Mark Sloan's Point of View

I finish up with the surgery I am doing and check my phone to see that Addison has texted me. Fear and confusion surge through me, as I read it and quickly respond.

TEXTS:

Addison 9:45PM

I'm Sorry.

Mark: 9:57PM

Sorry I was in surgery. I just finished up. What's going on? Are you Okay?

Mark: 9:59PM

Addison 10:01PM

... (typing)

Mark: 10:02PM

Addison? Is everything okay? I can come home if you need me to?

I start preparing to leave, letting the Chief know that there is an emergency and I need to go. I finished my last surgery. Before leave I see that she's read each of my messages but hasn't responded. Fear isn't really an accurate word to describe what I'm feeling in the pit of my stomach. I know, without even being there that something is terribly wrong. I quickly tell my interns what I need them to do for the rest of the night and leave, running to my car, forgetting to even clock out. I reach my car in record speed as the panic begins to sink in. I shouldn't have trusted her. I should never have left her home alone. What possibilities had I not considered over the last couple of days with her?

"Siri call Addison." I say, fumbling with my keys. She's fine. She has to be fine. She promised that she wouldn't do anything stupid to hurt herself. It's probably something silly. She probably thinks she is going to be in trouble. Maybe she broke that stupid mug she drinks from daily. We got it when we visited Disneyland and it's her favorite.

"Calling Addison." My phone says, and it rings several times before her voice mail picks up.

"Hello! You've reached Dr. Addison Montgomery Shepherd. Please leave a detailed message with your name and phone number. I will return your call within one business day."

"Oh, for fucks sake." I mumble, a sound of frustration escaping me as I end the call. I hate that she has such a professional sounding voicemail. Does her patients even have her direct line? I know I'm not handing out my phone number to any of the people I treat. Actually, the less people who know my personal phone number the better. The voicemail was probably Derek's idea. It didn't used to be that way. So stiff. So impersonal. She's fine. I'm overreacting. Damn it. How many redlights are there between the hospital and my house? It seems like I am going hit every single last one.

"Siri call Addison." I say again, barley missing another red light.

"Calling Addison."

"Hello! You've reached Dr." I practically slam the phone down this time before the voicemail has had a chance to even play. I stop for a stop sign. Thankfully I've seen it because several people cross the street. I drum my fingers against the steering wheel waiting for them to pass, and then speed off quickly when they do. What are they even doing out WALKING at this hour?

I finally reach the house and throw my vehicle into park, getting out and running up the pathway, my heart racing.

"Addison? Addison are you here?" I ask when I walk in the doorway. The house smells… nice. It is spotless which is defiantly not how I left it. "Addison?" I continue to call out as I look through the rooms. I hear the water running in one of the bathrooms. I knock on the door to see if she's there. There is no response for a minute or so. I turn the knob and realize it isn't locked. The door pushes open easily.

"Oh my God. Addison." I whisper, shock and numbness setting in. Time stands still as I take in what's before me. Addison… my Addison. She's in just her bra and panties. She's laying on the floor in a pool of her own blood. A surgical scalpel from my medical kit is laying on the floor next to her. She is covered in thick red blood. I cringe thinking of the number of germs that scalpel has on it. I doubt she bothered to properly sanitize it. I flash back to the last time I had used it… to fillet a fish. Something inside of me tells me to move, and I do, grabbing my phone and calling nine one one.

"Nine one one. What's your emergency?"

"My name is Mark Sloan. I need an Ambulance STAT. I am calling from 5555 88th Ave SE, Mercer Island, WA 98040. My best friend. Addison Montgomery, she tried to commit suicide."

"Is she breathing?"

"Yes." I check her pulse quickly and examine her injuries. "Her pulse is weak." I look around the bathroom, getting towels and pressing them into the incision. There is no way on this earth that they are sterile enough for this, though having to take antibiotics is better than bleeding out. "She just left an abusive relationship. She's been drinking, there is an empty wine box, as well of several bottles of liquor. I think she took pills. There are several empty bottles on the ground. Lexapro, Oxycodone, and Benadryl. She has a self-inflicted abdominal wound that is several layers deep. She is twenty-five weeks pregnant with her abusers baby. Please, have them to come quickly. I'm holding pressure on the wound, but she's loosing too much blood too fast." I manage to choke out, trying to keep a hold of my medical knowledge and not sound like a complete idiot. My mind goes blank though as I watch her laying on the ground, bleeding to death. We were given training on how to handle emergencies in medical school. We were taught what information to tell the dispatchers, but this is Addison we're talking about. It seems surreal.

"I'm holding pressure on the wound." I repeat. "She's a doctor, a neonatologist. From the looks of the incision made it appears she tried to end her life and terminate the pregnancy with a self-inflicted cesarian section. Her pulse is improving slightly with the pressure on the wound." I am already beginning to form a plan on how I am going to keep pressure on the wound and preform CPR on her if she stops breathing. How long could it possibly take them. "She's still breathing on her own, but her breathing is shallow, ragged."

"The ambulance is on it's way. They are currently five minutes out. Is your door unlocked?"

"It is." I say, and then try to soothe Addison, trying my best not to throw up. "It's going to be okay Addison. You're going to be okay." I would do anything to take the daily pain that she lives with away from her.

"Does Addison have a previous history of suicide attempts?" The operator asks. Her voice is soothing, calm, and reassuring. Everything is going to be fine. I'm sure of it. She didn't mean to do this. She wasn't thinking. This isn't the end of her story.

"She's self-harmed before, but nothing like this." I say, trying to keep my breathing even. The panic is threatening to overwhelm me. I can't be just imagining her getting paler, can I? Her complexion is milky, her skin a creamy shade of blue green. I check her pulse again,

Still rapid, and weak. Her blood pressure must be extremely low. A raid, weak, thready pulse is typically due to decreased circulation combined with tachycardia. At least she is holding on. I quickly pack the wound with more tightly rolled up towels, putting them directly over the fully saturated ones and holding more pressure. What am I going to do if I run out of towels before they get here?

"Sir, they should be there soon, just remaining on the line and let me know when they get there."

"Okay." I promise, and then I go back to comforting Addison. Her blood is slippery, hot, and sticky under my hands. My clothes are now covered in her blood.

"Addison can you hear me?" I ask gently. "It's going to be okay. Help is coming. We're going to get you to the hospital, the doctors will operate, everything will be fine." Her skin is cool and clammy, now a sickly shade of grey. She moves, underneath me, and groans slightly.

"Addison?" I ask, a bit louder.

"I'm sorry…" She coughs, weakly.

"It's okay. I'm here now. Just listen to my voice." I say soothingly. I try not to look at just how red my white towels are now, or how the puddle of blood we are sitting in just seems to keep growing larger and larger.

"I'm sorry…" She says again, beginning to cry. "I don't want to die I just… I just wanted it to stop."

"Shh it's okay Red. The paramedics will be here soon. Just stay with me. Talk to me. I'm not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. Just stay with me." I say, answering the questions her eyes is asking, without her saying it. She always asks me if I'm angry with her. Even over simple little things. He has damaged her. She expects perfection from herself to a level that is just unobtainable. She doesn't know how to just exist with someone who loves her unconditionally. This breaks my heart. "I know you didn't mean for this to happen. We'll fix this. It's going to be okay."

"Not this time." She says, quietly. She closes her eyes and I lose it. Calling her name, begging her to wake up. I check her pulse again, it's about the same as before. I hear the paramedics knocking on the door. "We're in the bathroom! The door's unlocked!" I scream at the top of my lungs. They come into the bathroom, moving quickly, not even pausing at the scene before them. One gets vitals, and the other places an IV in Addison's hand, attempting to stabilize her for transport. The other takes over holding pressure on her wound. I stumble backwards, and sink down against the wall.

"Are you hurt?" One asks me, seeing the state of my clothing, and blood covered body.

"No. I'm fine. It's her… It's her blood." I watch the events unfold as if I am stuck in some sort of horrible nightmare. They try to move her, but she starts seizing when lifted. They pump her full of medication and when she is through the seizure lift her onto the transport board quickly and try to transfer her to the ambulance. She stops breathing. The paramedic not holding pressure clearly her airway and begins compressions. They intubate her before they even manage to get her to the ambulance. I climb in the back of the ambulance with her as they begin ventilation.

"There she is!" I exclaim, looking at the monitors they connected her to, seeing the positive increases. I breathe a sigh of relief as the tears fall hot and heavy down my face. "You're going to be okay. Just hang in there Addie, we're almost to the hospital." She is white, so white. Her skin is cool and clammy under my touch. I hold her hand, too tightly. I know if she isn't already in shock she will be soon. I'm not the praying type, but I pray that we make it to the hospital in time. It suddenly strikes me just how loud the sirens were wailing as we pull into the trauma bay and the paramedics opened to door to the awaiting medical team. I see Meredith and Bailey among the medical team and almost completely break down as I climb out of the ambulance.

"It's Addison." I say, my entire body shaking. "It's Addison." I sink down against the outside wall of the trauma bay. I don't know if I am unwilling to, or just unable to move as I watch them wheel Addison into the hospital. All of the possibilities of her dying are suddenly so much more real, too real. How much longer can I remain optimistic? The team, they're doctors. She needs a miracle worker. A line from a old song plays through my mind.

"I do not want to be afraid.

I do not want to die inside just to breathe in.

I'm tired of feeling so numb.

Relief exists I find it when, I am cut."