"Go home, Meredith!" His voice resonated off the walls and furniture of the trailer, echoing into its empty cupboards and sheet less mattress. He stood awkwardly in the cramped space, his brain spinning in violent circles, his stomach twisting in a blind, angry agony that left him paralyzed in that spot. He could hear her screaming outside the trailer, her voice muffled by the Airstream's coffin like shape and insulated walls. His eyes affixed on the curtain in front of him, his clothes were piled at his feet as his foot lay buried in the mess he had created when he threw the piles of clothes through the narrow door and into the previously empty trailer.
He turned his head toward the window, seeing a small hand reaching up from outside, he blocked out the sound of her persistent pounding as she shouted for him again and again, her hand reaching above her head as she pounded at the window shouting his name. He attempted to step over the pile of clothes, losing his footing within the knots of sweaters and dress shirts, sending him tumbling forward as the spinning in his head became more intense, he slammed his knee into the wooden floor, and cursed as he lifted himself from his wedged position between the shelf and the bed. He swung his foot violently forward, sending the clothing wrapped around his foot flying across the trailer, parachuting to the floor quickly as he grabbed at his pain inflicted knee. He swore and shouted, hearing again the insistent pounding on the trailer as he shouted once again for her to leave, trying to reach the window beside the sink, where he grabbed at the flimsy excuse for a curtain that covered it, and blocked out the view of her hand.
Her voice wracked through his brain as he turned sharply for the refrigerator, swinging it open, he stared at the cans of beer that lined the door, and the bottle of tequila that sit on its side in the bottom drawer, abandoned and half empty, he reached down and grabbed at the plastic drawer. His first attempt missed, his fingers slipping on the slick plastic material as he lifted his fist and slammed it into the freezer, swearing again at the pain in his hand as he revisited the fight with Mark only days earlier. His knuckles had already been scratched and bruised, but now they broke open against the magnets on the old refrigerator, blood oozing from the wounds as he stared at them for a moment. With his other hand, he grabbed at the drawer again, pulling the bottle of tequila from its confines, he slammed the drawer closed with his foot, cracking the plastic of the drawer, as he sloppily closed the refrigerator door and grabbed at the top of the bottle, twisting it open with the palm of his hand, he didn't even wait for the cover to hit the floor before the cold opening of the bottle hit his lips, and the amber liquid ran down his throat as if it were the antidote for a sickening poison that was ravaging his body.
He felt his legs giving out beneath him, sliding down the refrigerator, he bent his knees and eased himself to the floor, the bottle of tequila barely leaving his lips as he sent another flood of the liquid into his belly, feeling it's cool burn into his stomach as he cringed at the bitter taste. Meredith's screaming had stopped, and finally, the pounding had ceased. He sat and stared at the floor, the bottle in his hand as he tried to stop the haunting thoughts that were plaguing his mind.
The deposition had been devastating, question after mind numbing question from the lawyers sending his brain into a paradoxical whirlwind that left him angrier than when he had sat down. Question after nauseating question, very often the same question with the phrasing changed, the meaning changed, the intent changed as they grilled him through the procedure in excruciating detail. Every detail was burned into his brain again and again until there was nothing left but a burning, rotting pile of flesh filled with anger and resentment.
When they were through with their questions of Jen's death, they moved onto other cases, the clinical trial, the tumors and aneurisms. It was name after name of people who had come to Seattle Grace Hospital with a glimmer of hope, but had left in a body bag or as a pile of ash at the hands of a hack of a neurosurgeon with a God complex.
Derek Shepherd.
He heard the violent slamming of a car door outside and tipped his head back as he tried to be thankful for Meredith leaving. He didn't need her there, he didn't need anything, anyone. He didn't even want himself at this point and the last thing that he wanted to happen was for her to see him this way. The first day it had been helpful, she sat with him, drank with him and said nothing. She didn't know what to say, and after what he had done to Mark, she knew better than to say anything to him about it. But after that, she was gone. She left him to his wallowing, and the more he sat staring at the muted television, the more he thought. The more he thought, the more he knew and the more he knew, the more he was certain that even she was better off without him. She could function without him, she had done it before. She had gotten herself help, she had struggled on her own, and why did she struggle in the first place? Why did she need help in the first place? Why was she broken in the first place?
Derek Shepherd.
He put his fist around the neck of the tequila bottle tightly, squeezing it as if he were trying to choke the life out of it, and he brought it once again to his lips, swallowing down the stinging alcohol when suddenly he started, jumping at the loud, horrendous sound of something outside. Droplets of tequila spilled out onto his shirt and he coughed as it leaked down into his windpipe, sending him into spasms of coughs that sent droplets of tequila and saliva spraying through the air as he tried to catch his breath. He cursed again as he tried to sit up, slamming the bottle into everything it touched, he left it on the floor and tried to find the source of the loud, persistent sound as he crawled across his bed and pulled away the curtains on the end of the trailer, staring out into the darkness, he saw that she had gotten into her car and turned the lights on, the bright lights of her high beams shone into his trailer angrily as he continued to cough and sputter.
"Jesus Christ, Meredith…" He groaned as he blocked his eyes from the light, realizing that the sound he was hearing was the horn on her jeep, piercing through the night and directly into his eardrums. A regular car horn would not have had this effect, but Meredith's car horn was old and piercing, screeching and high pitched, entering his brain like a sharp knife into soft flesh, like the pain he had inflicted his patients, like the pain he had inflicted on Meredith. He wanted to plug his ears, rolling onto his back, he did it for several moments as the horn continued to blare loudly and insistently. The light in the room was blinding him, making his head throb as he lifted one of Meredith's mother's journals from the table beside the bed and swung it into the air, smashing the light above him, shards of glass littering the floor and bed, and sending him into darkness except for the piercing beams of lights that were shooting through the curtains above him. He raised his hands to his ears, covering them from the invading sound as it squealed angrily and insistently into his mind, his brain, his memory. His eyes were tearing as he clenched his fists and began to slam them angrily into his head. "STOP! STOP! STOP! STOP!" He screamed drunkenly, his voice going unheard, his head and hands aching at his assault on himself as he rolled onto his stomach and began to scream angrily into the pillow, trying to wrap his head in it as he shouted again, and again, and again, louder and louder as the sound of the jeep's horn echoed off the sound, echoed off the trees, off the virgin soil that at one time he had dreamed that his house would sit upon, and now was more than willing to lie upon and die alone and cold, exposed and abused, just as so many of his patients had died. Just as he had left Meredith so many times. No one deserved to die more alone than he. He was selfish, and stupid, and angry and he deserved it. He had brought himself to this point, and there was no one that could lift him out.
The sound continued to screech through the nighttime air, assaulting his ears and his resolve. He rolled angrily to reach for the tequila bottle on the floor, losing his balance, he fell to the floor like a bag of bricks being tossed from the window of a passing car, slamming into the narrow space between the bed and the closet, his head slamming into the floor as he began to feel nauseas. The sound of the horn making everything so much worse as he tried to cover his ears, tried to block out the sound, tried to make himself forget, he grabbed the tequila bottle and shoved the opening to his mouth as he swallowed down the last gulp of it, feeling it melt into his bloodstream quickly as he clenched his teeth, opening his eyes just in time to hear the sound of the horn stop, as the ringing in his ears continued, the beams of light from her car swung across the empty trailer as the sound of flying gravel slammed into the metal façade of the trailer, the sound of the moving tires, and the light from her headlights disappeared, and the mind of the lonely man who lie with his face pressed into a pile of his discarded clothing went black as well.
----------------------------------------------
A loud bang roused him from his sloppy, drunken slumber, making him jump from the cramped spot on the floor of the trailer, slamming his head into the cupboard beside him.
The sound had ripped through his head like a freight train and it took a moment to find any sort of clarity as to his whereabouts. He stared at the side of the bed for a moment, the darkness was still all around him, though it was a little lighter, a little closer to morning. The room was filled with a deep navy blue hue that made everything appear to be glowing in the pre-dawn hours. His head throbbed and ached, his lips were dry except for the side of his face where he had drooled onto his clothes, wetting them with his saliva as he had slept fitfully.
He reached his hand to his face, and found that everywhere he touched was a bit wet, suddenly realizing in the dull moonlight that he had cut his fingers with the bits of broken light bulb that littered the floor. Not caring, he took his bloodied hand and ran it through his thick black hair, grunting as he lay his head back down on the pile of clothes.
There was an eerie silence that filled the trailer, his ears ringing violently, making his stomach squeeze again and again trying to convince him to empty it of his contents. He had been sleeping a while, but he still felt wholly drunk, his face pressed deeply into the pile of clothing as he closed his eyes. Her face was burned in his memory, the words he spoke the things he had said. He had no right to say those hurtful things, but he knew it was the only thing that would make her leave. She said she wasn't going to leave, she had insisted that she was not going to leave, and she wasn't going to.
But she did.
She left him drunk and angry and spitting angry, hurtful lies. He was a selfish bastard and he didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve the love of anyone. He was a murderer and a selfish ass, who broke her heart on several occasions and never had the courage to admit that he was wrong. She left, and he was happy for that. Maybe she would find someone who could love her and take care of her like he couldn't, or wouldn't. He felt so conflicted, because at the same time he was saying all of these things to himself, he couldn't help but think of her, see her in his mind, feel her on his fingertips, on his mouth, her fingers running through his hair, or on his hand. He could smell her, taste her. He breathed deeply and let out a pain filled grunt of frustration as he tried to push her from his mind, but he couldn't do it. He could still smell that sweet flowery smell that was inherently her.
Meredith.
He slammed his fist into the ground, gripping the pile of clothing on the floor as he sobbed, his glass scratch hand bringing the garments closer to his face, her scent became stronger. He hiccupped slightly, trying to catch his breath when he rubbed his fingers across the article of clothing in his hand. It was a soft material, cotton, and he brought it to his nose and breathed in deeply. For a moment, his headache seemed to dissipate, his senses in overload as her sweet heavenly scent filled his soul. He held the article of clothing into the light, and realized in his haste at Meredith's house, he had scooped up the t-shirt that she had worn to bed the night before, and with his realization, he found himself pulling the t-shirt to his face, breathing in her essence as he let out a hurt filled sob, that wracked his body, sending him into convulsions of sadness as he began to cry into it, soaking the material with his blood and tears as he whispered apology after apology, praying into the darkness that she would forgive him, knowing that what had said, and what he had done was something that he knew was unforgivable.
He cried for several minutes into her shirt, trying desperately to find a way off the floor without cutting his hand anymore, without letting go of her shirt, without letting go of her. He found himself on all fours, staring at the pile of clothes, her t-shirt was wrapped around his hand as he lifted it to his nose, breathing in the scent as he sat on his knees for a moment, pushing himself back, he pulled his knee out from beneath him and grabbed hold of the counter for support as he slowly and sloppily stood himself up, faltering once or twice before he finally found his balance.
He put his hand on the back of his neck for a moment and glanced toward the rear window of the trailer, from where he had last had any indication of Meredith being there, the lights and horn, that wretched horn and he remembered the car driving off.
She left.
He stumbled forward grabbing anything he could to keep himself upright, reaching the door in relative quickness as he slammed his hand into the lock, kicking the door open with his foot he watched it swing, cringing at the loud thwapping sound it made as it hit the side of the trailer. He then stepped out of the trailer slowly, his eyes up and to the right as he looked to see if she was there, her car was there, any indication that she had even been there, hearing the sound of a loud metallic sound at his feet, he looked down to see that he had kicked over a can or two, and upon closer observation, he saw that there were several cans, beer cans on the small porch, all lined up neatly as if they had been placed there with care. He looked at them oddly, staring down at the baseball bat that lie beside them. He cringed at the thought of him slamming those cans haphazardly when she was so close to him, tossing it aside beside her, the flinch in her stance as she avoided the knob as it came crashing down to the ground after he…
The ring.
He looked to the left and walked like a zombie, quickly and purposefully where he had hit the ring, falling to the ground, his fingertips touched the dewy grass as he began to panic. His mother's ring was gone. He had destroyed it, lost it, threw it away as if it were trash. He panned the grass carefully, his head pounding, his stomach wrenching as he tried desperately to locate it, catching his sobs as tears ran down his face, the look on Meredith's face haunting him in his mind as he grasped at clumps of grass searching on his hands and knees, the stinging pain of his hands in the wet grass bringing more tears to his eyes as he tried desperately to find it, the tears in his eyes blurring his vision as he breathlessly searched, finally falling onto his chest on the grass in a fit of rage, rolling into an angry ball as he screamed out his frustration with balled fists and clenched teeth, as he sat up and hugged his knees to his chest, lifting his head, something off in the distance caught his eye. The reflection of the lights on the porch of the trailer blowing in the wind caused something to reflect red in the distance down the driveway.
Tail lights?
He pushed his palm into his eye, roughly rubbing at his sore, aching eyes as he watched the wind send another shot of lights to the red object in the distance. His breathing was erratic, and his head was pounding, his clothes soaked from the dewy grass, as he slowly climbed to his feet. "Meredith?" he whispered. He took a clumsy step forward, his body gravitating toward the ground, though he stayed upright as he took another step. He swallowed hard, the stale, nasty taste of tequila on his lips as he approached the red reflecting light as if it was calling out to him.
Meredith.
All he could think about was her, all he could think about was how the one woman that he had hurt more times than he had told her that he loved her was still there, still there for him even after all of the horrible things he said, the horrible things he had done, she was still there. He stumbled forward, a knot in his stomach that he wasn't sure if it was the tequila or his nerves as he glanced back to the grassy spot where he knew that his mother's ring had landed by his own doing.
Meredith's ring.
His stumble turned into a run as he finally reached the jeep, standing quiet and cold in the middle of his driveway as if it were blocking any chance he had for exit, guarding him from anything and everything that would head in his direction. She was being his protector, and she hadn't left. She had never left. And that was when he realized what he had said to her couldn't have been more wrong. Meredith never hid from him. If anything, she was the most vocal, expressive person he had ever met.
She always cried when she was sad, she always yelled when she was angry. Even in her moments of telling him that she was fine, her eyes always told a different story. When he had lied about Addison, she confronted him. She confronted him, and she asked for him to make a decision. She wasn't hiding. When he chose Addison, she avoided him for a while, but she eventually came out of that shell, meeting him for walks with Doc, still trusting him and loving him even though she had to keep her feelings to herself. She never hid her feelings. Never. If anything, he was always hiding something from her. He was the one that was always hiding.
He hid the truth of his motives when they met. He hid his history. He hid the truth about Addison, and he hid his feelings about Addison. He never told her what he was thinking, what he was feeling, and even when it came down to them, he hid his intentions. She never knew he was going to propose, and even in his ultimate stupidity of thinking she was going to run, he was the one that was hiding from her the entire time.
Meredith never runs.
Derek runs.
He approached the car quickly, walking to the passenger door, he reached for it and pulled on the handle.
Locked.
He could feel his heart fall into his stomach as he realized that she had locked him out. She had stayed, but she had locked him out, perhaps out of fear, perhaps out of need to remain separate, perhaps out of anger. He walked to the other side of the jeep, his feet crunching on the gravel in the driveway, his eyes remaining on her sleeping figure, curled in the front seat.
She was an absolute vision, her eyes closed tightly, her lips pursed in the most kissable way, her body curled in the seat as it lay reclined. She was an angel, and it hurt him so much that he couldn't touch her. His hand reached for the window, touching the cold glass, he wondered if she was warm in there, if she was comfortable. He wished he could feel her breath on his neck, feel her soft kisses on his chin. He felt so awful for what he had done. His eyes were suddenly caught by an object in her hand, sitting flexed against her fingertips, the light from the early dawn hours sent a shimmer sparkle across the object in her hand.
Meredith's ring.
His breath caught in his throat as he realized what he was seeing. She had found the ring, and she had stayed. He felt tears coming to his eyes as he wished that he could express to her how sorry he really was, how wrong he was, how much he needed her, and how thankful he was to have her in his life. "Meredith." He whispered as his eyes followed down to the lock on the door, suddenly realizing that the driver's side door was not locked. She hadn't locked it, and he smiled a slight smile knowing in his heart that she wanted him to open it. She wanted him to be there, to hold him, and to him that unlocked door symbolized more than just permission for him to never leave her, but it was telling him that she didn't want him sitting beside him, she wanted him sitting with her, to be a part of her, to love her, hold her, cherish her forever. Slowly, he opened the door.
He reached his hand out, running his fingers through the soft tendrils of her hair, and he brought his lips down to her temple, where he left a delicate kiss. She didn't move or stir, barely even breathed as she slept peacefully. He reached his hand down and he took the ring between his fingertips, staring at the beautiful stone in the setting, and without a word, or sound, he slipped the beautiful circle onto her ring finger. He leaned down delicately and kissed her hand as he looked up at her sleeping face again. "I don't deserve you." He whispered, trying his hardest not to speak too loud.
"I love you, Meredith Grey… and I'm sorry." He whispered, kissing her temple again as he took a step back and closed the door lightly, he watched her sleep for another moment, before he turned and walked back toward the darkness alone, as he waited for the dawn to break, and the new day to begin.