Lost
Pairing: None
Rating: Pg-13 for references
Summary: Addison deals with the aftermath of her decision in New York. Angst.So I was feeling super angst-y apparently and this is what happened!And...this is what happens when you're supposed to be analyzing case studies and write fanfiction instead.
Lost
She found herself in the very last pew of the Church of St. Paul the Apostle on the corner of Columbus avenue and 60th street the day after. Her inner muscles were still aching from the ordeal and the bright lights made her red rimmed eyes sting. Her knuckles were white as they gripped the edge of the seat, holding herself down as she fought the urge to bolt and run for her life.
She felt her chest give a silent, aching heave as she listened to the choir sing softly about repentance and forgiveness. As their voices reached the final note and died out, she closed her eyes gently and took a deep breath - this had been a bad idea, she shouldn’t have come.
In the silence, the soft smell of incense floating around her, she couldn’t help but let her thoughts float back to twelve hours ago. She could still feel the nervous tremors coursing through her muscles as she perched in the cold, metal stirrups. She could feel the sterile paper crumple beneath her fingers as she clenched the edge of the exam table. She could hear the nurse speaking quietly and calmly and then feel the surge of incredible, aching pain as the doctor started the procedure.
Her throat still ached and her head pounded from holding in the primal scream that threatened to erupt as she felt her uterine muscles contract mercilessly. She could remember, afterwards, being so scared and so alone, but refusing to stay at the clinic afterwards. Sitting in the hard wooden pew she could almost feel the rain beating on her rounded shoulders and dipped head as she walked stiffly and painfully to the car.
The sensation that came back the most fresh and strong was the hurt. The hurt at going home and finding the house empty, Mark still working or operating, or who knows what else. She hadn’t gone to their bed that night; she’d gone to the bathroom and curled up on the floor in front of the porcelain toilet after ridding her stomach of everything she’d eaten earlier.
Her head snapped upwards and eyes narrowed in an effort to hold in tears as the priest stepped forward and announced that they would be performing two christenings that morning. Her eyes stung and the back of her throat burned at the terrible irony, but she didn’t dare move. It was like a car crash, she desperately wanted to turn and run but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
As the priest lifted the two babies she felt a tear run down her cheek, and a slow ache rise in her abdomen. She moved her hand, almost subconsciously, to her aching womb and let it rest there a moment, silently remembering the subtle aches she would occasionally feel as her skin stretched to accommodate the growing being.
Luckily, the christenings were short, but she couldn’t avert her eyes from the happy, smiling families as they cradled their newly baptised babies, all dressed in white and frills. She let her mind wander for only a moment, wondering briefly what her child would have looked like, would it have been a little boy or girl, would they have had bright red hair like hers or dark curls like Mark.
She shook her head persistently, trying to knock the thoughts free from her mind, they wouldn’t help. She wondered why she’d come, as she traced her finger mindlessly over the grooved pattern in the wood of the pew, and suddenly wished she were back at home in bed with her aching, trembling body buried beneath the soft sheets. She wondered if Mark would find out, and what he would say. Would he tear up the calendar in anger and yell at her or would he admit that he’d never wanted a child with her and had, while she’d had the pregnancy terminated, been sleeping with the blonde nurse, Charlene.
She felt a strong pang within her and realized she’d never be the same, ever again. Even if she found Derek and he welcomed her back (which was incredibly unlikely), she would never be the same. Work would carry a new, added difficulty as she dealt with new mothers and their children.
She was surprised to look up and find the church almost empty. People were filing slowly out of the church, chattering happily among themselves, eager to get home to Sunday dinner. She was startled as a gentle hand pressed against her shoulder and looked up to find the kind faced priest standing behind her, looking at her with concern,
“Ma’am, can I do anything?”
She shook her head quickly and stood up, dashing for the door as fresh tears seared her eyes and rolled down her warm cheeks. She ducked her head, eyes stinging in the bright sunlight that streamed over the warm April morning. She made it to the car before breaking down, loud, angry sobs making her body tremble uncontrollably as she tried to deal with the sudden surge of guilt.
She stayed in the parking lot for a long time, hands gripping the steering wheel as she wept, knowing that there was no way she’d be able to make it home in one piece if she left before the tears stopped. When they finally dwindled down to a slow procession of salty water leaking from her red eyes, she started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.
When she pulled up in front of the Brownstone she was startled to see Mark’s car in the driveway. She didn’t even bother to try and wipe away the tearstains or mascara lines from her cheeks as she slipped the key in the lock and found the door already open.
She found him in the bedroom, perched on the edge of the king sized bed, twirling a piece of paper between his thumb and forefinger. He looked up as she walked in and she saw the raw pain in his eyes, the pure hatred he felt for her at the moment. His eyes locked onto hers and he knew, without a doubt, what she’d done. Still, he asked,
“What’s this?” His voice was low and dangerous as he extended the piece of paper towards her.
She didn’t have to look to recognize the shred of paper she’d scribbled the phone number and date of her appointment down on. She kept her mouth closed and her gaze fixed him.
He crumbled up the paper in his hand before letting it fall to the floor, his mouth twitching angrily as he rose. He didn’t say another word as he brushed by her, noting her crumbling features and the return of tears as she let her eyes track the small piece of paper that marked the date and time she’d ended their future.
She heard the door slam as he left and collapsed as her trembling knees finally gave out. She lay there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling as tears dampened the hair lying beneath her. She didn’t bother stirring until the phone rang, its shrill jingle almost making her jump out of her skin. She dragged herself to the phone and lifted it.
“Hello?” Her voice came out strangely hollow and empty, nasally because of the tears.
“Addison Montgomery?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m calling from Dr. Well’s office regarding the appointment you set up for tomorrow...”
She dropped the phone, not bothering to put it back in the cradle or say a single word. The irony was killing her, she’d forgotten about her first appointment tomorrow - the one Mark had forced her to make when she’d already known there would be no baby to examine.
She crawled up into her bed, slipping beneath the covers and buried her head underneath the plaid sheets, desperately wishing that somehow she would wake up in the morning and all of this would be gone.
Fin
Rating: Pg-13 for references
Summary: Addison deals with the aftermath of her decision in New York. Angst.So I was feeling super angst-y apparently and this is what happened!And...this is what happens when you're supposed to be analyzing case studies and write fanfiction instead.
Lost
She found herself in the very last pew of the Church of St. Paul the Apostle on the corner of Columbus avenue and 60th street the day after. Her inner muscles were still aching from the ordeal and the bright lights made her red rimmed eyes sting. Her knuckles were white as they gripped the edge of the seat, holding herself down as she fought the urge to bolt and run for her life.
She felt her chest give a silent, aching heave as she listened to the choir sing softly about repentance and forgiveness. As their voices reached the final note and died out, she closed her eyes gently and took a deep breath - this had been a bad idea, she shouldn’t have come.
In the silence, the soft smell of incense floating around her, she couldn’t help but let her thoughts float back to twelve hours ago. She could still feel the nervous tremors coursing through her muscles as she perched in the cold, metal stirrups. She could feel the sterile paper crumple beneath her fingers as she clenched the edge of the exam table. She could hear the nurse speaking quietly and calmly and then feel the surge of incredible, aching pain as the doctor started the procedure.
Her throat still ached and her head pounded from holding in the primal scream that threatened to erupt as she felt her uterine muscles contract mercilessly. She could remember, afterwards, being so scared and so alone, but refusing to stay at the clinic afterwards. Sitting in the hard wooden pew she could almost feel the rain beating on her rounded shoulders and dipped head as she walked stiffly and painfully to the car.
The sensation that came back the most fresh and strong was the hurt. The hurt at going home and finding the house empty, Mark still working or operating, or who knows what else. She hadn’t gone to their bed that night; she’d gone to the bathroom and curled up on the floor in front of the porcelain toilet after ridding her stomach of everything she’d eaten earlier.
Her head snapped upwards and eyes narrowed in an effort to hold in tears as the priest stepped forward and announced that they would be performing two christenings that morning. Her eyes stung and the back of her throat burned at the terrible irony, but she didn’t dare move. It was like a car crash, she desperately wanted to turn and run but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
As the priest lifted the two babies she felt a tear run down her cheek, and a slow ache rise in her abdomen. She moved her hand, almost subconsciously, to her aching womb and let it rest there a moment, silently remembering the subtle aches she would occasionally feel as her skin stretched to accommodate the growing being.
Luckily, the christenings were short, but she couldn’t avert her eyes from the happy, smiling families as they cradled their newly baptised babies, all dressed in white and frills. She let her mind wander for only a moment, wondering briefly what her child would have looked like, would it have been a little boy or girl, would they have had bright red hair like hers or dark curls like Mark.
She shook her head persistently, trying to knock the thoughts free from her mind, they wouldn’t help. She wondered why she’d come, as she traced her finger mindlessly over the grooved pattern in the wood of the pew, and suddenly wished she were back at home in bed with her aching, trembling body buried beneath the soft sheets. She wondered if Mark would find out, and what he would say. Would he tear up the calendar in anger and yell at her or would he admit that he’d never wanted a child with her and had, while she’d had the pregnancy terminated, been sleeping with the blonde nurse, Charlene.
She felt a strong pang within her and realized she’d never be the same, ever again. Even if she found Derek and he welcomed her back (which was incredibly unlikely), she would never be the same. Work would carry a new, added difficulty as she dealt with new mothers and their children.
She was surprised to look up and find the church almost empty. People were filing slowly out of the church, chattering happily among themselves, eager to get home to Sunday dinner. She was startled as a gentle hand pressed against her shoulder and looked up to find the kind faced priest standing behind her, looking at her with concern,
“Ma’am, can I do anything?”
She shook her head quickly and stood up, dashing for the door as fresh tears seared her eyes and rolled down her warm cheeks. She ducked her head, eyes stinging in the bright sunlight that streamed over the warm April morning. She made it to the car before breaking down, loud, angry sobs making her body tremble uncontrollably as she tried to deal with the sudden surge of guilt.
She stayed in the parking lot for a long time, hands gripping the steering wheel as she wept, knowing that there was no way she’d be able to make it home in one piece if she left before the tears stopped. When they finally dwindled down to a slow procession of salty water leaking from her red eyes, she started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.
When she pulled up in front of the Brownstone she was startled to see Mark’s car in the driveway. She didn’t even bother to try and wipe away the tearstains or mascara lines from her cheeks as she slipped the key in the lock and found the door already open.
She found him in the bedroom, perched on the edge of the king sized bed, twirling a piece of paper between his thumb and forefinger. He looked up as she walked in and she saw the raw pain in his eyes, the pure hatred he felt for her at the moment. His eyes locked onto hers and he knew, without a doubt, what she’d done. Still, he asked,
“What’s this?” His voice was low and dangerous as he extended the piece of paper towards her.
She didn’t have to look to recognize the shred of paper she’d scribbled the phone number and date of her appointment down on. She kept her mouth closed and her gaze fixed him.
He crumbled up the paper in his hand before letting it fall to the floor, his mouth twitching angrily as he rose. He didn’t say another word as he brushed by her, noting her crumbling features and the return of tears as she let her eyes track the small piece of paper that marked the date and time she’d ended their future.
She heard the door slam as he left and collapsed as her trembling knees finally gave out. She lay there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling as tears dampened the hair lying beneath her. She didn’t bother stirring until the phone rang, its shrill jingle almost making her jump out of her skin. She dragged herself to the phone and lifted it.
“Hello?” Her voice came out strangely hollow and empty, nasally because of the tears.
“Addison Montgomery?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m calling from Dr. Well’s office regarding the appointment you set up for tomorrow...”
She dropped the phone, not bothering to put it back in the cradle or say a single word. The irony was killing her, she’d forgotten about her first appointment tomorrow - the one Mark had forced her to make when she’d already known there would be no baby to examine.
She crawled up into her bed, slipping beneath the covers and buried her head underneath the plaid sheets, desperately wishing that somehow she would wake up in the morning and all of this would be gone.
Fin