Disclaimer; I do not own Grey's Anatomy. If I did, then I probably wouldn't be writing this, I'd be writing scripts. Or a speech for my Emmy nominations.

The rain slips down the glass of Seattle Grace, the perfect drops reflecting the world. My knuckles prop up my chin as I sit curled in a plastic chair that's nailed to the floor of the waiting room of the hospital, waiting for my mother. More specifically, waiting for my mother's scrub nurse to tell me that Ellis Grey has an emergency surgery and that she won't be home for another few hours.

I'll grab a ride with one of my mother's interns, who'll give me an apologetic look as he pulls into my driveway. I'll stomp up the stairs and listen to music so loud that the neighbors will call my mother to tell her that I'm out of control.

But she won't take the call.

Then I'll heat a T.V. dinner found in the back of the freezer (the last one) and I'll write it on the list; knowing that I'll probably be the one to pick them up at the store tomorrow. I'll collapse in front of surgery tapes, like any normal, seventeen-year-old girl would do, and I'll stay there for the rest of the night, spending virtual time with my would-be mother. The phone will ring at least four times, my friends calling to ask me to some party at so-and-so's house. On the fourth call I'll pick up after two rings, telling whoever's on the other end of the line that I wouldn't miss it for the world. As soon as I've said yes they'll hang up, not bothering with the usual small talk.

The friends I have don't bother with asking why I sound so sad.

I'll grab the keys to my mother's car and open the garage door, not bothering to flick on the light. I'll spend a moment with my eyes closed on the stairs, mentally switching from broken daughter to uncontrollable party girl.

Once I get there I'll let a boy fill my plastic cup with tequila, but ditch him and head to the backyard feigning a headache. I'll let the smells of grass and rain fill my head, let them swirl through clouds of alcohol. I'll sit with my arms supporting me from behind my back, alone.

I'll be the only one who doesn't mind the rain.

After I've worked my way through three cupfuls of tequila, I'll find a guy, preferably hot, and take them home with me. I'll let him take over with drunken, awkward, movements that make me fight the urge to roll my eyes.

The next morning I won't remember.

I'll grab my clothes, hurriedly throwing them on. I'll shake whoever's on the left side of my bed.

"I'm going to go take a shower, and when I get back you won't be here," I'll say, while he cradles his head and groans. I'll disappear into the bathroom before he can form a coherent sentence, letting the water fall from the shower like it's falling outside. Letting the sounds from outside and in merge to form one pounding rhythm.

The boys always leave by the time I turn the faucet and step out of the bathroom, wrapping a towel around me. I can hear their footsteps pad down the stairs quickly, sometimes quiet, sometimes deafening. My mother will still be gone, leaving the house cold, lonely, and staggeringly bare.

Ten years later I'll be on the same self-destructive path, only I'll be picking up men in bars instead of parties, knocking back tequila in shot glasses instead of plastic cups. The men will have gotten hotter, having lost the acne and grown into the awkward limbs. They'll move confidently, they'll have experience. They'll earn names like McDreamy and McSteamy, and will make me want to say something other than 'I'm going to take a shower, and when I get back you won't be here'.

I'll stumble through the words, wishing that they weren't such a habit. I'll wonder why I haven't grown up, moved on from my mother.

I'll wonder why I still care.

AN: Let me know if I should keep going-Review!!!!

P.S. I won't be doing this whole teen-to-adult weird tense thing for the whole story, it's just this one chapter so don't worry. Oh, and it's supposed to be choppy, and it will hopefully flow more after this.