Meredith Grey forces another shot of alcohol down her already burning throat. Her brain screams for her to stop, but her heart is too broken to care about what her brain is telling her. She turns around on the bar stool and realises that the bar is deserted except for the bartender who is staring at her with sympathetic eyes.
"Another one please," Meredith rasps, her voice barely above a whisper. The bartender knows that he really should refuse her, but every drink she takes means another dollar in the till. So he nods obediently and pours another glass. She brings the glass to her lips and tilts the liquid down her throat. She searches her bag for some money and finally smacks a wad of cash on the counter. She gets up to leave, swaying slightly as she heads for the door. She is as drunk as hell and in no state to drive.
"Um, do think you're gonna drive?" asks the bartender nervously.
"No, what do think i am, stupid?" she slurs. Meredith rummages in her bag and pulls out her phone. She attempts to dial the number for the taxi, but her fingers seem to miss the right buttons. The bartender walks up to her, takes her phone and dials the number for her. She smiles politely, as he orders a taxi for her.
"Thanks," she finally manages, taking a seat.
"You don't look like the type to get yourself hopelessly drunk," the bartender comments.
"Well, i'm not. I'm a doctor, don't you know,"
"A doc hey? So what are you doing here, drinking yourself silly? Lose a patient or something?"
Meredith looks at him and sighs, " Nope, personal stuff,"
The bartender nods with understanding and doesn't push the subject any further. He's a young man, with scrawny figure, glasses and his hair gelled up at the front. Meredith stares at him for a moment and contemplates whether she should tell him about why she's in his bar.
"My boyfriend has a wife and i can't help but love him," she starts. She doesn't want to tell him everything, but the words just come out. He sits there and listens until they hear a beep of a car horn out side.
Its been a month since she first met the bartender and told him all her problems. She ends up there almost everyday and she dumps all her sorrows on him. But he doesn't mind. He just sits there and listens. He doesn't judge her, or even attempt to give her advice like some bartenders. Except today is different.
"His wife looks like freaking Isabella Rosalini," he mumbles as once her again her throat burns from the alcohol.
"Have you ever considered telling him how you feel?" the bartender asks.
"Nope, cause its worth nothing. By the way thanks for listening to me…uh…"
"John,"
"John," she repeats. Her face is pale; she is ten times as scrawny as she was when she walked into the bar on that fateful night. Her hair looks like a mess her eyes have lost their lustre. They suddenly hear a beep of a car horn and Meredith walks out the door.
"Meredith what's wrong with you?" asks Izzie, looking at Meredith bony figure.
"What do you mean?" Meredith replies looking at her self in the mirror. She is wearing a floral cocktail dress. One that she used to wear so well. Now it just makes her look anorexic.
"Don't wear that dress, it makes you look like crap," Izzie explains, turning to Meredith's wardrobe.
"Don't!" exclaims Meredith as Izzie opens the doors to the wardrobe.
"Oh my god," whispers Izzie as she stares at the numerous bottles of alcohol on the wardrobe floor.