This story is not dead and neither am I! Wow I am on fire this week I've managed to update all my fanfics! *pats own back* but really you have to give me a little credit these are LONG chapters and they take forever to write.
If you're still interested in this story, then god bless your precious soul. I had such a hard time debating whether I should drop it but I just couldn't. I personally loved the idea and it was my duty to continue it.
For this story, there will be time jumps between chapters. All in Derek's POV but one will be in 2005 and the other 2017! The dates will be marked at the top of each chapter! Remember to review this for me, I'm a review slut and I can't get enough!
Enough of my rambling, here's chapter 2!
January 16, 2017
Another tear drop of water plunges against the stainless steel of his kitchen sink. It's consecutive and the drips are even, plopping in harmony with the pounding storm outside of his home. Though the leaky sink is far more than annoying and is somewhat of a pain in his ass, he can't find the courage or will for that matter to pull himself up and twist the knob slightly right to end the harmless patter. Besides, it's an easy distraction and anything ripping his attention from the papers sprawled over the wooden table were a godsend in his book.
'Alcoholics Anonymous' are the words his cerulean orbs scan over for what seems to be the ten-millionth time that evening. Though, the words in big, bold, times new roman font, aren't the things making his brain complete and utter mush. It's the tiny words and sentences lined evenly across the paper that sends him into a flurry of nausea and gut curdling pain. "Twelve years." He mutters, exerting a strenuous breath. His lungs inflate and deflate slowly, he believes slow intakes of oxygen could potentially calm his frantic nerves, though it doesn't seem to be doing the trick. "Twelve fucking years." His tone grows in hatred, rises a few octaves at that.
His fingers grip the edge of his kitchen table, turning his knuckles a shade of pasty white. His teeth sink into the flesh of his lower lip, the color coinciding with his hand. He tries incredibly hard to keep the emotions deep inside his chamber of sadness from spilling upward. He truly does. Yet the moment hot tears rim the lids of his eyes, the ones he'd been so eagerly trying to suppress, bubble upward and cascade down his clammy cheeks.
His face radiated warmth, his body shuddered while chills trickled along his spine like a pitcher of ice water to the lap. He'd managed to rid this memory from his subconscious for a total of a six months, as in the last twelve years it had come into his brain more than once. Flashes of golden tresses zoom through his thinking chamber in record time, poof, poof. His hands pushed the sheets of discarded papers to the side of the table. His chair squawks against the floorboards, scratch, scratch.
Her. God damnit, her. Sometimes he wonders if she's out there, knowingly haunting him just for the sake of it all. It sure felt like it. Moments such as these he wishes to every god up in there in the heavens that he hadn't waltzed into that god damned gymnasium all those years prior. Though he's sure he'd most certainly be dead as a door nail by this point. Albeit, some part of his sick, twisty mind wonders if being placed out of his misery would be easier than living in a constant, lonesome pain. His eyes flicker back to the eating area, his stomach twisting as he reminisces momentarily.
'Shepherd, Derek' is the name nearly printed near the top of the torn envelope. He wishes he were anyone but himself right now. Which in fact only brings him a cluster more of hot tears, due to the reasoning behind everything. How on earth could they expect him to commit to the words typed across the white sheets of printer paper?
Derek's head gabbled as it may be brimmed with puffy clumps of cotton. A splitting migraine was on the express train inward and suddenly thinking no longer became an option. Within seconds, his fingers are gripping the black key fog of his Porsche Cayenne which is an exceptional upgrade from his 03' Land Rover he'd driven around back in the day. The door hinges creek as it widens, and shushes to an eerie quiet once closed.
A tub of Ben and Jerry's strawberry ice cream plunks to the bottom of the shopping cart abruptly. Damn he hates this shit yet somehow he finds himself in the freezer section of his local Publix gripping that god damn tub of frozen fat. Her god damn tub of frozen fat. In retrospect, it was silly. In fact it was nearly pointing and chuckling at silly. Though somehow, even if the pink, frothy indulgence made his stomach coil in rejection, not devouring oodles of lactose made everything worse.
He slams the pint against the conveyor belt. Derek's fingers rummaging through his pockets in search of the few bills he'd shoved in before exiting his home abruptly earlier.
"Your total is $4.27." A gentle tone reels him back to reality. Momentarily his heart ceases to produce its steady rhythm, pounding similarly to the consecutive melody of a Clash song. Hard, loud, and fast.
A gush of gold eclipses his vision like a clogged drain. His irises deceive him momentarily and for a split second sparkling emerald orbs are locking into cobalt. Splotches of cinnamon hued freckles dust the porcelain skin of his cashier. A cheshire grin decorates her intricate facial features, complementing the conniving Boston giggle acquitting from her cavern. "I miss you." His phantom divulges, mischief swirls against her glittering eyes. "Damn it I miss you." This time around her tone lowering an octave or two, sobering itself from the playful commentary mumbled only moments prior.
Derek's heart constricts. His chest squeezes. He suddenly feels unable to breathe. "I miss you too." Derek replies with a choked sob. His teeth bare down against his tastebuds to disintegrate any lone tears threatening to escape his corneas. He refuses to shed a single droplet of water from his tear ducts.
Meredith deserves better than a broken sob. Phantom Meredith or not.
The wild imagery his mind conjured demolishes at the sound of his true cashiers voice. Derek's gut clenches and twists like a gymnast routine. Embarrassment floods his flesh. It's easy to tell individuals are gaping at him. He blinks, once, twice, suddenly the woman he ached for had diminished from his viewing pleasure, not that she'd truly been standing there in the first place. A lump the size of a softball fills his esophagus. Blush licks flames across his neck and he can't seem to find a coherent words to form.
"Sir?" The girls voice diverts his dwindling attention back to the situation he'd produced.
"Sorry." He blurts. He's long forgotten the crumbled money buried somewhere deep in his threadbare jeans pocket. He chooses the latter option, swiftly sliding his American Express through the turmoil. Mentally he's chortling at himself like a hyena. Who uses a credit card to pay for something so little? Derek Shepherd of course. He's beyond ready to escape the grocery store. Times such as these he desires a drink. Only a simple sliver of alcohol to erase the horrific memories riveting across his brain. Though his heart stands much stronger than his brain at this point. Taking a swig of scotch would be as if he were breaking the promise he'd made all those years ago. He vowed to stay loyal. For his own self worth and for her.
So he purchases a pint of strawberry indulgence to restrain himself.
The two espresso shots and large caffeinated latte he'd ravenously devoured half an hour earlier hadn't seem to be kicking in quite yet. Derek's teeth sink to the flesh of his lower lip in order to stifle an upcoming yawn. He'd been scheduled to perform a craniotomy in an hour or so. Falling unconscious during the procedure would most definitely be frowned upon. He hadn't slept a wink the prior evening. Brimming anxiety and haunting flashes of the woman he ached for taunted him until the early hours of dawn.
"Good morning, Dr. Shepherd." A red-headed nurse -what was her name again?- chirped a greeting to him. Her arms cradling charts and patient work ups, all firmly pressed to her scrub clad chest. The nurses had a tendency to quip light commentary and flirtatious remarks at him whenever possible. They all seemed to fawn over him like a moth to sunlight. Deep down, Derek wished to do nothing more than throw a flashing billboard to their faces, reading he wasn't interested. Then again, he could tattoo the message across his forehead for christ's sake and they'd still be oblivious to his true feelings about it all.
So instead, Derek replies with a simple grin, perhaps a hand wave if he's feeling up to it. "The same to you as well, Olivia." Olivia, that was the woman's name. Rumor has it she's endured carnal encounters with more men than there were patients in the hospital and that thought only increases the mental cringe Derek has for her. Besides the fact she'd most certainly been the one to begin the syphillus outbreak within the staff a month earlier, his stomach gurgles in disgust at even the slightest thought of being with a woman.
Other than her.
He'd ran himself through the ringer a handful of times since losing the woman he loved. Trying, trying, trying, so desperately to rid her from his mind. To burn the intricately painted canvas of her body from his cranium. Her eyes, lips, nose, porcelain flesh. He would do almost anything to forget the infectious laughter echoing through his head repetitively like some sort of broken record. Well she had certainly broken him for sure.
A tap of the shoulder broke his thought process. He found himself semi grateful to whoever the hell had decided to bother him now. Even if it were a horny, desperate nurse. His neck cranes to his far right, his vision filled with the clear imagery of Mark Sloan. The hospital 'Manwhore' or better known as Derek's best friend. No matter how much that man irked Derek's nerves to no end, he was still the most trustworthy person around these days. Mark had been there through it all, the alcohol, the abuse, the trauma, the endless nights of agony. Even the attempted suicide, Mark Sloan had successfully managed to steer Derek down the proper path.
"You look like shit." A sneaky smirk stretches along his friends facial features, a few laugh lines complimenting the combustion of mischief and menacing in his eyes.
Derek rolls his eyes slowly. On any other day he'd reply with something witty. Something too intelligent for Mark to accurately understand the meaning behind. However, he's too fatigued to conjure anything other than an annoyed glance. "It's nice to see you, too." He raises his brows slightly, his forehead crinkling as a result. He chucks the remains of his coffee into the nearby waste bin before his hands find a new home in the security of his lab coat pockets. The pads of his fingertips twiddle the loose strand of thread coming undone near the corner of his left pocket. Perhaps it's something to keep himself preoccupied before having to come clean about whatever stick is up his asshole now.
They pad across the lobby, making a beeline for the elevator. "Rough night?" Mark's tone diluted itself from the conniving and cynical undertone he'd carried moments earlier to something slightly more serious.
Derek pressed the number five - the surgical floor - and acquired a strenuous sigh. His gaze circled around the elevator and he found himself thanking God no one other than he and his best friend were standing in the cabin. "I'm fine." He's always fine. "I just didn't sleep much last night, it's not a big deal." The last thing Derek needed at this point was to have a worrisome Mark riding his tail. That man had already been to hell and back for Derek through the corse of the last decade or so. He found himself guilty at times for weighing an excessive amount of strain on Mark. A life worrying over if their best friend is going to kill them selves or not isn't a life worth living at all. Derek resents himself for it constantly.
"Did you finally get laid?" Mark's elbow nudges Derek's right side. He can faintly hear the lingering after tone of playfulness brushing against his friends voice.
"Does it look like I got laid?"
His hands go up defensively. He takes a step or two backward to sprinkle on a bit more of effect. "Well I don't know, Derek." His hands fall limp at his sides. "How am I supposed to know what you look like after getting laid. It's not like you've gotten on the saddle in a while."
His convulsion is like a knife to the heart. Deep down Derek knows good and well he hasn't meant a single ounce of harm by it. He knows Mark just desperately wants to see his friend, his brother desire to live life again. To get out there and not be so stuck in a puddle of gunky mud. He too wishes to escape the murky forest of fog trapping him from the glimmer of sunshine on the other side.
Albeit, knowing these things doesn't halt the bitter allegiance from acquiring from between Derek's lips. "You know damn well why I haven't 'hopped on the saddle' Mark. I know you can't really understand what it's like for me everyday because you're so busy screwing women you can't find the time to actually fall in love with someone. Don't you think I want to pull myself out of this? I'm twelve years tired of being trapped in the confines of a woman who wants nothing to do with me. But I can't get it off. I'm on a never ending carousel. I can't get off. So to answer your question, no I haven't gotten laid and I won't be anytime soon."
Silence permeates the elevator. The light hum of the cabin the only true noise pricking Derek's ear drums. He braces himself for an outburst from Mark. Perhaps a punch to the gut or a raging spiel over how pathetic he was being about all of this. He deserved it. He deserved any abuse Mark had fueled himself with. Derek's eyes idly spot Mark's hand slapping over the red emergency button. The elevator comes to an abrupt halt, jerking the men ever so slightly.
"What happened?" The two words escape from between his lips quietly, soothingly almost. Even if Mark hadn't been in love before or could truly relate to Derek's situation, he still understood and that was more than Derek could ask for.
He wants to hit something. To abuse anything at this point. Hatred and anger was over flowing from his mental capacity levels. He hates being so angry all the time. "I got a letter." His heart muscles squeeze.
"From her?" Mark intervenes. The expression dancing across his facial features is taut. His cobalt eyes widen to the size of saucers at Derek's revelation.
He shakes his head. A letter from her would be punch to the gut. A knife to the back. A bullet to the head. Which in fact all seemed so much better than scanning over a letter she'd written to him. But he doesn't deny he pines over hearing from her again. Listening to the melody of her rich tone. Her speaking was an ambrosia for his ears, his soul, his heart. She'd been his elixir for a years time, one that sent his world into the stratosphere. She'd been the farthest thing from normal and that's what he loved about that woman. If what he'd considered normal was Venus then she was Neptune. She didn't give a single fuck to anyone else's opinion. She'd been her own person and a damn amazing one at that.
"No." Derek watches Mark's expression deflate to a something pitiful. "No it wasn't from her. It was from 'Alcoholics Anonymous'."
He scrunches his brow and Derek's certain he knows why Mark seems rather complexed about the confession. "I don't understand." His hand disappears to the back of his head. "How is that bad? I mean you're the sponsor. You've been the sponsor for them since like... forever, man. Of course you're going to get letters. What's so bad about a god damn letter?!" Mark rambles quickly. "You're such a prick sometimes Shep' I swear to God! Getting my ass all worried about you for nothing! Over there pouting and being a little bitch over a letter! You know I thought you were going to tell me you slipped up- wait did your dumbass slip up?!" Derek's shakes his head. "Or I thought you were going to tell me you tried to kill yourself again- wait did you?" Again. This time accompanied by revealing his clean wrists to Mark. "For gods sake, Derek. I thought you were going to tell me she showed up. That Mer-"
It's in that moment Derek cuts him off. "Do not say her goddamn name, Mark!" He barks like a trapped dog in a cage. The hostility is so thick at this point, a surgical scalpel couldn't seep through. "And if you would have let me finish, I could have told you the letter stated I needed to write and present a speech."
He blinks. "Okay? What's the problem with writing a speech. You've done it before. At medical conferences. In front of your AA group back when you attended regular meetings. You do it for your interns and residents. What's the matter?"
Derek doesn't blame Mark for his confusion. It's easy to tell his patience is wearing somewhat thin and again, Derek doesn't blame him for it. Personally he feels like the most annoying man on the face of the earth at times and he ponders continuously how Mark continues to sludge through it all. Another reason he can't stay mad at him, even when he's irking his last nerve.
"Mark." He can't keep the hot tears from pooling in his eyes. "They want me to talk about her. They want me to go to some huge conference in Boston at the end of next month and present a speech in front of thousands of people. They want me to talk about how I got here and why I keep myself clean. I can't do that! It's awful enough thinking about her constantly and imagining her everywhere I go-"
"You're seeing her on other people again?"
"That's not the point Mark!" Derek yells and chokes back a sob. His face is scorching with underlying heat and somewhat embarrassment. What grown man cries over a woman in front of his best friend. His brother. His hands are frenzied through his thick mane of raven hair. He tugs and yanks on his tresses. He wants nothing more than the never ending yo-yoing to end completely. "The point is that I have to tell people about her. I can't do it. I. Can. Not. Do. It!"
A pair of arms envelope his shaking frame. He feels worthless and the equivalent of a coward. He feels small, weak, ruined, and disgusted. He's a grown man, shouldn't he be able to fight back the urge to break down? He's utterly humiliated but the tears won't quite and neither will Mark's tight embrace.
"I'm such an idiot. This is so stupid." Derek murmurs, releasing a huff.
"It's not stupid, Derek. It's not stupid. I'm sorry, I'm sorry you live in a constant whirl of pain. It sounds awful and I'm just goddamn sorry." His grip around Derek's back tightens.
"It's not your fault, Mark." Quiet settles around the two. "It's not your fault I fell in love with her."
Mark doesn't respond, but he's quite positive Mark still feels some kind of guilt even if the situation truly has nothing to do with him. Somedays Derek wishes he'd never gotten out the car twelve years ago. Somedays he wishes he didn't feel the things he felt for her. Somedays he wishes his suicide attempt had worked.
Though somedays, he does have inches of hope. Sure, those inches have been shaved bit by bit over time but it doesn't mean a sliver of light hasn't shined at the end of his tunnel before. The light at the end of the tunnel. Somedays when he isn't busy drowning himself in his career or preoccupying his mind with random bullshit to forget her, he finds himself thankful he'd found her in the first place. She had completely flip flopped his life around, for the better and the worst. Some of those long term effects of greatness bring a grin to his cheeks on rare occasions. The actuality being he'd been able to keep himself sober for a long time because of that woman. He finds himself grateful for that while performing surgeries, playing with his nieces and nephews, divulging in on never ending conversations with the Shepherd Clan.
It's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. His new mantra. The thing that keeps him going even when he wants to snap like a twig.
Yikes it's been quite a while since I've updated this. I hadn't known if I was going to continue this or not considering I was still fuzzy on where I wanted to take this story. It's been a hectic few months and like I've mentioned in all my updates this week, it's been incredibly hard getting the words down on the screen!
I think I've rid myself of the remaining bits of writers block I've had. Trust me it's been awful I couldn't write anything! On the bright side it's over now and updates will be so much more frequent I promise!
On another note, what were your thoughts of the chapter? I couldn't decide whether I wanted to go back and forth in time and when I decided I did want to, I couldn't decide if I wanted one to be Derek's POV and one Meredith's. honestly it's been an ongoing struggle. But I've decided this will be Derek's story to tell and Meredith's will be told through Derek's perspective. I've left you all with a lot of holes and cliffhangers and personally I love that about stories such as these that go back and forth in time.
Don't be mad there was no MerDer because if you payed close attention, there was in fact a lot of Meredith and Derek going on (;
A lot of sensitive topics will be discussed in this story and I wanted to warn you that I'm not complete expert on any of these. No matter how much time I google and use my own personal sources, it will never be as authentic as if I'd been through this myself. Nonetheless, I think I've done a pretty good job at capturing it so far and I'm excited because I've never seen a MerDer story done like this.
Please review for me. The more reviews, the more I want to update. I eat reviews and favorites up like a candy or something because I just love seeing what you all think! Plus they totally warm my heart and make me smile to no end (:
Thank you for sticking with me, you're all amazing and I love writing for others and making their days! Love you guys!