Before was supposed to be a long time ago. Before med school, before Seattle Grace, before Ava.
He had wrapped himself up in so many bandages that he was suffocating. But they were the only thing holding him together. Like masking tape around him, holding it all in, making sure he never forgot. So that next time, he would do better. Next time was Ava. He was supposed to know what to do. He was supposed to fix her. He failed her anyway. What sort of person did that?
He lay his head on her shoulder, tears pouring down his cheeks and he wonders where the college wrestler, where the player, where the boy that grew up too fast, where they all ran away to. This wasn't supposed to be him.
He was wrapped up in bandages, covered up so that before was history and next time was supposed to be better. Except it never was. Next time was always a reminder that history repeated itself.
Sometimes bandages hurt more than the damage underneath.