Skeptics And True Believers

Wow. You guys were amazing with the reviews. Here is the second chapter for you, I thought it would be shorter but it's really not :)

Don't be so scared to take a second for reflection,
to take a leave of absence, see what you're made of.
So I'm selfish and you're sorry?
When I'm gone you'll be going nowhere fast.
So who's selfish and who's sorry?

Everyone, and I mean everyone stares as we descend the stairs into the general bustle of the hospital. Mouths fall open, whispers pass through open air; expressions betray shock, chagrin, anger, betrayal.

I know what they are saying, although of course I can't hear them. McDreamy has a wife. McDreamy has a daughter. His kid has schizophrenia. His wife is pregnant. She cheated on him; he calls her Satan. McDreamy is a McMess. It may be cruel, but all the things they say are undeniably true.

I am holding Vera, who is pale and shaking from her interview, although she seemed to like Dr. Nguyen as far as I can tell. Vera's claret hair curls softly around her slightly freckled face which exudes extreme susceptibility; for all that she is more beautiful than any painting. Her skinny grasshopper legs are wrapped so tightly around me that I doubt setting her down is an option. Dr. Nguyen told us he is going to prescribe antipsychotics for her. The different kinds have a multitude of side effects, from fevers to depression to weight gain.

I feel like I have been thrust onto a brightly lit stage with no choice in the matter. Addison looks even more uncomfortable, because some of the stares she is receiving are downright hostile, riddled with judgment and hate. The cacophony of noise that is usually present is stymied by a blanket woven of scandal and the opportunity for excellent gossip.

"Dr. Shepherd?" Dr. Bailey is the first one to speak, never having been known for eloquence or timidity. I usually admire her straightforward attitude; for all that she sometimes threatens me. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Uh, now is really not the best time," I say.

"Well, you were supposed to do a craniotomy this morning and my interns were supposed to watch. Since you weren't there, however, I had to find other people for those fools to bother," she snaps at me.

"Sorry," I manage. I need to talk to Addison and I need to talk to Meredith and I need to do it before Vera becomes alarmed by the situation we're in.

"And if you take one step towards Meredith Grey today, I swear to God I will castrate you," Bailey promises. "I'm sorry, I don't think we're met," she says, extending a hand to Addison, who shakes it quickly. "Miranda Bailey."

"Addison Shepherd," Addison whispers, obviously slightly self-conscious about using that name in a hallway full of antagonistic strangers who probably bet their life savings on me marrying Meredith.

"Pleasure," Bailey replies, but her eyes are on Vera. Comparing her, I am sure, to me and Addison.

"Dr. Bailey, I have the labs for Ms. Ferguson," Alex Karev says. He glares at me with unadulterated disgust, and I realize he must have been closer to Meredith than I knew. Bailey nods and looks them over before sending him on his way. "Dickhead," he mutters as he leaves. Izzie and George are whispering a few feet away, their eyes on Addison, but I scan the crowd for Meredith. Cristina shakes her head when she catches my eye but I ignore her, searching for that head of rumpled blonde waves.

I start towards Meredith when I finally spot her, standing on the fringe, observing but unwilling to be involved. She must know what people are saying about her, about us, about our sickly twisted love triangle, and I don't know how to apologize for the damage. I have not gone more than two feet, however, before there is a pained moaning sound, and Addison is at my side before I can blink.

"Derek, let's go," she says.

"I have to work," I argue.

"Derek," she hisses. "For once in your life think about your daughter please."

I take one look and Vera and then lunge away from the crowd hurriedly, but it is too late. Vera thrashes in my arms, tiny sharp nails raising red welts on my forearms, and I almost drop her in shock. Her eyes are blank, sightless, and I want to retch with dread when I see this. Then she screams.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it!" she cries. "Go away!"

Addison spirits Vera away from me, settling her on the nearest unoccupied expanse of floor where she cannot hurt anybody. "Sweetie, what is it?" she asks. "Talk to me."

But Vera says nothing. How can she? She can't see me nor my wife nor the crowd of onlookers, faces alight with horrified fascination. Furious at their indiscretion, I drop to my knees beside my daughter as well, the helplessness nearly drowning me. A parent's job is to protect, guide, and nurture a child. But how can you protect from what you cannot see, and how can you nurture when you cannot protect?

"They're here for me!" Vera shrieks. "No, no, please, go away, let me go back!" She twists out of Addison's hold, bruising her elbows and banging her head on the linoleum. It is painfully pathetic to watch, and I feel like crying. "I can't help you!" Vera yells. "Go away; leave me alone, I can't help you! You're dead!"

Suddenly Vera goes limp, and Addison scoops her up hastily. People mill around the lobby, blocking any chance for a quick exit, so I lead them deeper into the hospital. We traverse the halls, practically running, and I lead them into the first sanctuary I see: Richard's room.

"How long has it been like this?" I pant.

"Ever since you left," she says as I push open the door and we collapse inside. Addison sets Vera on the only available chair.

"Addison!" Richard cries delightedly, sitting up quickly to embrace her. Adele steps forward as well, smiling widely, and Addison falls into her hug, fighting tears. "How are you?" Richard wants to know.

"I'm …" but she cannot seem to find words appropriate to express her feelings. Probably assuming it has something to do with our marriage, Richard lets it go.

"And this must be Vera!" Adele exclaims. "She's gotten so big. Do you remember me, sweetie?"

No answer. Vera is seeing something, but whatever it is, it clearly isn't us. Her pink lips are slightly parted and her expression is fierce, like she's fighting off unseen demons, and Adele and Richard both look taken aback when they notice this. She raises one trembling hand and sweeps it through the air, touching something we cannot see.

"Honey?" Addison ventures. "Can you say hi to Adele and Richard?"

There is no response, so I say quietly, "Vera is schizophrenic. Addison just found out a week ago. I found out yesterday. We don't know what she's seeing right now."

"Well my god!" Adele exclaims. "You two are in way over your heads, with sorting out your marriage and all. And with another baby on the way. You let us know if you need any help, you hear?" Adele says to Addison, who is looking dazed. Repairing our marriage … despite what had occurred outside Dr. Nguyen's office, I have made no conscious decision to do so. Doubt and indecision gnaw at my insides.

*~*~*

It wasn't that Derek and I had decided not to have any more children, I thought as I stared down at the pregnancy test. In fact, at one point in time, when we were younger and not so jaded, we thought we'd have a whole horde of children. But being a doctor does not afford you much free time, and although we'd tried for Vera, we made no conscious effort for another child.

It figured, then, that two days after my husband hightailed off into the country I would find that he knocked me up again. The plus on my pregnancy test was looking pretty solid, as far as I could tell.

"Shit," I breathed, leaning back and hitting my head on the tiled wall of the Mt. Sinai bathrooms. Derek was gone. I'd unceremoniously kicked Mark out after Derek left. Vera alternated between sane and deranged, and it was all I could do to get her into the Mt. Sinai daycare anymore. She frightened the other children, they told me.

And now I was pregnant. Carolyn was the only one who knew where Derek had gone, and although she might have told me where he was if she knew a second grandchild was on the way, I didn't think I'd be able to face her fussing over Vera and disapproval over my affair. No, I was well and completely alone.

Fairytales are like fruit, I decided as I wrote the pregnancy test off as faulty and planned to get a blood test instead. They're pretty and shiny and sweet and first, and you bite into them with vigor. But they rot before too long, inside first and then outside, and nothing, not even the most succulent apple or flawless love story, can resist decay.

I'm sure that Derek and I had always appeared to have the ideal life. But that's the thing about illusions: You always want to see through them until you actually do.

*~*~*

I learn, in those first few weeks in which Addison purchases a penthouse apartment and I find myself there more than I plan or want, that the only constant thing is time. My feelings about both Addison and Meredith ebb and flow, cycles that I cannot keep track of and that confuse me beyond measure. The only sure thing is the passing of time, day by bewildering day, week by uproarious week.

Meredith is cautious around me, but she seems to believe what I said about getting a divorce. Our time together at the hospital begins to resemble what it had been before Addison's existence was thrown into light. We smile, fight, and occasionally, kiss in elevators. There is only one difference. And that is that guilt has latched onto me like an insistent parasite, and there is no removing it.

Addison is a completely different story. We usually avoid each other in her modern apartment overlooking the twinkling lights of Seattle, but there are instances when our old life rears its face. Like when she pours three bowls of cereal instead of two, or tosses the sports section of the newspaper over the counter and I catch it in my favorite armchair. Or when, once Vera has gone to bed, we watch the ten o'clock news and heatedly discuss events until one of us remembers that she slept with Mark, and we fall silent.

Vera is what keeps us on our toes and forms the crux of all our worries. Dr. Nguyen prescribes antipsychotics at a very low dosage, as they are known to cause severe depression in young children. The problem is that she isn't responding to them as well as we all hoped. There are other, more dangerous types to try, but instead I pray that this kind will kick in and she'll be the bubbly, sparkling child I once knew.

One day I let myself in to Addison and Vera's apartment to find it empty. It still feels weird to use a key to get in, and to not actually live here, but moving in with Addie requires a choice between her and Meredith and I'm sure as hell not ready for that yet.

"Addison?" I call. "Vera?" There is no answer, but faint noises drift out from Addison's room, so I follow my ears into the lavish bedroom. Addison and Vera are sprawled on the bed, watching a movie I recognize as Monsters, Inc., which in Vera's case reeks of irony. Addison is eating lasagna, balancing it on her expanded stomach, cheese trailing from her plate to her fork. It looks kind of cute, I dare to realize.

Vera has gummy bears crammed into her small, sticky hands and she is lining them up on Addison's duvet by color. At first I think she doesn't notice me, but she pops up with a sudden, "Hi, Daddy," sounding almost like her old self.

"Hey, baby," I respond, bending to press my lips to her forehead, brushing her hair out of the way as I do. It sticks out at odd angles and there are purple circles under her eyes that bespeak of nights cast with hallucinations, and my concern peaks. Vera doesn't deserve this. I don't think any child does.

"Vera, did you clean your room?" Addison asks; her voice far-off and diluted with exhaustion. I realize that she must not be getting much more sleep than Vera with the screaming nightmares that go on here at night.

"Yes," Vera replies, but there's something about her voice, monotonous as it is, that sets off alarm bells. She's clearly lying, but there's something more, something almost … sinister in her eyes. Addison catches it too and we both stand, heading for the door.

Some of Vera's stuff has been shipped from New York, most likely by Savvy or my mother, but it seems that Addison has also been shopping, because I don't recognize her pale pink gossamer bedspread or green princess curtain. Addison treads first across the white carpet, and I see that Vera has not cleaned her room at all. Toys still litter the floor, and I am about to call her to reprimand her when Addison gasps.

Barbies are sprawled all over, which wouldn't seem out of place except for the fact that they are all missing their heads. Vera must have pulled them off. The heads smile creepily, tangled hair around their faces, and the sight is almost obscene. I walk forward, stumbling over a toy as I do. It is a miniscule bobble headed plastic panda. Its eyes have been blacked out by sharpie. All Vera's other Littlest Pet Shop toys have met the same fate, and her stuffed animals are missing eyes and limbs.

My daughter's room has been transformed into a graveyard for toys and I no longer know what she's capable of.

"Mr. Swimmers," Addison says, and this comment is so odd and out of context that I can only stare for a minute.

Then I remember. "Vera's goldfish?" I ask. I recall attempting to inspire my six year old to choose a different name as we bent over shimmering orange fish, but she wouldn't budge.

"I found him floating belly-up in his bowl the day before we came here," Addison tells me. "I thought … well, I thought that it was just some random thing, but Vera acted so weird when I told her, she didn't even cry. Why … why the hell would she do this?" Addison half sobs, staring out over the mess. Few toys are left unscathed, although Vera apparently didn't touch the furniture.

"They needed my help," comes the tinkling, bell-like answer from behind us. Addison and I both turn, startled, to see Vera outlined in the doorway. Her face betrays no emotion, but her eyes glitter. "They wanted to die," she says.

And for the first time, I am not only scared for my daughter but scared of her.

The sessions with Dr. Nguyen continue, and he seems as worried about Vera as both Addison and I are. We all try to find the trigger for schizophrenia, anything that might betray the reason why my daughter is mentally ill. "Were there any instances of abuse during her childhood?" Dr. Nguyen asks us one day. "Physical, sexual … anything?"

"No," Addison whispers brokenly. "At least, none that we know of."

"There was that one time when that park she was visiting in kindergarten was bombed," I remind her. "But I don't think an isolated incident like that could bring it on. None of the kids were hurt." I have feared, for the last few days, that I know what might have caused it, but it is the first time I have voiced these fears aloud.

"Dr. Nguyen, did I … when I left, did that cause … did that make it worse?"

His eyes are full of a sympathy I'm unsure how to accept, but his voice is level and honest. "It may have pushed it to the point where the symptoms became recognizable. It made it worse, but it also enabled us to diagnose her. You could have saved her life."

"Of course, she might have been fine if you didn't leave at all," Addison points out.

"Everything might have been fine if you didn't sleep with my best friend," I snap back.

"Are you going to throw that in my face forever?" she yells.

"You know what, I just might!" I tell her, incensed. So far, Dr. Nguyen has endured these little spats with calm patience, sometimes even playing referee even though he specializes in children. I've told him I might be divorcing Addison, Addison has told him she can't take me being absent and neither can Vera.

"Sorry about that," she says as we exit. "It was … inappropriate for me to say that in there." Vera is laying on the velvet couch in a loose fetal position and Addison lifts her gently, slightly out of breath because Vera makes no move to help her.

"Okay," I agree, because right now, I really need a break from Addison and the tangled web of problems she represents.

"Hey," she says, laying her hand on my arm. "I was thinking maybe you, me, and Vera could …"

"Not now," I respond, a reflex reaction, but there's no way I miss the hurt on Addison's face. That was my favorite phrase in New York and I can feel her eyes boring into my back as I walk away, I know I cut her deeply. But still I leave, abandon her there in the office. I'm not always the good guy I pretend to be.

I do my best by Vera, I truly do, but her lack of response is bone-chilling to even Addison and I. At first there are a plethora of interns volunteering to watch her during surgeries, because Addison has started working at Seattle Grace, but after a week Izzie is the only one offering for reasons other than to suck up.

Disturbing and remote as Vera is, I can't say she is unaware of the events revolving around her. One day I take her to the park near the hospital, with an intricate, multi-colored jungle gym and several slides, but she refuses to play, instead sitting beside me on the dew-beaded bench.

"Vera," I say as we watch kids do more and more daring tricks between the bars, and one falls onto the wood chip covered ground. "Why don't you go play, baby?"

It takes her a while to answer, but I'm patient because minutes are sometimes required for a one-word response. "No, thank you," she tells me finally. Her body, adorned in floral smocked dress, is unnaturally still, like Vera is a turtle retreating into her shell. I feel so sorry for her, watching the other kids pull away from her cold little hands, that I do not push her.

"Daddy?" she asks a few minutes later. "Why am I a freak?"

Her words remind me that she is no older than six years old, and yet she can sense how she's not like the other kids. The air becomes hard to breathe, because when your child hurts, you hurt as well. "You're not a freak," I promise her. "What makes you say that? Did somebody say that to you?"

"No," she whispers, her voice thin and strangled in the cool sunset, shadows beginning to creep over the grass. I cannot tell if this is the truth or not. "But I'm not like everybody else, and that means I'm a freak."

"Being different isn't bad," I say. "And it doesn't mean you're a freak."

"Charlie at daycare said that I belong in a loony bin. And Aubrey said that I'm a monster. I just told them about the things I see, because they asked," Vera says.

"Honey -" I begin. My heart aches for her, and I wish I could do anything to take her place, anything to shield her from the naïve cruelty of children.

"I hear voices," she tells me. "And I see things that you and Mommy can't see and I have to see a special doctor and I just want all of them to leave me alone!" she cries. Her head falls against my arm and I hold her tightly as she sobs, her small body wracked with spasms with sadness.

"That just means you're special. The most special girl in the world," I whisper gently in her ear. But I can tell she doesn't believe me.

*~*~*

"Mrs. Shepherd?" It was only the amazement that I was still being called that name that made me look up as I made my way to the Mt. Sinai daycare. I vaguely recognized the woman from bringing Vera here when both Derek and I had surgery, but I didn't know what issue she could possibly have with me.

"Yes?" I answered as my eyes sought out my daughter. I knew the usually perfect Addison Shepherd must have looked a complete mess, with bruise-like circles under my eyes and hair mussed from spending too many hours bent over the toilet, courtesy of my second child.

"I'm sorry to have to inform you of this, Mrs. Shepherd, but if Vera continues to act like she did today, I'm afraid she won't be able to … come here anymore," the woman told me.

"I – what?" I asked. "Did something happen?"

"She, well, she'd been acting a bit strange, and it's frightening the other children. She has quite the imagination, but some of the things she tells the other kids just shouldn't be said."

"I sure there's just been a misunderstanding," I said desperately.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Shepherd, but your daughter is disturbed," she informed me, and as she did Vera appeared the doorway, her big azure eyes filled with tears.

"THERE'S NOTHING FUCKING WRONG WITH HER!" I yelled. Of course, that wasn't strictly true. But a mother will defend her child until death and beyond. I took Vera's hand and pulled her away quickly. "Come on, baby, we're leaving."

*~*~*

"Do you really think this is going to help anything?" I ask Addison as we settle in front of the computer. There is a slight awkwardness as we arrange ourselves, and I end up sitting in the chair with Addison perched in front of me. Our thighs brush and I am instantly distracted.

"I'm willing to try, for Vera," she says as she navigates to a site that allows you to research your ancestors. "Not that it will matter anyway. All of my family is crazy, just not in the right way." She enters our information anyway, hands flying over the keyboard, and we dive into times long past to find anything that could help our daughter.

There is no hint, no clue of schizophrenia in either of our families. Still, Addison continues searching; looking for a flicker of hope that someday things for Vera may improve. We discover how difficult school will become, how tricky it is to diagnose schizophrenic children because of ambiguous symptoms, and that medicine combined with therapy is really the only option open for us.

"It says here that … that some early onset schizophrenia patients have to be permanently hospitalized, and they stay there for the rest of their lives," Addison says in a strangled, tear stained voice. I scan the page she is looking at, dread sitting like stone in my belly.

"Well it … it also says that some schizophrenics go into full remission," I point out. "A small percentage, but it's something."

Addison sinks forward onto the keyboard, her shoulders slumped, and in my haste to comfort her, my hand finds her hip. Her body tenses in surprise and heat inflames my face, but I do not remove my hand for fear of breaking the current of passion and chemistry passing between us.

I know that Addison can feel it too, and she rises slowly, achingly, her body curving toward me gracefully. I thought her affair stole this from us, but apparently I was wrong. Her eyes, frightened, hopeful, determined, burn into mine, and I can feel want and lust gathering in the air, snapping and popping like electricity. And before I know what I'm doing, my hand cups her breast, caressing the skin underneath.

To say Addison looks surprised would be an understatement. Her raspberry red lips pop open, but she doesn't look upset, on the contrary, her eyes are dark and moist with desire. My thumb brushes the skin through her white silk blouse and I feel the outline of her lacy bra underneath. She inhales sharply as my thumb skates over her nipple, and then her lips are on mine, battling and consuming.

I guess I sort of … forgot what kissing Addison is like. The last time I did so was when we conceived the baby, nearly five months ago now. Her lips are almost painfully soft and they fit with mine in an epitome of perfection. It is not gentle, there is too much anger present, too much pent up emotion and things we are both unable to voice. Mark is forgotten. Meredith is forgotten, because in this garden of ardor Addison and I are the only ones who exist.

Then heaven is taken away in a tensing of muscles as Addison leans away with a reproachful look. "We shouldn't be doing this," she says. "Not with Vera and not with your girlfriend or whatever she is. I won't be second best."

She's gone before I have the chance to utter a single word about what just passed between us and I am left staring at the eerily glowing computer screen until I get up and let the steamy water of the shower try to pound some feeling back into me.

"Derek?" Addison calls two hours later when I emerge dripping wet from the shower, and I grunt my annoyance. "Derek!" Addison bursts into the bathroom, already dressed in her salmon scrubs. "I have to go operate on that TTTS case."

"Addison, I'm half naked here," I complain, gesturing at the towel wrapped around my waist and at my bare chest. "And I'm shaving."

"Whatever," she says. "It's not like I haven't seen you in less hundreds of times before." She stares at me, ocean colored eyes beseeching. "Derek, are you listening?" she asks as I struggle to pop open a new razor cartridge one handed.

"Yeah," I answer vaguely as I drag the new razor over my cheeks.

"Dr. Nguyen was worried about some pictures Vera drew today. He said they were … rather disturbing," Addison says, her voice laced with worry. "He showed me, and I … well, I'll just show you." She disappears and returns with a yellow manila envelope, which she places in my hands. My fingers slip over the opening and my hands shake as I full several sheets of paper. I think my heart misses a few beats when I see her drawings.

The pictures are drawn in crayon and not overly detailed, but I think in some ways, knowing that a child, my child, drew these makes it that much worse. In one I gaze out over a field of dead people, their bodies outlined in black crayon. The next is covered in skulls. Another has strangely twisted animals, and the last nothing but a big X. My head spins as I look at them.

"He put her on a twenty-four hour suicide watch, so I need you to be with her every minute," Addison says in a wobbly voice. "Do you hear me? Every minute!"

"Okay, okay, you don't have to nag me," I complain, trying to lighten the graveness that has overtaken the room and she purses her lips, frowning her signature Addison frown. I nudge her with my hip slightly, trying to bring out a smile, and she tries but the result is weak, more of a grimace than a smile.

I hear the door slam, signaling Addison's departure, and I intend to go seek out my daughter until the phone rings. "Mer," I say, and it feels like, as I begin to talk to Meredith, that I am almost switching personalities. There is the man I used to be in New York, determined, loving, hopeful and yet sometimes absent, and there's the man I am now, darker, betrayed, and yet pretending to be the charming McDreamy.

"Hey, I just got off work," she says. "We had the most gruesomely interesting case today…" I listen, grateful for the distraction of a glimpse into a life that isn't as screwed up as mine.

Vera trots out of the other room in an overlarge white shirt; her burgundy hair in erratic tangles. She tugs on my sleeve, trying to obtain my attention, her eyes huge in her pale face. I hold out my finger, signaling that I need a minute, but she persists, hanging onto my leg.

"One second," I tell her. "Daddy is on the phone. Can it wait until I'm done?" I don't wait for the jerky movement that I assume is a nod, or for Vera to tiptoe quietly back to her room. I figure she wants me to braid her doll's hair for her or something.

"Sorry," I say to Meredith. "That was Vera."

"How is she doing?" Meredith wants to know.

"As well as can be expected. The antipsychotics aren't having as much of an effect as we'd expected, but Dr. Nguyen is afraid to increase the dosage so soon because of the risk of depression and anxiety," I explain. "She'll be okay, though. She's a tough kid."

"I had a case with Dr. Bailey today with a redheaded little girl. She reminded me of Vera, but she only needed stitches for her forehead," Meredith says. If only everything were that easy, I think. If only all wounds could be healed with some sutures and a band-aid.

"So, I was thinking we could try that new little …" I trail off when I hear a thud, and I pause, listening closely. "Ver? Are you okay?"

"Derek? Is everything okay?" Meredith asks quickly, sounding sincerely concerned.

"Yeah …" I say slowly. "I was thinking that maybe we could try that new little Italian place near the hospital this weekend." My voice sounds disgustingly hopeful, like some geeky boy begging a model to go out with him.

"Derek, I'm not so sure that's a good idea," Meredith tells me hesitantly.

"What? Why?" I ask, agitation making my voice rise.

"Well, it's just that … I've seen the way you look at your wife, Derek. And I … love you, I do, but I'm not sure that you feel the same way about me, much as you might want to. I get that you're angry at Addison, and you have a right to be, but Vera needs you and when you're with someone as long as you were with Addison … I think you're going to forgive her eventually." Meredith's voice is full of defeat; like we've gone as far as we ever will go and now it's time to lay our relationship down to rest.

But I can't do that. Maybe a bigger person could, but me and Addison have been a mess for so long that I don't know how to fix us. We're a city of ruins being overtaken by nature. "Addison and I are over," I say.

"Have you signed the papers?" Is Meredith's response.

Silence.

"Right. That's exactly my point, Derek, I …" I cannot help the gasp that escapes my lips at the sound of breaking glass, and Meredith immediately stops talking. Dread steals over me like a cloud, and I disregard Meredith's questions as I walk quickly through Addison's apartment.

"Hello? Vera? You there?" I call, starting to run faster. I push open the door to her room and my eyes roam over her diaphanous hangings and lime green bed frame, over pink blankets tangled in sheets and flowers decorating every surface, over the desecrated dolls and stuffed animals and the lanterns that throw soft cherry light over the room. But Vera isn't in here.

I am fully sprinting now, and my heart is beating so fast I'm sure it will give out before I can find my daughter. Meredith's worried voice echoes in my ear but I've lost all senses except those needed to find Vera.

The bathroom door is slightly ajar and in my panic I push it a little too hard and it ricochets off the wall. Glass covers the floor; Vera must have accidentally knocked down Addison's crystal vase when she fainted. The red roses lie on the floor next to it. I drop the phone. It breaks against the cold, sterile white tile, screen cracked and plastic pieces disjointed.

In that instant, my world falls to pieces right before my eyes. Walls crash, buildings burn and I am possessed by that trancelike state that I thought only existed in dreams. Vera was my world. And I don't see any way she can still be alive.

"No," I moan. "Oh god no. No, no, no!"

It must be the body of my six year old in the bathtub, but I cannot tell because the entire tub has been flooded with blood. It has pooled around her extended arms, stained her red hair even darker, been smeared on the walls of the shower. I rebel against this sight. I cannot accept it.

My child just tried to commit suicide.

And then a broken, wretched sob escapes my lips and I fall forward onto my knees on the bloodstained floor. I do not have the strength to stand so I crawl desperately towards my daughter, not even noticing the shards of glass entering my palms and knees. What's a little more blood?

Vera is so still, too still as I bury my head in her shoulder. But there is not time for crying, only time for action. Jagged cuts run the length of her arms, still oozing blood. My new razor lies on the bottom of the tub beside her.

What could she have seen, to make her do this? If I had listened, could I have prevented it?

Her clothes are soaked in blood, and I pull them aside to try and get a pulse. I'm not sure, but I think I feel something so I strip off my shirt and press it over her wrists to keep whatever blood is left in her inside. Then I carefully lift her small body, trying not to notice that her skin is bone white and already cold.

My companions whisper in my ears, and for a moment I am sure that this is what it's like to be Vera. Guilt nearly stops my heart. Fear spurs me on, out the door and down the stairs of the apartment complex. Self-loathing laughs a dreadful laugh. Hope tells me just a few more steps. Anxiety rips apart my heart. Desperation keeps me going.

Would you believe me if I said I didn't need you?
'Cause I wouldn't believe you if you said the same to me.
Near death, last breath, and barely hanging on.
Would you believe me if I said I didn't need you?

Sorry, talk about a cliffhanger. I tried to capture Derek's indecision as well as Vera's struggles. Please tell me what you thought! :D