Chapter 3 - 2,570 days
2,570 days. . .
The biggest question so many people have in life, one that everyone have been seeking to answer for years is, what happens when we die?
Will we go up in heaven? Is there even a heaven? Will we linger on earth as unrest souls? Are ghosts even real? Will we burn in hell? Hell seems to be way more plausible than a fluffy, flowery, bright, and happy-go-lucky world.
Maybe she's already in hell. No, she's sure she is. This is her hell. This is her nightmare. This is her doing.
But why she is always putting the blame solely on herself?
It takes two to ruin a marriage. If her husband hadn't been neglectful, she knows she wouldn't need to seek warmth and longing in another man's arms.
He was being an ass that afternoon at the hospital, she recalls. He had ignored her, pretending like he didn't see her filling in her charts at the nurse's station. How can he not notice a 5'10" (over 6" with heels) redhead? His wife? Later that afternoon, she confronted him. He said and she quote - You're not that special, Addison. Besides, I know I'll see you at home.
Maybe that's the problem, she keeps putting up with his nonsense. Because at the end of the day, he knows she'll always run back to him. Sprint breathlessly back onto his arms. And he couldn't be any more on point since she knows and she's never going to deny it - oh no, she's not - that the second she's out of here, she'll run back to him in a heartbeat. She'll beg him to take her back. She'll say her sorries like a broken record until he believes her. I'm sorry, Derek. I'm so sorry. You have to know how sorry I am. Please, Derek, please forgive me. She has her speech ready. She'll beg on her knees if she had to because she needs him.
He still loves her.
Right?
It takes two to ruin a marriage but she was just the last straw to their undoing. She only made things worse for herself.
She don't know for sure.
Science can't prove truth of the afterlife and she's still very much loyal to science because of what she has been through for the past seven years, it's only fair to conclude that there is no one up there. There's no one up there because she's still in here.
No one.
A study is being conducted and she is their subject.
Before - years and years ago - when she was still new to this shoebox, when she still had hope, she would kneel beside the bed, peering up the skylight and prayed. Muttering her desperate despairs because she hadn't got a clue on how to pray, the process and the appropriate enchantments. But God ought to understand her, right? He knows all. He knows everything. He knows what's in her heart. He's God after all.
So why is she still here?
Why hasn't He worked a miracle and save them?
Is this a lesson?
If it is, then she thinks it's stupid because there are people far worse than her.
She's a doctor. She saves life. She gives babies a chance in life. She's great at what she does because she invests her all in every case and in every patient until she's all out, both physically and mentally. Then, she'll very careful wrap herself in a cocoon of self-deprivation and pretends she's undaunted.
Why can't she go home? She's not the worst person on earth.
At least she don't think she is.
She hadn't slept a wink all night. Only staring at the wall that she's practically pressed into. She couldn't sleep even when her body was screaming at her brain to shut off. She couldn't. He snores like a wild bore and takes up two thirds of the bed. Leaving her to curl on her side to accommodate him.
Everyone else's needs comes before hers now.
She used to have everything. She realised that now. Husband, career, friends, family, houses, money, cars and the list goes on. She was living the life. A good life. She was just too arrogant - it's hereditary, so it's not exactly her to blame - and selfish to see that then. Attention. She was her Chief's star resident and she was only in her first year. You're a damn good surgeon, her Chief had said to her. She had the attention of hospitals across the country because of her success rate and minimal mortality rate. She was on top of her game. On her way to being the best of the best. She made heads turn wherever she goes. The loud echo of her heels. She thrives on attention. Attention. She had everyone's attention but not from the one person that mattered the most.
Derek.
It's been a lifetime since she slept with Derek. A lifetime of seven plus years. Not just slept slept with Derek, but simply slept next to him.
She regards the last time she shared a mattress with him. It's been too long, she can't really remember. He hadn't been home at all since the day he walked in on them. Three days? She thinks so. She've been waiting for him all night since he said he'd come home for dinner. But eight o'clock turned to nine and that turned to ten, he still wasn't home.
She tried calling him. Twice to no avail. She was starving but she kept on waiting. He's on his way. He'll be here. Letterman was on that night, she's sure of it.
When he eventually came home, she felt his cold hands on her arm, shaking her. Blinking at him, groggy with sleep, she had apparently fallen asleep on the couch.
"Hey, Addie. Sorry I woke you up." he was kneeling in front of her, fingers playing with her hair.
She mumbled something sleepily and shrugged his hand away from her face.
"I missed dinner. I'm sorry, Addie." he kissed her cheek lightly, "There was some complications with Ms. Lindsay. She didn't make it." he said, brushing her glossy and vibrant hair away from her face.
Wordlessly, she sat up, rubbing her hands over her arms for warmth and he sat next to her on the couch.
It was March. A week after Derek's birthday. How can she ever forget that March?
She hates that she can't really be mad at him. He's doing his job. She would've done the same thing.
"You could've called."
"I should've, I know that, but it was an emergency. It wasn't like I could risk my patient's life to phone you."
There was spite in his tone and she's just too petty to let that slide.
"You could've asked someone." she staggered up the stairs to their bedroom, tired. Both of them too exhausted to start a fresh argument.
Maybe in the morning.
The antique clock read fifty-three minutes past twelve. She has exactly six hours and seven minutes before her alarm screams at her. But right now, her stomach was screaming to be fed. She hadn't had anything since lunch.
Derek crawled into bed a little later because she felt his warm lips on her shoulder, whispering, "You didn't eat dinner, did you?"
"S'okay." she muttered sleepily, her eyes still closed and he wrapped his arm around her. "Wasn't hungry anyway." she mumbled and he drew her against his body, holding her close.
That morning as she woke up, the bed was empty even before her alarm went off.
That was the last time she slept with Derek. If only she knew that in three days her life would have taken a turn for the ultimate worse, she wouldn't have ever stopped embracing him.
The insidiously loud clatter of rain droplets hit the tin roof of this fucking hellhole - bang! bang! - and she's certain her brain was vibrating with each and every patter. It's loud, annoyingly so, rattling the entire room.
Christopher is asking for her milk now as he pulled at the hem of her shirt and she reluctantly allowed him to take one of her breasts. They're sore and painful as he latched onto her right and she cried out, hissing at him to try the left.
Ow...
Is it odd that she's still nursing her five-year-old?
The outside world would think so.
But since it's just the two of them in here, it isn't weird, is it?
There's no one to judge them.
There's no one to criticise them.
There's no one to call them freaks.
It's a very natural occurrence between a mother and her child. She should know, this is her specialty.
She knows he needs to wean off but he's not ready yet. He'll let her know when it's time. And she, she's not ready to let go of the skin-to-skin contact just yet. She loves their bond which only grows stronger, caressing his cheek, watching him as he watch her, the oxytocin surging through their bodies, the love she has for her beautiful boy.
But she just can't take away his comfort, familiarity and solace. Besides breast milk contains powerful nutrients and immunological benefits that's well-acquainted to a child's needs.
That's what she always tells her patients. Breastfeeding is important for every child's growth. She's an advocate for attachment parenting.
What would the outsiders ever think of them?
Smiling, because studies have shown that faking a smile can actually trick the brain into happiness, she looked up at the blurry streaks on the skylight and quietly sang "Singing in the Rain" since it's Christopher's favourite song to sing whenever it's raining.
"Why you didn't tell him before that is my birthday?" he sat up.
Oh, goodness. Here we go again!
She stopped smiling and tucked her t-shirt into her pants. Him. "You're meant to be asleep when he's here."
"But if you told him, he'd brung me something."
"Bring. It's bring, not brung." she corrected, "And so he says."
"Yes, he will. He brung - bring us stuffs all the time. You should have told him." he crossed his arms around his small chest.
She yawned, stretching her long limbs. "I don't want him bringing you things."
"But he bring us treat-"
"That's different, Christopher." she cut him off, "Those are things we need that I ask him for." she pointed to the dresser, where hung the jeans he brought last night since she had asked for a new pair for Christopher. She had actually asked for a new pair two weeks prior. "There's your new jeans, by the way."
Dragging her feet across the cold concrete, she went over to the other corner to use the 'bathroom', ignoring her son's bickering since like her, he will never back down.
Not any time soon.
It's a Montgomery trait.
She checked every box to fulfil the Montgomery trait.
Manipulative. Hardheads. Marriage wreckers. Liars. Fake smilers to conceal emotions. And most of all, they excel at holding up their liquor.
That's a Montgomery.
We're Addison and Derek. We don't quite.
The longest she hadn't spoken to Derek, ever, was three weeks - or perhaps seven years - because none of them wanted to give up so easily. But of course when needed, they were professionals at the hospital.
For the life of her, she can't recall what they were fighting about. Petty, for sure, and definitely unnecessary. And most likely provoked by him but surely, instigated to become a gigantic argument by her.
"You could ask him for a present for me. I never got a present in my life."
"Your present was from me, remember? It was the cake."
"I don't want the stinky cake." he yelled and kicked a plastic chair which toppled upside down.
She snagged to the kitchen, opening a few cabinets as she does to distract herself. What should she do? What should she do? Because his wailing is loud and it's bouncing off the walls, ringing in her ears. Oh, no! She can't stay in this shoebox any longer. She can't. She needs to find a way out.
Breakfast! That's right, she needs to think about breakfast, instead of the fit her son's throwing.
He's too old for tamper tantrums.
She knows tantrums are apart of a child's development but they are mostly common between the ages of one to three.
Christopher is five.
Well, she's thirty-five and she too still throws tantrums.
He's sobbing uncontrollably now. Wet, slippery snot and tears covered his reddened face.
She let him whine and shout for a while because she understands his frustration, because her parents had forgotten her sixth birthday and had went on their trip to Croatia, because she vowed to never treat her child the way her parents did with her and her brother.
She was once five, she too would want to be lavished with gifts. And he would have been, under different circumstances.
He sees it on TV all the time. Kids, joyfully and excitedly ripping the wrappers off their presents and since he's only part Forbes-Montgomery, he doesn't know how to hide his true feelings.
His behaviour right now will never be tolerated by Bizzy. He will definitely be banished to be locked in a closet. Which closet? Any closet that Bizzy pushes you in.
"It's ok." she knelt down in front of him, and held him tight. Rubbing circles on his back to calm him down.
"It might-"
"I can't hear you. Calm down. Take a deep breath."
He did.
"It might-"
"Tell me what's the matter." she said, wiping his tears away with the flat of her palms.
"It might be a dog."
"What might?" she's confused now.
"The present. It might be a dog for real real, and we could call him Jack." he said through the relentless tears.
A dog?
Where is this silliness coming from?
He's spending too much time watching TV.
Wiping his tears away again, she fought the urge to laugh out loud. It's quite funny, actually. Her son's funny. Crazy but still, nonetheless hilarious. "You know we don't have room."
They barely have room for themselves.
"Yeah, we do."
"Dogs need walks."
The furtherest walk in this shoebox is from the door to the bedroom, which all in all is merely ten feet apart.
"We walk."
"But a dog-"
"We run every morning, Jack could go beside us. I bet he'd be faster than you."
"Christopher. A dog would drive us nuts."
"No, he wouldn't." he protested.
"Oh, yes, it will." She, herself, is going nuts already. "Cooped up, the barking, the scratching-"
"Jack wouldn't be scratching."
Oh, he doesn't know anything about dogs. They scratch. They bark. They bite. They ruffle. They jump. They run. They walk. The excrete everywhere and anywhere. They simply make a mess of everything. And it will definitely drive itself to insanity.
Dogs needs space. A lot of space.
Besides, she's not so much of a dog person. She prefers cats.
So, she rolled her eyes, he's being very unreasonable, and went back to the cabinet to get the box of cereals since she's not in any mood to cook breakfast anymore.
She poured a handful of cereals in their bowls, humming something to block him out.
What is she doing debating with a five-year-old who has never seen or touched a dog?
He growled, stomping towards her. "In the night when you're asleep, I'm going to be awake, I'll pull the foils out of the holes so Mouse will come back."
"Don't be silly."
"I'm not silly, you're silly." he shouted.
"Listen, I understand-"
"Mouse and Jack are my friends." he screamed again and all she wants is for him to quiet down, to stop screaming.
Now, she understands why the maniac hates it when she screams. It's loud, irritating and piercing.
If the maniac was here ... she remembered the last time she screamed on top of her lungs - stop, get off me, no, leave me alone, don't, please don't - he knocked a tooth out.
Seven Years Ago
"Don't ! Don't!" she tried screaming but her cries were muffled by the thick hands that were clumped to her mouth.
She can't go through this again. She just can't. She'd rather be killed than be held prisoner, than be used and violated in such heinous way.
"Stop yelling!"
"Ok! Ok! Just let me go! I promise I won't tell anyone!"
He just laughed at her and shoved her up against the wall, he pinned her there, staring into her with a smile that reminded her of a reptile's grin.
"I promise. If you let me go right now, I promise I won't tell anyone..." her voice quavered, but it was low and calm. She learned that from Derek. He's always calm, even in threatening situations. "It's no big deal. All you have to do is let me go."
"You really think I'm dumb enough to believe you?!" his sneer twisted his face. "Like I said yesterday or four weeks ago, you're never getting out of here."
Ice-cold shock courses through her. Again. She felt his fingers biting into her flesh, and her breath came in short gasps, but as she tried to steady it, to take a deep breath, all she could think of was what he'd just said.
...you're never getting out of here.
She's never getting out of here.
She've been in here for what seemed like an eternity already. She wants to go home to her husband.
He purposefully pressed his body, hard, onto hers - his weight crushing her dainty self - and eagerly smashed his mouth against hers in order to shut her up. She pressed her lips tightly against one another, not letting him in, and wiggled around to try and kick him off of her. His tongue and mouth moved roughly, sloppily and aggressively as she tried pushing him away. Failing miserably when he chomped down on her bottom lip. Crying in pain, she can taste the bursting copper in her mouth, and that gave him the prime juncture to jam his tongue inside. She choked on the nausea that almost made its presence, feeling absolutely repulsed at herself.
But she's a Montgomery, so, anger and stubbornness gotten ahold of her and she too saw her chance to chomped down on his tongue, giving him a taste of his own medicine.
She watched in slow motion as his right arm pulled back into the air, balling into a fist while the left was crushing her trachea. Shutting her eyes tight, she was crazy enough to provoke a psycho.
Sure enough, a powerful blow connected with her cheek, making her head snap to the side. A small pain-filled whimper escaped her lips as she struggled to stay awake.
"You shouldn't have done that, pretty face." he hissed, looking at her in pity. Like his actions towards her were all because of her now.
"I don't want to hurt you but-" he didn't stop to waste any time in delivering the next couple of blows to her face and abdomen. Literally winding her. She curled to her side to avoid his batter but the hits kept on coming. Each one much harder than the other. Each one rattling her bones even louder. Her mouth now tasted strongly of metal. The heavy blows had left her feeling groggy and she gave up. Knowing she hadn't got a chance anymore.
"And that's to let you know who's in charge."
With her tongue, she felt for the space that once crowned her second molar. Thank goodness it's not one of her incisors. It takes a lot of strength to knock a tooth out and he did when he bashed his fists into her skul.
Bizzy wouldn't be pleased with her missing tooth, it had taken them a lot of money and time for her to have perfect a set of teeth.
Not everyone is naturally blessed with perfect teeth structure.
Hers just happened to be all over the place. And thank you for cosmetic dentistry because if it was for the orthodontic headgear that she had to wear for over a year, she'd be, like Bizzy had said, ugly.
"Ma!" Christopher's now right in front of her, snapping her back to the present with his screaming. "Ma, you're not listening to me! Maaaa!"
She has had enough. If he screams one more time, she's going to have a mental breakdown.
"There is no Mouse and there definitely will be no Jack!" she shouted.
"Yea, there is. And I love you them. I love them more than I love you."
But I love you more than anything in this world.
She knows his words shouldn't hurt her but it did. It really really did. A lot more than she would like to admit. The love of her life, her baby doesn't love her. No, he does. He's just angry. Everyone says things they don't mean when they're angry.
He doesn't mean it. Does he?
Closing her burning eyes, she brought her fingers to her lips, and swallowing the tears that were too proud to fall down her cheeks.
"Also, Mouse is my real friend and you made him gone-"
"Yea," she croaked, "so he won't run over your face in the night and bite your nose off."
"No! I never knew Mouse would bite my face, I thought that was only vampires."
"And since Jack's your friend and he must love you too, why don't you ask him to make you breakfast!"
And so she left him there, angry, and began cleaning the room like she was told to do so.
The sun enables life. The rain grants it safe passage.
It began as a whispering in the air. The day had been a beautiful one and the sky was like a dome of plasma-blue. The clouds had looked like airy anvils drifting under the gleaming disc of sun.
But just as quickly because the weather is unpredictable here in Seattle or must he say predictable, a variable, the once gleaming sky turned gloomy and grey. It is a shrieking, keening omen of the carnage to follow. He knows that.
He didn't sleep a wink last night. Not at all. He couldn't stop thinking about her. Today's the day that everything fell apart and the miserable year that followed.
Like the rainy sky above that held meaning to this melancholy day, he tried not think about today. But he can't. It's forever etched in his mind, like her. He'll always love her. Of course, he will. How can one just fall out of love with someone they've known for a third of their life?
One might think he must with what she had done and it had taken him for her to be forever gone to realise how much of a lousy husband he was. And with that in mind, a lesson learned, he's never going to make that same mistake.
It's March 7th. The day his life changed. The day everything in his life fell apart. March 7th. Seven years ago. A mistake he made. The beginning of the end. He shouldn't have. He knows he shouldn't have. But he was angry. He was so hurt. How could she? Regardless, he shouldn't have done what he did and also, she should not have done what she did. But if he hadn't, she wouldn't be forever gone.
She doesn't know about New York and he has no intentions in telling her. All he told her was that he needed a change of scenery, a new perspective, a change in pace because New York's too hectic.
The clouds raced across the sky, thrumming with the charged energy they are desperate to release. Rain. It starts with big, sopping drops of moisture. They are wild and indiscriminate, plump missiles of mass destruction that splatter onto the soft soil. The topsoil turns into slushy goo, but it doesn't matter because he is sleeping next to -
Then an unearthly caterwauling sound fills the air. The wind whips up into frenzy.
How is it possible?
He finds it charming that such a big noise can come from such a little person.
Then, she is abruptly awake, cutting off the nasally echo midair.
Finally!
He's been waiting for hours.
"Morning." he chimed, tucking her sandy blonde hair behind her ear and leaned in for a good morning kiss.
"Were you watching me sleep?" she said softly, rubbing her eyes as she looked at him.
"Maybe."
He smiled and placed a kiss on her neck.
She sighed, raising a brow, and linked her arms around him, "What are you, some kind of weirdo who watches women sleep?"
He placed a second kiss on her shoulder and ran his hand down to grab the bottom of his dress shirt, which - admittedly - looks so much better on her.
"Maybe."
"Ma, I'm hungry." she heard Christopher call out for her as she laid with her arms across her eyes, on the ridiculously small and uncomfortable, snot-green couch. Her long limbs curled to her chest so she could accommodate her entire length.
Well, he should've thought about his words before saying what he had said. After all, she is only human. She gets hurt sometimes, like a normal person would. Even though she'd never register the emotion on her face - never - that doesn't mean she doesn't have any feelings.
A Montgomery never reveals their true emotions, it's unheard of. A Montgomery buries their feelings, buries them deep. Deeper and deeper into the earth. Deeper than six feet.
She learned that; young. Like all Montgomeries do.
Since she hated her upbringing, hated her mother's stupid sets of rules, hated her father's dirty little secrets, hated that her father had passed her with the adulterous gene, hated the way she was thought to view life, she promised at a young age that she'd never be cold, she'd never force ridiculous rules upon her children, she'd never cheat and she'd never view life negatively.
But it's all she's doing now. She has turned into her mother. Oh, goodness! She's Bizzy, isn't she?
She's being unnecessarily cold to Christopher. Isn't she? But she's just so exhausted. Drained of every last drop of blood, glow, strength and stamina. Her depletion just worsened when she got here.
She had spent the entire morning scrubbing, brushing, wiping, dusting, washing - she had hand washed their laundry - like she was instructed to do so. She can't disappoint him tonight. Hoping that tonight, he'll be satisfied. She can't stand it whenever he's criticising her.
She's a highly sought after doctor - OB/GYN.
Well, she was. She was highly sought after. And again, her aching wrist is a reminder of what her life could've been if only she had the willpower to keep her desperation at wits.
Ignoring Christopher when he called out again, she looked at the clock, eleven minutes past three in the afternoon, it read. She's hungry too. Or at least she thinks she is. She hadn't had anything since yesterday's lunch - maybe that's why she's always exhausted, she barely eats - and she knows she should eat something, anything but she just doesn't have any desire too.
She eats sometimes but not all the time. She picks at her food like a child would and complains when Christopher follows.
"Don't play with your food, Christopher." she'd scold him.
She's well aware of her hypocrisy. But isn't that what parents are?
Hypocrites.
They hadn't said a word to each other since this morning's quarrel, anger fuelling her son's silence while pain on her part. So, she started her day with Pilates and he took out his 'schoolbooks' and proceeded to complete the math questions she had prepared for him.
He's learning division now.
Silence.
They still function well in silence.
Montgomeries are stubborn too.
"Maaaaaa..." he's closer now, she noticed. Not at the table anymore. Then, she felt his soft little hand on her cheek, rubbing to wake her up.
She pried her tired eyes open. "What?"
"I'm hungry."
"Oh, yeah." she chuckled, "I said to ask your friends to cook you your meals, remember?"
Shaking his head, he jumped around, whining, "Maaaaaa..."
She sat back up with a heavy huff and tied her hair messily. "You hurt my feelings, Christopher."
He will never understand the deep anguish his little words caused her. I love them more than I love you. It may seem little but it hurts like a stab to her very fragile heart.
He will never reciprocate the hurt she had felt. Even though she knows she shouldn't take his words to heart, it still hurts nonetheless to hurt him say that he loves his imaginary friends more than he loves her. His mother. The woman who went through hell to have him. The woman who's doing anything in her limited amount of power to keep unwanted hands and eyes off of him. The woman who conceived him in the most grotesque way. The woman who loved him way before she felt him kick. The woman who chose not to bleed him away.
The woman who chose to love him instead.
He's her son and nobody else's.
He's hers and only hers.
"I'm sorry, Ma. I didn't know your feelings can be hurted."
That's what she thought of Bizzy too.
Getting off the couch with a groan, her joints ached. She kissed his little nose and he held up his little arms, she responded by tugging him against her hip, and apologised for being petty. She's the grownup here. She ought to be the bigger person.
But sometimes, she doesn't want to be the grownup. That's Derek's job, he's the mature and calm one. And she, she's the clingy and whiny child.
He's hers and only hers.
They hurried over to the 'kitchen', making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches together before taking another pill and finding sweet relief the stygian darkness of her mind.
Six Years Ago
Addison screamed. A loud, high-pitched, blood curdling scream. Or at least that's what she thought she did as her mind replayed the events of last night over and over again.
It's been too long since she had any contact with the outside world, since she talked to someone other than herself, since she saw her husband, since she had good food and wine, since she held a ten blade, since she had freedom.
Freedom used to be luxury for her. Now, it's something she's most desperately craving for.
She shouldn't have let him done that to her. She should've put up more of a fight. What good would that do? He'd just beat her senseless.
It's not like he's done enough, right?
She should've at least tried.
She wants to go back to a time where she was unharmed and untouched.
Laying on the far end of this stupidly tiny bed - battered and broken - she sobbed in pain and self pity. She wished she could just blend into the bland wall. She can only imagine how ugly and disgusting she must look. Cordelia Van Tassel from med school was right. She is a whore. With the amount of blood mixing with her tears, she knows she's beyond repair.
But then, she felt the bed sank and he was now lying beside her. She flinched when his hand caressed her cheek.
"Don't touch me." she snapped.
He laughed.
Anger ignited in her. Eating her chest from the inside out. If only he knew how she felt, he wouldn't be laughing.
"Are you just gonna lie in bed and cry all day?" he asked, fully aware of the anguish that she's currently in.
What does he want with her?
She bit down on her lip, controlling her sobs. Trying her best to muffle the sounds of her cries even when she wants nothing more than to scream and cry out loud. The insanity of his question just further killed her. Convincing her that he's totally mental, that he's inhumane.
Can't he just leave her alone?
No one's looking for her. She's fully convinced. It's been over a year and she's still here.
It's Christmas and it's cold again.
They've all forgotten about her.
Her husband hates her, so she can't really blame him.
Her parents...she doesn't really expect Bizzy and the Captain to do much.
Her elder brother - Archer - she doesn't know if he's looking for her or not, but he must because she would know that something so terribly wrong happened if he doesn't call her once a week, at the very least, because he's her family and she's all he's got.
If he isn't looking for her or at least harassing the police to exhaust every last penny they had in their budget to look for her, she will be torn into pieces. She'd rather die than know the truth.
She doesn't know what to think. To stay positive or not? To have hope and fate or to just give up already?
All she knows for certain is that she isn't the same Addison anymore.
It was thirty minutes past seven in the evening when she woke up and she feels slightly better than she did yesterday and this morning. Just slightly. She's still nauseous - must be medicating on an empty stomach - and her head was still pounding a little.
Fatigue.
She's suffering from extreme exhaustion.
Dinner was fish sticks and rice. It's one of Christopher's favourites. She doesn't understand why, she hates fish sticks. The brand he buys aren't even the good ones - it's the cheapest, she's sure of it - she've had better, but Christopher likes them second to tuna. Again, she doesn't get why.
They settled on a cooking show because there aren't really anything good to watch. She knows Christopher would prefer cartoons but it's prime time, there aren't any in the evening. She gave him the rest of her dinner because he didn't eat much today and besides, she feels guilty for being insular this morning.
"Ma, what is the cooking woman making?" he asked.
"Chef, sweetie." she said, "She's a Chef. And she's making mince pie. It's a Christmas pie with dried fruits and spices."
Oh, Christmas...she used to love Christmas. They used to love Christmas. The silver tinsel, glittery, glistening red and green globes, shiny lights and the large Christmas tree sitting oh-so beautifully in the corner of their brownstone. It was their holiday and everyone who knows them knows that. Well, Derek used to love celebrating Christmas with her. Used to. He probably grew tired of her. The last few years before everything went south, he would spend December the twenty-fifth in the hospital while she, she'll celebrate the holiday by herself - and Mark will occasionally pop up out of the blue - with a bottle of Chateau Lafite.
His eyes brighten at the prosperity, "Can we make mince pie, Ma?"
When they're out of here, sure. Everyday.
But she shook her head. "Sorry. He's going to get angry."
Mince pie has a lot of ingredients which costs quite the money and besides, it's not necessary for them to indulge in desserts.
He nodded. She's glad that he finally understood to not ask any further questions about him.
She smiled, ruffling his brown hair. He needs a bath and a change of clothes. But they don't have time now, it's almost nine and he's coming soon. Maybe in the morning then.
Christopher doesn't believe that the food they see on TV are real, even though she had insisted a thousand times that they are. He thinks that real food comes in a can. Like the kinds of food they eat.
A split second later, they're watching a fitness channel with two very shiny and bulky men working out various apparatus.
When was the last time she went to a gym?
She don't know. Medical school?
After medical school, the hospital was her workout. It's all the workout she needs to keep fit anyway.
He changed the channels again.
"Christopher, would you just settle on one channel. You switching channels is giving me a headache." she said as she messaged her throbbing temples.
They're now at home makeover channel.
Groaning internally, she's once again reminded of her home in the Upper East Side and how excited she was to redecorate and furnish the interior the way she liked.
Avantgarde living room tiles. Antique Persian carpets. Black marble kitchen countertops. Polished chrome waterfall styled rain shower head with a porcelain freestanding iron Clawfoot tub. The stone look bathroom wall tiles.
A six month long renovation and she can't ever forget the night he carried her into their new house. It was just a three-story prewar - 1899 - limestone building with original glass and wooden doors encasing, but they are the ones who made it a home.
She loved that house, initially she, they really did. She loved the smell of their leather sofa. Walking through the wooden door and into the vestibule, arm in arm with her husband. Kicking off her highest heels, then sauntering into their kitchen for her daily dose of red wine. Asking Derek if he'd want his scotch. But slowly, over the years - she's not too sure when the beginning of their end started - it became a house of horrors, a house of sorrow and loneliness. A home where it knows that she's craving for attention - Derek's attention. A home that's no longer warm and cozy. A home that has become cold and eerie. It's all her fault anyway. And she hates going home because she knows she'll be all alone. And after a while, she stopped calling Derek to ask - no - to beg him to come home, he knows very well how much she hates sleeping alone, because she knows what he's going to say, his words always hurt more than his absence.
"Did she like it brown better?" Christopher questioned and she was pulled away from her reverie.
"What?"
"The TV woman, she's crying now because her house is yellow." he pointed at the screen.
She listened intently on whatever the teary woman was saying now.
"Oh, no." she said, "She's so happy about her newly designed house that it's making her cry."
"That's weird. Is she happy-sad, like you get when there's lovely music on TV?"
Like when she hears their wedding song on the radio. Like when she hears Chopin or Tchaikovsky because it reminded her of Bizzy yelling at her to practice the piano.
"No, she's just stupid. Let's turn the TV off."
She's having her entire house decorated for free and they're confined to a 13"x10"! And she's crying! What for?
Life's fucking dandy, isn't it?
"Five more minutes? Please?"
She shook her head.
-:-
Three short flashes. Three long flashes. Three short flashes.
She waited for a while, still pointing the flashlight up at the skylight before repeating the tiresome task, which has now become an ultimately useless process, all over again.
But she had to try again, even when all her efforts are futile. She had to not give up. Montgomeries are persistent. Maybe someone is out there, awake in the dead of the night, and will notice the flickering light - a cry for help.
Who knows?
Maybe tonight is their night.
Maybe tonight, they will be rescued.
Maybe tonight, they will go home.
Maybe tonight, she'll get to sleep on her $3,899 Zenhaven natural latex memory foam mattress.
Maybe...just maybe.
Three short flashes. Three long flashes. Three short flashes.
SOS
Save Our Souls.
The continuous spaceless sequential distress signal is the International Morse code for maritime distress that was first adopted by the Germans, which she guess is not only for maritime related distress.
Right?
She has the rights to use the code too since she, herself, really is in distress. A seven year long distress.
Three short flashes. Three long flashes. Three short flashes.
Her brother had taught her the distress code years and years ago . Archer. She sighed. It was then that she felt the longing ache in her chest as hot tears burned the back of her eyes. She hadn't allowed herself to think about her brother for the past seven years. She just couldn't. It hurts too much to think of him. Feeling herself begin to unravel, she gripped her arms, trying to hold herself together.
She misses her brother so much. So so much.
Oh, how she would give up everything in this world to hear her overprotective older brother yell at her again, yelling that she's making the biggest mistake of her life, yelling that he's only looking out for her, yelling that he's older, that he knows better, that he's wiser.
She wish to hear him again. But this time, it'll be different, she'll listen to him.
Her brother who had carried her home after literally flying off her pink bicycle because she had mistakenly pressed the break handles and tumbled down the little hill not a second later, scrapping her face in the process.
She was terrified to say the least and it wasn't because she was bleeding or that the skin on her face had peeled to shreds, she was frightened of how Bizzy was going to react.
"It's okay, Addie. Please stop crying. I'll tell Bizzy that it was my fault."
"I wanna go home, Archie."
He has always been the one who took care of her, his duty because they don't live in a conventional household. He was her saviour. And when a bunch of girls in the second grade were teasing her for her lisp caused by her protruding bucktooth - admittedly, her young self looked so utterly grotesque - he saved her. And when Chad Michael, a boy whom she had a crush on since the fifth grade, kiss-and-tell, informing the entire school of how much of a bad kisser she was, he saved her. And when her first ever boyfriend, the first boy to whom she has ever loved, Chuck Bass - the sole heir of the New York Palace Hotel - broke up with her because she wasn't ready to blossom just yet - she was only fifteen - he saved her.
She wonders how Archer's doing right now.
Is he married?
Seven years can change a person.
She ought to know.
Three short flashes. Three long flashes. Three short flashes.
She remembers crawling into his bed late one night - twenty plus years ago - mortified of the clasping thunder.
"What're you reading?" she lisped and looked over at the book he had propped on his lap.
"Morse Code. Now, shush, Addie, if you want to sleep here with me tonight."
She choked on her tears.
A myriad of scenes spun around her head of her brother, her brother who held her hand on her first day at the Dalton School, of her brother who screamed at Senna Montclair because she had said, quote and quote - you're the ugliest person in the entire school, not just in the entire eighth grade - of her brother who caught her smoking a cigarette - her first and last smoke - then sneaking a boy into her room at sixteen, of her brother who taught her how to drive the red Porsche the Captain had bought for her to silence what she had witnessed, of her brother who danced with her at her wedding, who told that she's making a mistake, who told her she could do better.
"He's not like us, Addie." he snarled at her in the dressing room as she got ready for her big day. That's what he calls a pre-wedding speech - criticising the choices she had made.
"Be happy for me, Archer. I love him." she was hurt nonetheless that her brother and her husband-to-be couldn't get along with one another.
She was so torn.
She loves her brother so much.
Three short flashes. Three long flashes. Three short flashes.
It has always been him and her against the world. Then, Derek came along and she had to push Archer to the side. She couldn't spend much time with her brother anymore. She was busy with medical school and Derek and he was busy with being a doctor and his passion for writing.
The last time she saw her brother, before this happened, was in Christmas. Three months before she was taken.
She wants to see him again.
Archer is out there and she's in here, living a nightmare.
So, she spoke the words she hid in her heart. "I wanna go home, Archie."
Her stomach tied in knots, and she hugged her knees tightly to her chest, shivering, biting her knuckles to hold back a scream.
"Ma?"
With Christopher's soft voice, she startled badly, nearly dropping the flashlight in her hand. Quickly, she turned away, rubbing her hands across her eyes.
But he can't see her. It's dark.
"Yes, baby." she said. Her voice shaking.
He's hers and only hers.
"All done?"
"Yea. Sorry I woke you." she crawled back into bed and let him snuggle into her side, wrapping his arm around her middle.
"That's ok."
Suddenly, tears were prickling at her eyes again and she can't seem to stop them anymore.
He's hers and only hers.
"Ma..." he started, her thumb rubbing against his soft cheek "Hmm?" she mumbled and tried to smile at him.
"Where are we when we're asleep?"
"Right here." she kissed his head, combing her fingers gently through his brown locks.
"But dreams...do we go in TV for dreaming?"
She whispered into his hair, "No. We're never anywhere but here."
Will she die in here?
Thank you guys so much for reading. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. What do you think of Derek? Glad to finally hear from him. I love hearing what you guys think so be sure to leave a review. Pretty please. I'll try to update soon enough! Oh and there may or may not be more characters coming to life (more like words!) in the future chapters! So stay tuned.