"Derek?" I couldn't bring myself to look at him, so I stared at my hands against the bedspread. The French manicure against the ratty white comforter. It was pretty crappy, really. Especially compared to the Egyptian cotton we'd had back home.

The only sound in the trailer was his breathing, slow and heavy. My heart pounded against my chest.

I had no idea what to say so I started rambling, still not looking at him. "I wanted to tell you because I realized that if this is going to work we need to be honest with each other, we really do, and I didn't tell you before because I knew it would hurt you and I'd rather die than hurt you more than I already have – "

"Give it up, Addie."

I finally looked at him again.

He looked weary and defeated. "You made me think that you sat there alone, being miserable, but you really just kept fucking him? What the hell is wrong with you?"

A lot of things.

"I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, I'm sure," he scoffed.

"I was so confused," I said desperately. "I was a mess without you, don't you get that? I had no idea where the hell you'd gone, Derek."

"You could have called."

"You wouldn't have answered," I retorted.

"Probably not." He looked away and I felt physically nauseous at the thought of what I'd done.

Finally he raised his eyes to mine again. They looked dark blue, nearly navy, and were filled with a hurt so deep that it chilled me. "Do you really hate me that much, Addison? To do this to me? To keep doing this to me?" I opened my mouth, unsure how to answer, but he kept going. "I mean, I'm trying, for Christ's sake. But now I don't even know if I should be."

He stood up from the bed.

"Where are you going?"

"Out. Somewhere. Anywhere." He grabbed his jacket from the chair and slipped it on.

"Derek, please – stay. Talk to me," I begged, grabbing his arm.

"Don't touch me." He jerked his arm away. "I can't sleep next to you. I'll see you tomorrow." He picked his briefcase off the floor.

I felt the panic rising in my chest as I tried to hold back tears, the same way I did when he walked out on me That Night. "Are you – are you going to Meredith's?" I asked hoarsely.

He turned from the doorway to look at me with disgust. "No. Only you would do that."

And then he was gone.

- - - - -

Two bottles of wine, three hours of restless sleep, and four Advils later, I was in the doctor's lounge at Seattle Grace, changing into my scrubs.

"Morning, Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd," Miranda said brusquely as she opened her locker.

"Good morning," I mumbled, pulling my hair back into a messy bun.

"Rough night?"

"I guess so."

"Hello, Miranda." Someone else entered the room. I continued staring into my locker mirror, refusing to turn and look at him. God, my eyes were bloodshot.

I heard Miranda greet him and then left, probably sensing the tension between us yet again.

"Hi," he said coolly, stepping over to the locker next to mine and spinning the combination.

I faced him. "Hi," I said hesitantly.

He scanned my face. "You're drunk?"

"Of course I'm not drunk. It's five am."

"You were drunk." He looks slightly disgusted with me, as usual.

"Yes," I admitted.

"Chardonnay or Zinfandel? Wait, don't tell me. The white Zinfandel in the cabinet."

I absolutely loathed him for knowing me so well. "Yeah."

"You always used to drink that after we fought."

"It's not my fault you drive me to drink," I shot back.

He shrugged. "Why do you think I came here and had a one night stand in a bar? You do the same thing to me."

I didn't even know what to say. He nodded curtly and turned back to his locker.

Oh, this was going to be a long day.