Brokenhearted (3/?)
I wake up the next morning with a crick in my neck and pin sharp tingles along my arm. I grope around for my phone to check the time, desperately hoping I have time to swing by the locker room for a quick shower. My muscles ache and I really need to clean up. 11 missed calls flashes on my screen. I ignore the messages and stretch. When my stomach starts grumbling loudly, I realize I haven’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday. Arizona and I shared a - I shake my head and forcibly try to push her out of my mind. I poke around a little for something edible and grunt in satisfaction when I find an old box of cheerios. I don’t bother looking at the expiration date because I’m too hungry to care. Maybe I’ll get food poisoning and die. One can only hope.
I chug the box in the trash when I reach the Attending’s changing room and silently curse when I realize this is the first place she’ll think to look for me. I head for the intern’s locker room instead, practicing my stare down on the way. I’m pretty confident I can bully one of the interns into handing me a clean pair of their scrubs. My feet come to a screeching halt when I see her standing by the door. Damn it, she knows me too well. She looks up at the sound of my sneakers before I can so much as entertain any thoughts of detouring. I glare at my feet and swear under my breath. When I get home I’m shredding these into a thousand little pieces and flinging them through the window at anyone who dares walk by with a smile on their face. “Calliope, look, it’s not what you -“
I turn around and walk away, completely ignoring her and anything she has to say. I can’t deal with her right now. I have to get ready for rounds, I have to check on the burn victim amputee, I have surgeries scheduled. I can't…not now. She’s not giving up that easily though. “Callie, please just wait.”, she says as she runs after me. I duck inside a supply closet and quickly lock the door before she can catch up with me. she bangs on the door and calls out my name, loudly at first but she lowers her voice after a few times. I know she doesn’t want to make a scene. Before long, the knocking stops, but I’m not fooled. I know she’s still there. I become aware of the fact that she has a clear advantage here. Her shift doesn’t start for another two hours, but I can’t stay in here that long. I consider calling in sick, but too many bystanders saw me sneak in here so that’s not an option. Besides, they’ll probably need some of this crap at some point and I can just imagine Bailey going all “Which one of you NASTY people is having SEX in the supply closet. Don’t you people know we have LIVES to save. Are you not aware that this is a HOSPITAL and not a cheap motel room?” while striding towards this very door, waiting for whoever is inside to come out, with half the hospital looking on. That would not be good, not good at all.
I weigh my options for a minute and conclude that I have to come out of the closet. I snort slightly at the thought. Coming out the first time was a walk in the park compared to what I have to face right now. I straighten my lab coat, run my fingers through my hair and square my shoulders. If we’re doing this, it’s on my terms. I unlock the door and walk out, looking straight ahead. “Not here”, I bite out. I sense her following me silently and I try my hardest to saunter confidently to mask my uncertainty about where we’re going. I head for the elevator to stall, counting on the morning rush of people coming and going out of work joining us. Of course I forgot about the SGH elevator Gods who have a wicked sense of humor. Amazingly, there is just one single person inside, who naturally had to jump off on this floor. It’s too late for a change of plans, so we get on. She waits until the doors are closed and the elevator starts moving before she pulls the red button and turns to face me. I hold back a groan and before she can open her mouth, I grab her by the waist and shove her against the wall. The surprise is evident on her face as she winces and I almost feel bad for hurting her, but I know the pain she felt is nothing compared to what I am feeling. She doesn’t have the right to make me do this right now. I’m not ready to handle the truth. I’m not ready to let go. I have to taste her one last time before the shit hits the fan. Paradoxically, she is the only one who can make me forget about what she has done.
I force my lips on hers and she tries to fight me at first. When I bite her lip, she opens her mouth in a moan. Our tongues duel and just when I think she’s given up trying to break free, she moves her mouth to the side and struggles against my hold. “Calliope - “, she protests, but I don’t care. I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to think. I want her. I want to taste her. I want to feel her. I want to make her scream and plead and writhe. So I grab a handful of her hair and drag her lips back against mine. I use my other hand to untie her scrub pants and shove it inside. I’m a little surprised by how easily I can slip in two fingers and get a strange sense of satisfaction out of it. Maybe this is what she was missing in our relationship. Anger. Force. Authority issues, I grunt. I’ll show her authority. I slip in a third finger and add my hips into it. It’s quick, it’s dirty and it’s unlike any other time we’ve had sex. When I feel her clench around my fingers and soar over the edge, I slide my fingers out and wipe my hand. I jam the stop button while she collects herself. When the doors open, I walk out briskly and right before they close, I hear an unmistakable faint sniff.