go of her.
She quickly ushers to a corner, tucking her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around herself.
There's still tears left to cry.
She's afraid of him.
"I'm sorry." he whispers, clamping his hands tightly over his own ears. He doesn't want to hear her anymore. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Addie. I'm sorry..."
He's sorry. He's so sorry.
She's afraid of him.
He's not giving up on her. Just letting go of her.
She's crying, still crying and he's afraid she'll hurt herself, or he'll hurt her.
She's loud. Oh-so loud. Salt travels down his cheeks too.
He can still hear her long after shutting both doors - the trailer and his jeep. And even after the engine sung through the roaring winds.
He's crying. And she's still crying.
Hey guys! Thanks for reading this story in my oneshots. I actually wanted this to be a completely new story at first, but i was a little skeptical. So, here's Chapter 1.
It's a sensitive topic, but I wanted to explore something different. And I think this can be classified as different. Besides I'm feeling down and angsty lately and needed to write.
What do you guys think? I'd love to know. Please review! REVIEW!