Note: This is a part of the All Too Well Series, but it can be read as a stand alone fic. Each part of the series has a number in front, as there are no series indicators here :)
No copyright infringement intended.
Enjoy reading!
She remembers perfectly the moment she realized Derek was gone, the moment he slipped away from her grasp indefinitely—
It was night time.
Again.
When she bought his favorite dish from their favorite Chinese restaurant a few blocks from the Brownstone, she was already thinking of how to stock it in the refrigerator.
Like how it was every un-calendared night in the Brownstone.
She walked past the trees bordering the cemented sidewalk, the pathway they unconsciously owned, feet alert for any muggers lurking… as she was alone.
No matter how expensive the neighborhood, it's still New York.
Expensive… maybe she should cost-cut their dinners.
Would there be a change?
When she realized she had time—a whole fucking lot to spare after cutting off some hours "to spend more time at home", she did not put into equation that she and Derek weren't on the same page.
He spent slow nights buried deep in textbook procedures while she faced cold nights alone, in the warm interior of the Brownstone, dark thoughts eating her alive.
If it weren't for Mark's presence every five days, Savvy's weekly calls, or Nancy's random catch ups, it was her and her many bottles of wine for company.
Like tonight, one of the many.
She unthinkingly set plates for two, utensils, glasses, candles—body used to this nightly routine, a muscle memory, as it was her way to compensate for her lack of cooking skills.
At least their dinner table looks good.
And the wine is freaking heaven.
10… 11… 12…
She blinked once and time had passed.
She looked at the clock, it was already two in the morning, the then full bottle of wine in front of her reduced to less than a quarter now, a newly-filled glass steady in her hand.
A few more minutes, Addison.
From where she was sitting at the dinner table, she grabbed the medical journal she left the night before.
Then she paused.
Her hands started shaking as her heart started to race.
Wires snapped inside her brain, her entirety coming up from the waters she has been desperately drowning at for months now.
A fucking epiphany.
The glass she was holding shattered and she let the deafening sound pierce throughout her body and the silent room.
The wine spilled all over her red skirt.
Tiny cuts littered her palm so she grabbed the medicine kit from the cupboard, picking out the glasses latched on her skin.
She laughed darkly at the metaphor of it all—the almost thousand cuts, the blood-like stain on her clothes, the punchline to where this is all headed.
Her, in pain, alone. Her, healing her own wounds, alone. Her, at dinner, alone.
All her, in a fucking one-sided marriage she did not remember signing up for.
After she was done picking out the shards from her hands and cleaning up her wounds, she removed every trace of messes in the whole dining area—the table setup not spared.
Before she went to the half-empty bedroom, she stared at the two lit candles for a moment, hoping Derek would barge through the door and take back all of her overwhelming doubts and regrets…
She blew them out.
She watched for a moment in the dimly-lit room the two lines of smoke coming out from the lingering flames of the candles—
Slowly dying, like her, in her relationship with Derek.
Like their marriage.
He's never coming home, Addison.
