"Twinge"
Pairing: None to speak of, implied Derek/Addison.
Summary: Addison one-shot during her college days. Why we turn out the way we so often do.
Disclaimer: I don't do happy.
Additional Disclaimer: Not my character, heaven knows I am not quite that creative.
Word Count: 1902
A/N: It is sad and depressing but I was bored, stuck in class, having one of those days and well, this is what you get. Plus, I like having crappy days, describing them, tacking a character name on it and calling it art. Enjoy.
Always, always asking questions
My life is overrated but I
Never, never expected that I'd
Underestimated my love for you
- Broken Iris, “A New Hope”
~-~-~-~-~-~
The sounds of stringy instruments fill your ears as you crunch along the well worn path to your first class of the day. You know, although not from sight because you were always trained that confident people kept their eyes off the ground, that your black heels are smashing into moist burgundy, burnt orange, and yellow-green oak leaves. You wait for the solo. Three steps later the heart wrenching tugs on the violin explode within your own core. You pace quickly, keeping well above tempo compared to the slow melody winding in the background. Some have called you masochistic in the past and you never understood their taunts until now.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Your gloved hand reaches into you warm wool coat pocket and quickly silences the next song. It instead opts for the fourth one on the playlist. At times you can’t bear to listen to his favorite song without thinking your heart will rip in two and there are other instances when you need to hear the familiar tune to feel right in the world. There is a moment of pause between the shuffle and the world is not lost on you. The excited voices ring through the cold morning fog as you trudge along steadily. You see their faces, clothed with warm winter hats and ear muffs for the aberrantly freezing morning. You’ve always enjoyed the cold. You like the way it nips at your earlobes and gives you a flush of red in the cheeks serving to highlight the auburn color of your flaming hair. The cold forces you to feel things, not today. You don’t feel anything anymore.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Some children hate school. They dance their way out of getting up on time so that they miss their buses. Some fake sick in order to stay home and watch TV all day long while their parents attempt working from home while fawning over them. This person is not you. You went to school sick and loved every minute of it. You would cover your coughs and sniffles running from the house saying something about being late to study at the library with a non-existent friend. Your attention, praise, and sense of self worth all came down the trimester grades you proudly placed on your father’s desk at night so that they were the first thing his eyes would behold in the morning.
The first day of school is perhaps the best day of the year, besides Christmas, for you. Your mother used to have your nanny braid your scarlet waves into braids and press you school uniform so that you were nothing short of pristine on that special day. You stood proudly in the foyer as a few pictures were snapped in a ceremonious wave of backpack shuffling, forgotten lunches, and empty promises of being picked up on time. Today you have already managed to forget not only your lunch but where you managed to squeeze your car into a small space somewhere off in the corner of campus.
~-~-~-~-~-~
You heart pounds through your chest as you finger the long piece of thick paper sticking out from your binder. You wish that this wasn’t a public affair. Shifting your weight you trace your index finger over the large bumpy seal in the corner and your breath catches somewhere in your throat. As you approach the older gray haired woman behind the desk to announce that you can’t possibly think of playing a violin ever again in her class you can feel the hint of tears stinging at the corner of your eyes. You neglect the fact that it is your father who pushed this instrument upon you and you will never again pick up the case that sits in the corner of your room.
Reaching the old polished mahogany you explain your presence, slowly slide the death certificate forward and wait to be excused. This is the part you hate. Telling someone else that she should have been commiserating with you from the moment you entered the building is not something you enjoy. A once too proud woman now you quietly turn on your heel and head out of the stuffy room to find solace for a few moments. You shove your shoulder bag into the stall first and then silently collapse down on your knees sobbing. Using the handrail you roll your heels back against the wall and draw your knees toward your face so as to stifle the sounds emitting from your already wet lips. It is too much, too soon.
~-~-~-~-~-~
You were blessed early in life with a simple understanding of the world around you. Learning ahead of schedule that no one cared was a difficult lesson but you overcame. Most people aren’t as lucky as you; they don’t figure it out until their forties. Unlocking the stall you head for your next class so you aren’t late. Punctuality happens to be your strong suit but you were uncharacteristically behind that inauspicious day. Your boyfriend of almost one year, Derek, had decided that visiting your parents could wait until after the game was over. You didn’t object as you didn’t much care for either parental unit.
Growing up with an absent alcoholic father and an annoying socialite mother you tried never to become too attached to any one person. Trust issues abound in your life but Derek was a nice enough man. You were going to marry him one day, you knew that much. When you arrived to the place some would call home something felt off. You get those feelings, when you know something bad has happened. Some call it a sixth sense; you just call it a twinge. A hint of something gloomy lingering in the near future. He made you late that day. That day your father died in his sleep you were late. 45 minutes earlier, leaving during the ninth inning, would have given you one last goodbye with a man who you had grown to hate through the years. You stood impenetrable in the foyer as your world slowly crumbled around you and your mother shrieked in the background.
~-~-~-~-~-~
You’ve noticed that there is this force field around you where people are obligated to walk on eggshells and ice during your conversations. You are greeted with pitied hellos, a million hugs, promises that can’t possibly be fulfilled by said person, and their hopes for your continued strength. They marvel at how well you have taken the whole situation. You simply nod, put on a smile, and explain that your father was very sick for a very long time and this isn’t a surprise to anyone but your mother with whom you haven‘t spoken to in weeks. In a city of an easy eight million you feel utterly alone. The thing is that you did it to yourself. You put up an amazing brick wall through the last few years of life and no one can get to you. It also happens to lead to the problem of you not being able to find the gate to let yourself out so you simply maintain your stature and make way for the classroom door.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Taking an unusual seat in the back of the old cramped classroom you stare at the clock until everyone else is standing around you again. You haven’t heard a thing in the last hour and fifty minutes except the ticking hand on the silver timepiece in the corner of the room. Standing with them, Derek comes up behind you and lightly loops his arms around your waist and sets his stubble ridden face on your shoulder. He knows that this is hard for you. He knows. He can understand and relate but it drives him away from you.
Your own agony reminds him of the night his father had passed and there have been times that he simply can not deal with you. He turns away when you curl up on the side of the bed refusing to be touched and cry yourself to the point of an unrestful sleep. He freezes when he sees that look in your eyes and one night he even cried with you because, really, you exhaust people. While you are busy running in circles to appear normal the ones around you soak up all of the negative energy you refuse to acknowledge and have begun to fall apart at the seams. It’s no wonder, you realize while taking a deep breath of cool fall air, that people are avoiding you.
~-~-~-~-~-~
You were born to be a surgeon. Simple as that. Your long delicate fingers were meant to slice through skin quickly and efficiently. The lectures, labs, and seminars that others spend taking excruciatingly accurate notes are classes which you pass with flying colors. You study merely to reinforce what you already grasp in class. Catching on quickly has always been you thing; you were destined for greatness. You watch other’s pens bob furiously as the slide on the screen changes. You aren’t taking notes today. You may not take notes tomorrow. It doesn’t matter because you could be given the exam in an hour and still know enough to pass. You were preordained for this kind of stressful and consuming life. You were not fated to be the sad girl in the back of the room staring at a blank piece of notebook paper for hours at a time trying not to cry. When the teacher announces something about synapses you realize that you have lost your passion. You aren’t here to learn anymore, you are just here to pass.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Adjusting your tassel you stand proudly between your boyfriend and his ever annoying jack-ass of a friend while posing for graduation pictures. Trying to repel a feeling of tears you inform your soon to be mother-in-law you need some air and take a walk alone in your gown. He would have been here for this. He may have missed many important firsts, recitals, family moments, and birthdays in your lifetime but this; this he would have come for. Instead none of your family makes the short trek out here and you are stuck playing with the only ones that will have you.
You made it through the last three years with a few scrapes, bumps, and bruises but now have arisen victorious and may be called Dr. Montgomery. After what you now call “that” night you decided to go into obstetrics and gynecology. If you ask doctors why they chose their specialty there is always a reason. More often than not a personal one. If they will answer for you there is a great story about to unfold.
Your story is simple. You can’t take anyone’s father away from them while delivering a baby. You could lose a baby boy, girl, and/or its mother but you can never ever cause that exact anguish your heart still feels every day and this gives you the power to push forward without the only thing you want so desperately back in your life.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Always, always just out of reach from my
Over frustrated, shameful hands
And I never, never expected that I
Would ever, no never take for granted our precious time
*For my father: 09/09/1946 - 07/29/2007
~-~-~-~-~-~
Summary: Addison one-shot during her college days. Why we turn out the way we so often do.
Disclaimer: I don't do happy.
Additional Disclaimer: Not my character, heaven knows I am not quite that creative.
Word Count: 1902
A/N: It is sad and depressing but I was bored, stuck in class, having one of those days and well, this is what you get. Plus, I like having crappy days, describing them, tacking a character name on it and calling it art. Enjoy.
Always, always asking questions
My life is overrated but I
Never, never expected that I'd
Underestimated my love for you
- Broken Iris, “A New Hope”
~-~-~-~-~-~
The sounds of stringy instruments fill your ears as you crunch along the well worn path to your first class of the day. You know, although not from sight because you were always trained that confident people kept their eyes off the ground, that your black heels are smashing into moist burgundy, burnt orange, and yellow-green oak leaves. You wait for the solo. Three steps later the heart wrenching tugs on the violin explode within your own core. You pace quickly, keeping well above tempo compared to the slow melody winding in the background. Some have called you masochistic in the past and you never understood their taunts until now.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Your gloved hand reaches into you warm wool coat pocket and quickly silences the next song. It instead opts for the fourth one on the playlist. At times you can’t bear to listen to his favorite song without thinking your heart will rip in two and there are other instances when you need to hear the familiar tune to feel right in the world. There is a moment of pause between the shuffle and the world is not lost on you. The excited voices ring through the cold morning fog as you trudge along steadily. You see their faces, clothed with warm winter hats and ear muffs for the aberrantly freezing morning. You’ve always enjoyed the cold. You like the way it nips at your earlobes and gives you a flush of red in the cheeks serving to highlight the auburn color of your flaming hair. The cold forces you to feel things, not today. You don’t feel anything anymore.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Some children hate school. They dance their way out of getting up on time so that they miss their buses. Some fake sick in order to stay home and watch TV all day long while their parents attempt working from home while fawning over them. This person is not you. You went to school sick and loved every minute of it. You would cover your coughs and sniffles running from the house saying something about being late to study at the library with a non-existent friend. Your attention, praise, and sense of self worth all came down the trimester grades you proudly placed on your father’s desk at night so that they were the first thing his eyes would behold in the morning.
The first day of school is perhaps the best day of the year, besides Christmas, for you. Your mother used to have your nanny braid your scarlet waves into braids and press you school uniform so that you were nothing short of pristine on that special day. You stood proudly in the foyer as a few pictures were snapped in a ceremonious wave of backpack shuffling, forgotten lunches, and empty promises of being picked up on time. Today you have already managed to forget not only your lunch but where you managed to squeeze your car into a small space somewhere off in the corner of campus.
~-~-~-~-~-~
You heart pounds through your chest as you finger the long piece of thick paper sticking out from your binder. You wish that this wasn’t a public affair. Shifting your weight you trace your index finger over the large bumpy seal in the corner and your breath catches somewhere in your throat. As you approach the older gray haired woman behind the desk to announce that you can’t possibly think of playing a violin ever again in her class you can feel the hint of tears stinging at the corner of your eyes. You neglect the fact that it is your father who pushed this instrument upon you and you will never again pick up the case that sits in the corner of your room.
Reaching the old polished mahogany you explain your presence, slowly slide the death certificate forward and wait to be excused. This is the part you hate. Telling someone else that she should have been commiserating with you from the moment you entered the building is not something you enjoy. A once too proud woman now you quietly turn on your heel and head out of the stuffy room to find solace for a few moments. You shove your shoulder bag into the stall first and then silently collapse down on your knees sobbing. Using the handrail you roll your heels back against the wall and draw your knees toward your face so as to stifle the sounds emitting from your already wet lips. It is too much, too soon.
~-~-~-~-~-~
You were blessed early in life with a simple understanding of the world around you. Learning ahead of schedule that no one cared was a difficult lesson but you overcame. Most people aren’t as lucky as you; they don’t figure it out until their forties. Unlocking the stall you head for your next class so you aren’t late. Punctuality happens to be your strong suit but you were uncharacteristically behind that inauspicious day. Your boyfriend of almost one year, Derek, had decided that visiting your parents could wait until after the game was over. You didn’t object as you didn’t much care for either parental unit.
Growing up with an absent alcoholic father and an annoying socialite mother you tried never to become too attached to any one person. Trust issues abound in your life but Derek was a nice enough man. You were going to marry him one day, you knew that much. When you arrived to the place some would call home something felt off. You get those feelings, when you know something bad has happened. Some call it a sixth sense; you just call it a twinge. A hint of something gloomy lingering in the near future. He made you late that day. That day your father died in his sleep you were late. 45 minutes earlier, leaving during the ninth inning, would have given you one last goodbye with a man who you had grown to hate through the years. You stood impenetrable in the foyer as your world slowly crumbled around you and your mother shrieked in the background.
~-~-~-~-~-~
You’ve noticed that there is this force field around you where people are obligated to walk on eggshells and ice during your conversations. You are greeted with pitied hellos, a million hugs, promises that can’t possibly be fulfilled by said person, and their hopes for your continued strength. They marvel at how well you have taken the whole situation. You simply nod, put on a smile, and explain that your father was very sick for a very long time and this isn’t a surprise to anyone but your mother with whom you haven‘t spoken to in weeks. In a city of an easy eight million you feel utterly alone. The thing is that you did it to yourself. You put up an amazing brick wall through the last few years of life and no one can get to you. It also happens to lead to the problem of you not being able to find the gate to let yourself out so you simply maintain your stature and make way for the classroom door.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Taking an unusual seat in the back of the old cramped classroom you stare at the clock until everyone else is standing around you again. You haven’t heard a thing in the last hour and fifty minutes except the ticking hand on the silver timepiece in the corner of the room. Standing with them, Derek comes up behind you and lightly loops his arms around your waist and sets his stubble ridden face on your shoulder. He knows that this is hard for you. He knows. He can understand and relate but it drives him away from you.
Your own agony reminds him of the night his father had passed and there have been times that he simply can not deal with you. He turns away when you curl up on the side of the bed refusing to be touched and cry yourself to the point of an unrestful sleep. He freezes when he sees that look in your eyes and one night he even cried with you because, really, you exhaust people. While you are busy running in circles to appear normal the ones around you soak up all of the negative energy you refuse to acknowledge and have begun to fall apart at the seams. It’s no wonder, you realize while taking a deep breath of cool fall air, that people are avoiding you.
~-~-~-~-~-~
You were born to be a surgeon. Simple as that. Your long delicate fingers were meant to slice through skin quickly and efficiently. The lectures, labs, and seminars that others spend taking excruciatingly accurate notes are classes which you pass with flying colors. You study merely to reinforce what you already grasp in class. Catching on quickly has always been you thing; you were destined for greatness. You watch other’s pens bob furiously as the slide on the screen changes. You aren’t taking notes today. You may not take notes tomorrow. It doesn’t matter because you could be given the exam in an hour and still know enough to pass. You were preordained for this kind of stressful and consuming life. You were not fated to be the sad girl in the back of the room staring at a blank piece of notebook paper for hours at a time trying not to cry. When the teacher announces something about synapses you realize that you have lost your passion. You aren’t here to learn anymore, you are just here to pass.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Adjusting your tassel you stand proudly between your boyfriend and his ever annoying jack-ass of a friend while posing for graduation pictures. Trying to repel a feeling of tears you inform your soon to be mother-in-law you need some air and take a walk alone in your gown. He would have been here for this. He may have missed many important firsts, recitals, family moments, and birthdays in your lifetime but this; this he would have come for. Instead none of your family makes the short trek out here and you are stuck playing with the only ones that will have you.
You made it through the last three years with a few scrapes, bumps, and bruises but now have arisen victorious and may be called Dr. Montgomery. After what you now call “that” night you decided to go into obstetrics and gynecology. If you ask doctors why they chose their specialty there is always a reason. More often than not a personal one. If they will answer for you there is a great story about to unfold.
Your story is simple. You can’t take anyone’s father away from them while delivering a baby. You could lose a baby boy, girl, and/or its mother but you can never ever cause that exact anguish your heart still feels every day and this gives you the power to push forward without the only thing you want so desperately back in your life.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Always, always just out of reach from my
Over frustrated, shameful hands
And I never, never expected that I
Would ever, no never take for granted our precious time
*For my father: 09/09/1946 - 07/29/2007
~-~-~-~-~-~