Chapter One

When I was growing up, my normal wasn't everyone's normal. It was a hectic normal. My father was a regular drunk, and in my early years I somewhat remember my mother being there, but it's in bits and pieces. I remember she had long blonde hair and brown eyes. She had this old sweater—it was some shade of light blue, I think it was powder blue—and she always wore bell bottoms. That's all I can remember.

I remember my father quite well, and I wish I didn't. I had memories of him stumbling around, drunk, and of him screaming and yelling quite often—and about ninety-nine percent of the time, it was at my mother before she left. After she left, it was at me.

I was never sure why she didn't take me, and as I got older I never understood why she never contacted me.

The only thing I was sure of was that my best friend would never leave my side. We met when we were in diapers and we remained extremely close as we grew up. We had at least one class together in high school—our senior year we actually had four, and lunch, which was an odd twist of luck.

My first memory of my best friend was when we were probably three or four years old. I was dangling from a tree limb and he was sitting in the tree all wide eyed and scared, staring at me. Our daycare teacher was under the branch I was on, her arms up to catch me if I fell. And fell I did. Thankfully when I did fall, she caught me, looking over at my best friend, still sitting motionless in the tree.

"It's okay, George, I've got her," I remember her saying. George nodded, and she then asked if he could get down and out of the tree, or if he needed help. George, shaken up, needed help and she too helped him out of the tree.

George O'Malley was certainly a character, in a very good way. He always knew how to make me laugh, even when I was in the worst of moods, and put my needs ahead of his when it came down to it with certain situations.

Regarding my father, George never liked him. Not even when we were kids. When we were a bit older, possibly fourth or fifth grade, I came to school with a black eye. We were in the gym before school started, and I kept my hair over my face. George was the first to notice, of course.

"Why's your hair in front of your face?" he asked. I shrugged.

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because." I snapped. George leaned forward, brushing my hair our of my face. I jerked back but he had already seen it. His big eyes seemed to get bigger when he saw it.

"Do you want me to tell Mrs. Smith?"

"No!" I said, louder than I wanted. "No," I repeated softer. "I don't wanna get in trouble."

"But, Fiona—"

"No."

It just snowballed from there on. When I was fifteen, the beatings got worse. Instead of once or twice if I had severely pissed him off, it was almost every single day. I would remember wearing turtlenecks as it became summer, and again, George was the first to notice.

I remember this vividly. We were waiting outside of our history class, and George had questions.

"Why are you cold? It's May." He looked confused but very concerned.

"Oh, George, you know me. I'm always cold." I shrugged nonchalantly. George cocked an eyebrow.

"I'm not taking that as an acceptable answer."

"Too bad. Take it." I snapped, my tone getting borderline dangerous. He sighed.

"I know what's going on, but I want you to tell me yourself." George said quietly.

"What good is telling anyone going to do? He's just going to do it worse next time…"

"Fiona…" George stared at me, trying to say the correct thing. "Maybe they could get you out of there, and you could live somewhere where it's safe."

"Don't worry about it, okay?" I smiled at him reassuringly. He cocked an eyebrow again.

"Fiona—"

"Can I come over tonight after school?" I cut him off. George sputtered for a moment, not expecting the question to cut him off like that.

"Uh.. yeah. Yeah, sure." He nodded. "My parents won't mind."

I nodded. "Good."

George's parents adored me, and I adored them. I adored his whole family. They always included me in things—they knew my home life wasn't fantastic and took me under their wing. I was even invited, every Thanksgiving, to go shoot a turkey with George, his father and brothers. George would beg me to go every year, but hunting was never my style. Never was his either, but he had no choice but to go. I just stayed behind and helped his mother with Thanksgiving dinner.

Louise and I had a tight bond. I never had a mother, she didn't have a daughter. It seemed to fit. She never prodded me or asked me questions about my home life—she didn't need to. She had eyes and ears of her own. My father was a sensitive subject for me, and the only person I felt I could confide about that monster in was George.

One night, when I was sixteen, I got a small bag and put a change of clothes and my high tops in it, along with some clean underwear and a bra. Grabbing my bookbag, I snuck out my bedroom window and ran to George's house, which was a good twenty-minute walk from mine. I remember it was raining. I remember, when I got there, knocking on his window for what seemed like forever. When he opened it, he couldn't get his questions out fast enough while I crawled into his room.

"Can I stay the night?"

"Uh, uh…" George sputtered. He was sleeping great, I could tell, with his hair askew and imprints of his sheets and pillowcase on his face and arms. Finally his brain started working. "Yeah." He seemed to fully wake up then, because he grabbed a throw blanket off his bed. "Here, you're wet." He wrapped me up in it, and I started sobbing, burying into him. "Fiona?" I felt George put his arms around me.

"He did it, George. He finally went there." I whispered.

"You mean he—"

I nodded quickly, not letting him finish. "Don't tell anyone."

"Fiona—"

"No. You're not telling anyone." I pulled back, looking at him. "Okay? I'm not being labeled as that girl in school who got…whose father…" I shook my head quickly. "No."

It stayed our secret until our senior year. I went back home that next night—I didn't want to, and George argued with me about it almost the whole day, until I told him to save it and that we really needed to talk about something else because the subject was getting really boring. So George dropped it. He didn't want to, and he was going to hang on to it as long as he could, but he finally did.

A week later, something else happened. I was at George's house, hanging out in his room. There was a healing bruise on my cheek, something I said I had done to myself. My father threw me into a wall, but I said I fell down the stairs. People at school believed it too, I was pretty clumsy at times. It was a great cover up.

"You wanna stay the night here so you don't have to go back over there?" George held his Nintendo controller in his hands, looking over at me after he paused the game. I shrugged.

"I don't know. Maybe. I feel like I've been over here too much."

"No," George looked confused. "You actually haven't."

I shrugged. He scooted up to where I was on the bed, looking at me with an eyebrow raised. "What?"

"If you think it's because Mom and Dad are going to get mad—"

"No, no," I shook my head. "No. It's not them that'll get mad."

George sat there for a moment, understanding what I meant. "Right…"

"Otherwise I'd say yes."

"I know."

I looked at him. "Can you take me home?"

"Yeah. I'll ask to borrow Jerry's car."

I nodded, resting my head on his shoulder. George put his arm around my shoulders, holding me. We sat in silence for a moment before I felt him shift on the bed a bit. I looked up at him, confused, and my eyes met his. Those big, blue Bambi eyes. I didn't realize how much I actually loved those eyes until that moment. "George?" I whispered.

"Yeah?" His voice seemed to crack a bit, and his body language told me how nervous he was.

"What're you doing..?"

"Uh…" George shook his head. "Nothing, really. Just, uh… thinking." He swallowed hard, gently placing his hand on my bruised cheek, gingerly running his thumb across it. Time seemed to freeze, and my breath hitched a bit. I inched closer to him, and George took this as initiative to do the same, gently capturing my lips with his. We sat there like that for a moment before pulling away. I grinned like a fool, looking down and trying my best to hide my blush. I felt George lightly stroking my cheek and I looked at him again. A grin was plastered on his face and I couldn't help but giggle.

That was the only good thing to come out of that. We dated for a few months before breaking up and getting back together, a cycle we repeated for quite a while, even after school. We were even off during prom season, and George took some girl—who was a lot cooler than him. Honestly, this was some really cool person who agreed to go with a mathlete, someone who won a blue ribbon for dissecting fetal pig, and the secretary and treasurer of the Dungeons and Dragons club. George was the ultimate nerd, but it was a quality that I, personally, loved about him.

I ended up going to prom stag, technically, even though George, the girl and I all went together, hanging out on the wall along with all of the other wallflowers. George and I would exchange glances, and I gave him a soft smile as he danced with his date. Boy, did he look dashing. He rented the most expensive tux he could afford and took his father's car. He wanted to make a great impression, and I think he did—and then some. I couldn't get the jealousy out of my head the whole night. I didn't really dance with anyone, but I did drink the punch and chewed on some gum I stashed in my clutch purse.

"So, hey, um," I heard George beside me as I leaned on the wall. It was near the end of the night, and most of the couples were leaving. "I got this after party to go to. You wanna come with?"

"No, I think I'm just gonna… like… hang out at your house and watch movies with your mother if that's cool."

"Hey, Mom'll be okay with that. You got a ride? Because I don't want you walking alone back to the house. And I was your ride here, so—"

"George, it's cool. I got a ride." I lied.

"Oh. Okay." He nodded. "Who?"

"I swear, you're like a parent." I teased him.

"I just want to make sure you're going to be alright, Fiona. I worry about you."

"I got a ride from Harry Dean." I lied again. Harry was a mutual friend of ours, so he was my best bet for something George would believe.

"Okay then." George nodded, relief flooding his body. "At least you'll be alright." He took my hand in his, and I smiled softly.

"I think I will be." I winked at him.

"I gotta get going, the party starts at ten." George shifted from foot to foot.

"I understand." I nodded.

"Think I'll see you later tonight?"

"Probably." I blushed a bit as George gave me a brief hug, leaving with his date not too long after.

Turns out, she had George drop her off at some local college, so she could go be with her boyfriend. Not too long George and his date left, I left. The music was dying down, and there weren't many people left. George was my ride there, with his parents having us take pictures before he went to pick his date up and he took pictures with her. I stayed out of those, only because that was George's date. I felt like I was already infringing on his night with one of the coolest girls in school. Harry Dean actually brought his own date, and they had actually left before George and his date, something neither of us knew. Harry got some that night, and actually had a baby with that girl all because of prom night.

They're married now.

I walked back to George's around ten thirty. I could smell the rain coming in, but I thought that it would hit after I got to George's and Louise and I had started the first tape of Titanic. Of course, I was wrong. One loud thunderclap and rain began crashing down about halfway to the O'Malley house. I remember I started cursing, and there was nothing I could really do. I was wearing heels, so I couldn't run, but the rain was cold, so I didn't want my bare feet on the sidewalk.

A car honked behind me and I turned. George got out of his father's car and he leaned on it, crossing his arms.

"What happened with Harry?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Uh…" I shrugged. "Yeah."

"Get in here before you get sick." George opened the passenger door for me, and I got in. He got back in as well.

"What happened to your date?"

"She wanted to see her college boyfriend." George shrugged. "So, Harry."

"Yeah." I cleared my throat.

"There was no ride, was there?"

"Nope." I shook my head.

"Why didn't you come with us?" George started driving.

"Because, George, I already felt enough like a third wheel, and she was one of the coolest girls in school. I didn't want to infringe on it more than I already was."

"You weren't…" George shook his head. "You weren't infringing."

I shrugged. "Well, it was your big night. You know? You're with one of the most popular girls in school. I felt like I might've been stealing that. It's dumb."

"No it's not, I get it."

"At least you had a date to the prom." I looked out the window. "I didn't even have that."

We sat in silence for a moment before George spoke.

"I'm glad you were there."

I looked over at him. I could see a blush creeping on his cheeks. "Yeah?" I asked.

"Yeah." He nodded. We sat in silence again before he spoke. "You hungry or anything?"

"Honestly, yeah."

"Taco Bell's open."

I nodded. "Taco Bell actually sounds fantastic right now."

We got back together that night with Titanic playing in the background. Louise, who waited up for us, had fallen asleep right after Rose and Jack had dinner with Rose's mother and everyone else up in first class. All George had to say was "You wanna get back—?" and I answered him quickly.

Yes.

We went smoothly for a while, until the end of May hit. We had argument after argument, over what I can't even remember. The big major argument, something about how I wasn't his first choice to prom so obviously I wasn't high on the priority list, had me leave George and actually go to my house. My father was there, of course, and the minute I walked in I was assaulted with questions. Where the hell had I been this past week? He'd been looking for me, why am I lying about where I've been? And, finally, my father hit me with this.

"You worthless fucking whore."

This, and a slap across the face, knocking me onto the ground. I remember I was yanked up by my hair and slapped again, before my father wrapped his hand around my neck. I didn't remember much, except that I know I blacked out. When I came to, my shirt was ripped, and my jeans were tossed unceremoniously on the coffee table. My father was nowhere to be seen, and I couldn't help but start sobbing.

That was it, I figured. It was over for me.

I got dressed, grabbed a small kitchen knife and I went to the park.

I sat away from most people, under the tree that I loved to much. I believed it was maple, or oak. I wasn't sure, but it was vast, seeming to stretch into the heavens. The tree was absolutely beautiful.

A nice place to do it, I figured.

I don't remember how long I was lightly cutting my wrists before I finally slit them deeply, making blood pour down my arms. I remember staring at the sky. I remember someone yelling at me, though at that point I was lightheaded. I remember said person picking me up and putting me in the car. I remember getting to the hospital.

Then I remember nothing.

I awoke later, looking beside me to see George sleeping in the chair next to my bed. A beautiful doctor was outside my room, talking to George's parents—God knows my father wouldn't come. The lady doctor then came in, and I saw relief flow through both Harold and Louise as soon as they saw I was awake. Harold woke up his youngest son, and George bolted to my side, taking my hand in his.

The beautiful lady doctor was wonderful. She fixed my wrists, putting the stitches in expertly. She was so sweet to me, making sure that I was feeling okay. The only downside to any of this was the suicide watch I was on.

When I was released, George's family picked me up and took me to their home.

"So, uh…" George led me to a room, Jerry's old room actually, and opened the door. "Mom, Dad, and I all agree that you're moving in here."

"George—"

"Don't argue with me. Seriously, after that day I don't feel comfortable with you being over there at all. Like not even to get a change of clothes. We got the whole room ready for you, and we made it look nice. You're eighteen, so, you know, it's not like Randall can challenge this." George swallowed hard. "I want you to be okay, and I know you'll be okay and stable here. I want you to make me a promise."

"What?" I furrowed my eyebrows.

"That no matter how bad things get, you won't do anything like this again. That you'll talk to me if you feel like you want to kill yourself. Because… because I have a plan for my life, and-and you're my oldest and my lifelong friend. You're my girlfriend. You're going to be apart of it, whether you like it or not. You and I, we're going to live until we're 95 years old, scaring little kids off of the front lawn." At this, I couldn't help but laugh. "We're going to annoy the hell out of each other for the rest of our lives. We can't do that if you… you know… if you die."

I nodded. "I get it, George. I promise, I'll try to let life go as you planned." I blushed. George beamed.

Things went better after that. George had a hard time leaving my side, often falling asleep in my room to make sure I was okay and that I wasn't going to do anything drastic. Things went on like this until we graduated from college and George was accepted at the School of Medicine at Oregon Health and Science University.

Childishly, I threw a fit instead of being happy for him. I didn't want him to leave me and told him we might as well break it off since he wanted to go all the way to Oregon, instead of going to University of Washington School of Medicine like I was.

George said I was being ridiculous. I told him just to leave and not talk to me.

I know it hurt him; at the time I wanted it to. I wanted him to feel like how I did—deserted. Left behind like some piece of trash that wasn't worth taking anywhere.

The day he left, however, I kept myself in my room. I was going over my schedule, checking out my classes. I saw George start to get into his father's truck, as Harold—his father—was taking him to the airport. Rain began to fall, and George looked up at my window, his big blue puppy dog eyes looking at me sorrowfully. I bit my lip and stood, hurrying to the front door—knocking Ronny, who was there for a visit before George left, down completely by accident. I hurried out the front door as George held the passenger door truck open, about to get in. The rain was falling harder, and I figured it safe to cry here since no one could tell. I heard Harold say something to his youngest son, with it being followed by him saying it was okay and they had time. George shut the door and I remembered holding back a sob as he hurried to me. He embraced me tightly, and I clung to him, smelling that aftershave he liked using so much. I forgot the name of it, but I remembered the smell. It was so perfectly George.

"You'll be okay?" he whispered to me. I nodded.

"Yeah, George, I'll be okay." I whispered back, sniffling.

"You won't attempt anything stupid?"

"No."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He pulled away from me, though still keeping me in his arms. I looked at him, biting my lip. George kissed me gently, cupping my cheek. I kissed him back, and it felt as if he pulled away far too soon, and he started towards the truck again. I squeezed his hand, and he squeezed mine in return before getting in.

"Don't worry!" I heard Harold yell at me from the truck, a reassuring grin on his face. "Georgie will be back before you know it!"

I nodded as George shut the door to the truck, the two of us still looking at each other. I shot him the peace sign, and George did the same as Harold drove off.

George came back every year for Thanksgiving, Christmas, Spring Break, and Summer Break, and things continued like he never left when he was here. He even helped me with my winter finals during his Thanksgiving break, the tutoring session lasting for a while before turning into a make out session.

The distance seemed to do great things for us, as we hardly fought as much. George called once a week, speaking to his mother and father first, then his brothers if they were there—those weren't long, as his older brothers always gave him hell—and then me. George called it saving the best for last, and I'm sure those long-distance calls must've cost Harold and Louise a fortune, but neither of them complained about it. At least not to me.

And then it happened.

George and I were almost completely through with medical school, and we were going over my last winter finals. We were both graduating and becoming interns after the spring semester, George graduating first. The whole family was planning a trip to Oregon, afterwards with George coming home, and then a week later I would graduate. Spring was going to be a busy time, but George and I couldn't have been more excited.

We finished the tutoring session, moving on to the step that always followed. Except this time, it went further than we both thought it would. I know I wasn't his first, after all George is a guy, and plus his first was during our first year of college—we were broken up at the time—when he and some chick were drunk after some party I didn't attend because I was sick. George had a terrible hangover the next day, and I had to listen to him puking his guts out the next morning—which didn't help my case—and when he was through hogging the toilet he'd come into my room. It was there where he spilled the beans, and I simply nodded, saying nothing more than "Alrighty then."

George, however, was my first. It was a special moment after everything, the two of us just laying there and looking at each other. We said nothing, but we didn't need to say anything. We were both happy with how this turned out.

That following year, George and I began our internship at Seattle Grace, and our lives changed drastically.