Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! I'm very glad you like it and I can't wait for your reactions to this chapter and the rest of the story. I'll try to be quicker between updates, but with the end of school approaching, I don't know how well that will work... But anyway. I hope you enjoy this chapter!
--Meg )
Chapter Two
"It's the wrong kind of place to be thinking of you"
There isn't anything she can say, she realizes as she empties her wine glass for the third time. The waiter comes by again and she tells him she'll wait another fifteen minutes. After all, an emergency surgery might have come up. In her head she knows it possible, but in her heart she knows not to believe it.
They've been Addison-and-Derek for eleven years now. She wonders when she stopped being just Addison. She guesses it was when Mark started calling them Addison-and-Derek in medical school. Derek always insisted that it was actually Derek-and-Addison, but she thinks her name should come first. After all, she's here isn't she?
"Hey," he slides into the chair across from her.
She starts. "Mark."
He pours himself a glass of wine. "I had a feeling he might forget."
"You had a feeling?" she smiles, recalling their conversation from earlier. "He could have had an emergency surgery come up," Addison says, hoping that the more she says it, the more she'll believe it.
Mark takes a long drink of wine. "Should we eat?"
She doesn't know if he's chosen to ignore her last comment to protect her or to protect Derek but either way she's grateful because hearing made-up excuses, even if they're her own, don't comfort her any.
…
Mark follows her home and he walks her up to the door of the brownstone. He pulls her close to him and they stand there like that for longer than Addison realizes. She reluctantly pulls herself out of his arms, but can't bring herself to stop touching him, so she puts a hand on his chest in silent thanks and studies her shoes. Mark pulls a box from his coat pocket and presses it into her hand. "Happy anniversary," he whispers in her ear as she opens it.
"Oh…" is all she can gasp as the streetlights cast a blue glow onto the diamond earrings sitting on the black velvet that is cupped in her palm. They're just simple studs, but they're hers and they're diamond and they're from Mark and before she knows it she's kissing his cheek but she can't pull her lips away because somehow they got frozen to his skin.
Mark's cheek tingles where her lips are touching him and as much as he knows he shouldn't, he turns his face ever-so-slightly until his lips brush against hers, and he can feel her uneven breaths in his mouth.
Neither one of them moves and so they stand there and Addison fumbles with the key until finally the door opens and they fall backwards into the brownstone. Addison can feel the doorknob pressing into the small of her back and Mark keeps moving closer to her and in her head she knows it's wrong but, oh God, he's kissing her neck and it feels so right. His lips find hers again, but this time he kisses her for real and it's tongue against tongue and Addison feels awake and alive for the first time in a long time. His hands are in her hair, his mouth on her neck and all se can feel is him around her. Without completely realizing what she's doing, she shrugs out of her blazer and pushes the shoulders of Mark's coat down to his elbows. She steps out of her shoes and the sudden change in height makes them lose contact for a moment, but she grabs his neck and pulls him back down to her hungrily, and his hands are on her hips, thighs, back.
She leads him up the stairs because she isn't thinking anymore. Because it's Thursday, June 8 and eleven years ago she said "I do" but now all she can think is "I don't" and Derek isn't here but Mark is, and oh, how here he is. His jackets lands on the floor at the top of the stairs and he pulls her silk camisole from her shoulders and they stumble back into her bedroom as she yanks his dress shirt from his chest and he follows suit with his undershirt. And they stand there, panting heavily, and Addison can't figure out why because even horny sixteen-year-olds know how to breathe while they kiss. But there's her chest rising and falling in time with Mark's. Logical-Addison tries to kick in but illogical-Addison still has the diamond earrings clutched in her palm. Logical-Addison takes over long enough for her to put them on the dresser but that's all. So she's back to kissing Mark and he follows her onto the bed with the flannel sheets that Derek hates and her skirt is around her ankles and then, suddenly, it's them. And in this moment there's only Mark and Addison and she can see the way they're together. Not like Addison-and-Derek, separated by hyphens and unnecessary spaces, but they're MarkAndAddison -- all together and close and separate from everything but each other. When it's Mark, she doesn't care whose name comes first.
…
When she hears his voice, she shoves Mark off her and for once she's glad that Derek can't seem to remember where the clothes hamper is. She throws a dirty t-shirt over her head and can hear Derek yelling at Mark and them thumping down the stairs and she feels the door slam and it couldn't have taken more than thirty seconds but to her it feels like a lifetime. She trips down the stairs and runs into Derek at the bottom and he grabs her shoulders and just looks at her. All she can see is his eyes --blue and dark and full of pain. Lightning flashes and he pushes past her up the stairs and the only thing she can think to do is follow him and say his name. He stops in the middle of the hall and faces her. His breathing comes in rapid, uneven succession and he searches her face desperately for any sign of remorse, any explanation for what she's done.
She wants to answer him, to sit him down and tell him why she's done it, but everything she thinks of sounds stupid when it reaches her lips so she finally just closes them and shrugs. Derek seems to take it as a clue so he darts into their bedroom and throws her closet door open. She follows him helplessly and says ambiguous things she thinks she should say like "We have to talk about this" and "You can't do this" while she wrings her hands and watches him take her clothes and the sheets he's always hated and tosses them out the front door, and she doesn't even remember coming down the stairs. She does know that she's grateful for them when she throws herself down on them and holds on for dear life. It's infantile and immature and Logical-Addison would have been disappointed, but the Getting-Yelled-at-by-her-Husband-Addison can't think of anything better to do.
…
She isn't quite sure how long she's been lying in the bathroom floor but she knows that she's too tired, too cold, and too emotionally hungover to care. Mark brings her an aspirin and a glass of water and he kneels beside her on the floor, holding her arm and raising her into a sitting position. She swallows the aspirin and searches his face. He nods his head shortly and clears his throat. "Seattle," he whispers, clearing his throat. "Webber."
She nods and wishes she could cry. "I should cry," she says weakly, her throat raw and dry from the countless hours she's spent sobbing and vomiting in Mark's bathroom.
"Nah…" he brushes her cheek with his thumb. "Your tear ducts are way too proud to cry."
"Then I should drink…" she replies, choosing to believe that the pounding in her head is caused by the crying/vomiting and not the half-bottle of scotch she'd downed after Derek left on top of the wine she and Mark had for dinner. "Heavily… I should drink heavily."
"I think you should try to sleep," Mark nods. "I already called in for you. You've got the flu."
He settles her into his bed and kisses her forehead. "I'll be back at lunch to check on you. Try to sleep, Ads…"
She watches him go before she hugs his pillow to her chest and breathes in his scent.
…
Addison believes in retail therapy. She believes that when your life is a huge pile of shit, a new pair of shoes can make everything feel better. So she stares at the display in front of her, ignoring the strange looks she's getting from the staff. Addison takes a pair of red Manolo Blahniks from the shelf and studies them carefully. Cap toe, d'Orsay sides, covered heel, not to mention that they're red. They're red and whorish and so not like her and she knows that seven hundred dollars is a lot for a pair of shoes she'll probably never wear but she buys them anyway along with another pair of professional looking black Jimmy Choo pumps because Addison believes in the power of retail therapy. The saleswoman looks at Addison in Derek's fishing hat strangely but accepts her Visa without hesitation.
If anyone needs proof that Addison believes in the power of retail therapy, they can just look at her credit card bills.
…
She's taken off her wedding rings to save them from the sticky amber goop she's smearing on her head. The smell of the ammonia burns her eyes and she's grateful when the timer goes off and she washes the mess from her hair. After she dries it, she studies herself in the mirror for a long time until she decides that blonde really isn't her color, but it's too late for regrets anyway, so she pulls it into a ponytail and crawls back into bed with Mark.
She's almost asleep when she realizes she forgot to put her rings back on.
A/N: So here we have an emotionally drained Addison, who I imagine is completely lost right now. Addison as a blonde fascinates me. (The first Grey's fic I ever wrote was 'Lady Lazarus' which featured Addison as a blonde.) We'll see more of Addison's retail therapy later. It's almost like that's how she rebuilds her life... Ah. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
So, like I said. I hope you all enjoyed. Remember... ReviewsLove Ü
