Chapter Three: Anger

Dear Greg,

It's been about a month and a half since you…well...haven't returned home. Every night I eat alone, watch TV alone, work alone, and climb into the spacious bed alone. The other night I tried to play your piano but the moment I laid my fingers on the ivory keys and attempted to play your memory washed over me as if the keys were telling me it was your place and I wasn't wanted near it. I slammed my fists down onto the top of the dusty instrument and hung my head as I cried angry tears. That is where I slept that night.

I blame you for leaving me. I told you to stay at the hospital for a while until the deadly ice storm blew off but you never listen to me. Why me? The normally serious unhappy oncologist brought back to life by you…the carefree rebel diognostian. I am mad at everything now. Last week when I got my breakfast at the cafeteria I left my coffee up on the counter. When the cashier came over to return it to me I let my eyes sink into hers with bitterness until I realized it was her I was glaring at and not you. Why me?

Cuddy also has to drag me away from your grave on a few of my lunch breaks. I used to go up to the roof all the time but Cuddy said I should take a break from that place. So I started eating lunch next to you. The flowers have started to bloom around your grave but I don't see their vibrant colours. I just see everything with this red angry vision. Why did you have to…leave…when you did? I was just getting ready to face that life was at its fullest. Now I feel like I was the one that killed you.

I am mad and my hand is shaking. That is why I can't write anymore tonight. I see the faint outlines of dawn through our window and I think to myself here is another day to make me madder at what I did to you. Sleep your eternal sleep while I seep into madness.

Love you more with every fading heartbeat,

James

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I walked into my office on that bright sunny morning and all I could do was draw the shades and sink into my chair. Before I could even start my mother-lode of paperwork Cuddy walked in. She looked concerned. She looked motherly. She looked like she wanted to talk to me. I turned my face away from her worried face and into the packet of work I saved from the night before. But she wouldn't go away.

She spoke in a tone of someone who truly cared, "James. Please take today off. You are not yourself. Your patients…although doing better than ever feel as though they lost a friend with you,"

I looked up bitterness once again involuntarily clouding my vision. I sighed and cleared my throat before saying in my voice that I had begun to not recognize, "I am fine. I am just a little…angry…but I am fine," The word angry felt disgusting on my tongue but I said it as calmly as I could.

Cuddy just would not go away. She sat down in the chair that he always liked to sit in. She leaned forward and said in a calm voice that I felt I didn't deserve to hear, "Why are you so angry, James?"

I felt my gaze soften and I sighed again before responding, "Work. Stresses. Patients. The usual," Cuddy would not take that as answer. She pressed more much to my annoyance, "Is that all you are angry about?"

I couldn't take all the poking and prodding. I exploded without any control. "Because I think that I am the one that killed Gregory and I am sick of all this guilt!" Cuddy's grey eyes widened and I saw the surprise etched all over her face. I also saw her get up and her say, "I am sorry you feel that way, James," But by the time I saw her leave I saw nothing but the anger. It's blinding me and I believe I need some outside help on this one.

A/N Hello after some long waiting and worrying for our poor Willy-boy. I hope that he will be okay but I assure you by 'acceptance' he will be better. How was everyone's holidays? Good I hope. Well as always have an incredible day and please leave something to say before you go. I love your feedback and I appreciate all the people who favourite my stories.