First fiction ever
Title: La fine di un sogno (or The Awakening)
Author: Spooky85
Pairing: Yeah, right, like you even need to ask
Rating: Very very mild Nc17..for now.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did Erica would be scrubbing in for an open heart surgery on Izzie Stevens and Sadie would never have been born.
Author's Notes: Ok, just to warn you. This is the first piece of anything I've ever written in my whole little life. It's in Callie's POV because I get confused about all the She and Her of third person. I started writing it when I first learned of Brookgate, so it pretty much differs from canon from then on. This is also unbetaed and I'm so not english it's not even funny, so plenty of mistakes and the fault is all on me. If you're dark and twisty and like angst you probably won't find it totally annoying. If you're in the mood for happy stuff.. keep searching because you are so not gonna like it. 'Nuff said.
*Prologue*
I love my job.
I know a lot of people think it's weird, I know they think it's not the job for a lady, I know my parents weren't at all thrilled with my choice, and yes, I know that a lot of surgeons look down on Ortho, like we're less deserving of being called doctors. Like humans are made up solely of hearts and brains.
What I do is good, it is most definitely as important as any of their 'higher' specialties, and it sure as hell is a lot more rewarding.
Take today, for example. I have already reset four shoulders, two legs, I've made three grown man cry and I've heard the satisfying pop of a bone being set into place more times than I can count. And I haven't even had lunch yet.
God, I love it.
As I walk along the corridors of Seattle Grace I look around and admire the force and energy of it all. The pit is filled to the brim, every OR is packed, the clinic is in full swing, there are doctors running around everywhere. Good doctors, rushing to save another patient, another life.
I smile as I walk past Christina berating one of her clueless interns about something or other. Bailey's the resident Nazi, but Yang's shaping up to be her rightful successor. She's good. She'll be a great surgeon someday, they all will. This place will teach them to be, like it taught me.
The cafeteria's not as packed as I would have thought, the line is almost non existent, they aren't already out of my favorite salad, for a change, and there still is one vacant table near the windows, so that I can crack one open a little bit and let the sunshine rays warm my skin as I eat in peace.
I send a little thankful prayer to whoever is my guardian angel, for the extra effort they're putting on making my days a little more perfect everyday.
I'm happy. Good God I'm happy.
"I was hoping I could catch you, I have a rhinoplasty in an hour and then a face lift at four, but I thought we could hit Joe's tonight"
Mark. My best friend Mark. He's scoffing down his burger like he hasn't had anything to eat in days. I sustain my curvy self on salads and he gets to look like a friggin statue while eating greasy burgers everyday. I can't help the smile spreading on my face. I hate him.
"I can't tonight, I'm on call" I say as I fork a cherry tomato and pop it in my mouth
"Weren't you on call yesterday night? And the night before that, and the one before that, and.."
He's cute with his eyebrows all scrunched up in a frown like this
"I was, I was" I say cheerfully "It's hockey season, Ortho is swamped. They really needed the extra help and I volunteered"
I love hockey season, for Ortos it's like christmas everyday. Crazy breaks, lots of OR time, lots of tears. Good all around.
His pager goes off and he gets up to leave. His half eaten apple, his only concession to healthy food, finding it's way in the waste basket.
"Well, don't work too hard, Torres"
"And that's your philosophy for life, right?"
I tease and he throws a "right" in my direction as he rushes to attend to whatever emergency there could ever be in plastics. It's probably just McDreamy whining about his crazy girlfriend. Losers.
I'm almost done with my lunch as my eyes catch on something on the other side of the room, a flash of golden. But it's gone as soon as I turn my head, the doors to the cafeteria still swinging back and forth in it's wake.
I shake my head.
No time to think. Lots of happy surgeries to go to. No time to think.
*Chapter1*
I'm scrubbing out of my third surgery for today, I'm exhausted and energized all at the same time. It's the same feeling every time, and every time it shocks me.
It's a feeling like no other, it's almost like sex.
My heart is beating wildly, my head is spinning from the adrenaline rush. I look down at my hands, I'm sure they should be shaking by now, but they are not, and that's what makes me a surgeon. A great surgeon, if I may say so myself. My residency is almost through. I will be an attending by the end of the year.
I'll be Seattle Grace's Ortho Attending. I'll be where I've always wanted to be professionally.
The chief hasn't told me anything yet, but I know there'll be an opening for me. I'm the best ortho resident and he knows it. I've flown solo more times than I can remember. Even back when I wasn't supposed to operate without an attending present, they still had me doing a lot of procedures by myself.
It was scary, but it was great.
It's always been one of my strong suits, I can stay calm and collected under pressure. I've always been able to do that. I've never cracked under it's weight, and I've never been unsure of myself when it comes to my job. Only once I have let myself waver, but I'll never do it again.
When this patient was brought in four hours ago I was sure he would lose his right leg. A bad break above the knee. I was sure I wouldn't be able to fix that, but I did. Even though a lot of the tissue was damaged, even though it took me almost an hour to take out of his flesh all the bone fragments, I did it.
The doors to the scrub room swing open and Mark walks in. He smiles at me as he starts to wash his hands. I can feel his eyes on me.
"What?" I ask, a laugh in my voice
"Do you ever plan on talking about it?" I stop mid stroke and I turn my head to him. He can clearly see the confusion on my face. I don't have the slightest idea what he's talking about
"Callie.." it's a warning. "About her."
Oh. That.
"I don't know what there is to talk about"
I reply honestly. He's silent. That alone tells me I'm not finished with my answer
"Look, it's over. She left me. She left Seattle Grace. End of story. There's not much to talk about"
"Are you sure?"
I honestly hate him when he does the shrink thing, like when he told me it was ok to be feeling like I didn't even know I was feeling. When he revealed to me I had been thinking about ... her, all the time.
"There should never even have been a story to talk about in the fist place. I mean...it was a mistake. We weren't right for each other. We obviously weren't right for each other, I'm not.. you know.. 'gay' or anything. So.."
"So.." he shakes his head, urging me to go on
"So it's ok. I'm ok. Hell, I'm better than ok, I feel great. I've never been more on top of my game. I'm totally, totally focused. I'm good" I nod. I am.
"When's the last time you went home?" he pretends to be all innocent and changing the topic, but I know better
"I don't know, two days ago, maybe three. What does that have to do with..I mean I told you Ortho's swamped and.."
"Say her name" He demands. It' s a challenge and I feel my blood instantly boil in rage. I fold my arms over my chest
"Why?"
"Humor me"
"Why should I say her name?"
"Just do it" - "No" - "Do it!" - "No! Mark, stop it!"
He backs down. We were shouting, I know that, and I really don't have a clue as to why, but we were, and my cheeks are red and my ears are ringing.
I hastily towel my hands dry. I'm furious. I've been in such a great mood lately and I really didn't need him to ruin it. Fucking prick.
"Fine. If you say you're ok I believe you. But I am not. I am not ok with you overworking yourself. I'm not ok with you acting like nothing ever happened. I'm not ok with you pretending this whole past year didn't mean anything to you. I'm not ok with you pretending you don't turn around every time you see blonde hair. I'm not ok with you acting like it doesn't kill you every single time those blonde hair turn out to be somebody else's. And I most definitely am not ok with you crashing a couple of hours per night in the on-call rooms for the past month!"
I'm shocked. He knows.
"What, you didn't think I'd notice? I need you to stop doing this..this..denial thing that you're doing. And I need you to come with me to Joe's tonight. Ok?"
I can only nod. I am too shocked to do anything else. He knows.
He moves towards the OR door and pushes it open with his shoulder. And just before he disappears behind it he smiles at me.
"It's ok that you miss her"
I am frozen to the spot. I am alone in the scrub room. He knows
*Chapter2*
Joe's is crowded, as always. It's filled to it's limits with doctors and nurses. George and his cohorts are sitting at one of the boots. They are cheering at something stupid, I don't know what. I can't hear them over the noise in the bar, and I don't really care.
Once I would have wanted nothing more than to be invited to that table, to make friends with them, to be allowed into George's world. Now I barely look at them as I sit down with my shots of tequila in front of me.
I really don't want to be here.
This place is full of memories of all the times I tried and failed.
I stare at the shot glass in my hand and I try to think back on when was the last time I've had tequila.
Even Joe was taken aback when I ordered it, refusing the glass of wine he had poured me out of habit the minute I walked in here.
I don't want wine.
Wine tastes like her.
And I know I'll stop drinking it, like I stopped drinking beer after George.
Every sip would burn a hole through my heart and I don't want to hurt.
I don't want to feel at all.
But I can't pretend I don't anymore.
Ever since I spoke to Mark earlier today I haven't been able to function. At all. I was barely able to snap out of it long enough to tell Bailey I was going home.
And I really thought I was. Going home, I mean, but then I remembered.
The last time I was there was a month ago.
The last time I was there was with Erica.
Erica.
God, I haven't thought, let alone said her name since that night.
It's almost crazy, and if someone had told me then that her name on my lips would sound foreign to me I'd have laughed.
For almost a year she's been my friend, my best friend, my rock, my.. my girlfriend.
I guess she was that too, no matter how I didn't want to see it, to acknowledge it.
For almost a year she's been the person I'd buy coffee in the morning for, the one I'd share lunch time with, the one who'd laugh with me, and drink with me, and hang out with me.
The one I'd kiss goodnight, the one I'd sleep with, the one I'd fuck.
No. Not fuck.
The one I'd make love to.
And here comes that word again. Love. I've already lost two relationships over that word. Once because I said it too soon, and once because I never said it.
I suck.
Well, I guess I deserve a drink for that revelation.
Again. I see it, out of the corner of my eye, I see it. Golden hair.
And I really don't want to turn around and look, because I know it's not her. I know it's not her coming back for me, to sweep me off my feet, kiss me and take me away.
Those are fairytales. This is life.
But I turn anyway, because I'm reduced to being a slave to her ghost.
And it's not her of course. I knew it wouldn't be.
And so the second shot of tequila finds it's way down my throat. And it's bitter. And I deserve it.
I close my eyes to block everything and everybody out, so I don't see Mark coming in, lacing his arm through that of the blonde girl. I don't see them approaching me. But I hear the scraping of the stools being dragged from under the table for them to sit on and my eyes snap open
"I'm glad you decided to come after all"
And for a split second I'm tempted to tell him that I didn't come to Joe's tonight for him, that I came here so I could be as far away from my bed that still carries Erica's scent as I possibly could without having to do the pathetic thing and go to the Archfield.
"Yeah. I'm here" I say instead, and I see him nod in acknowledgment.
"This is Sadie, she's a new intern. Thought I'd give her the grand tour of Seattle Grace"
"And you brought her to Joe's?" I raise an eyebrow
"That's about the best part of working in that hospital" he jokes. His sly grin firmly on his face. This is the look that earned him his McSteamy nickname. This is the look that earned him his McSlimy nickname too. It was Erica's favorite
"Why didn't you just take her to one of the on-call rooms?" I know it's rude, but I was on my way to getting drunk and I really didn't need their interruption.
"Oh, he tried. But I wasn't interested" out the corner of my eye I see her smirking "Would you.. be interested.. in giving me that part of the tour..uhm.."
Smooth. Pathetic, but smooth.
"Callie. And I'm not much of a tour guide, I'm sorry"
I stand up to go home.
No, not home. Just, not here.
"Oh, that's too bad. Mark here told me we might actually have a lot of things in common"
I look at her for the first time since they decided that it was ok to join me. I'm ready to tell her that we have nothing in common, that she doesn't know me. That the only person who ever truly knew me has gone away from me, and that I won't sit at the table that once used to be hers and mine and let her flirt with me.
And I look at her, and I'm frozen.
From this stranger's face, her eyes are looking back at me. And she's not her, and her hair don't have the same golden hue that hers had, and her eyes are just a couple of shades off her impossibly blue ones, but damn, she's close.
"I'm not a good tour guide for the on-call rooms, but I could show you a thing or two about the Archfield suite"
She's on her feet in two seconds flat, and we're out the door before Mark can even realize he's being dumped by two women at once.
She's not her, but she's close enough.
*Chapter3*
People say they love hotels for the anonymity they offer. I hate it.
I hate the Archfield. The worst moments of my life have been spent here. Here is where I crawled when George kicked me out of his house and life for the first time. I was so depressed that night that I couldn't do anything much except cry and eat a bucket of ice-cram that I had room service deliver to me.
When I opened the door to retrieve it, dressed in my pajamas, with bed hair, red eyes and a runny nose, the bellboy smiled at me and wished me a goodnight. I've never felt more invisible in my life.
The second time I was here was when I slept with Mark to forget about George. I do that a lot, don't I. Sleep with Mark to forget about people, I mean.
The third memory of this place is bittersweet. It is the place where George asked me to marry him. He dropped down on his knee, told me he loved me and couldn't be without me, and then he proposed. And it would be a sweet memory if it didn't bring with it the memory of all that went wrong after that moment. Because this is also the place where I yelled at him for being friends with Stevens, the place he had just left before falling into bed with her. The place where he confessed his betrayal.
When I left, the morning after our break up, I swore to myself I wouldn't come here anymore.
And I didn't. For the longest time I felt whole, I had a place to live in, even if it consisted of Christina's couch. I had a life that was free of heartache and hotel rooms.
I had her.
But now she's gone and I'm breaking that promise to myself as I check in a suite for tonight.
Tonight that I'll be spending with this woman, this girl who is nothing like her, but still reminds me so much of her.
And it's back to not saying her name for me. I won't taint the memory of it with this stranger's body.
"Hey! They know you here. Cool." she whispers after the concierge fills in my check in form for me and hands me the key to my usual room.
I wish she wouldn't talk. So I push her against one of the elevator walls as soon as the doors close and I kiss her. Hard.
She tastes like the beer she barely drank at Joe's and I close my eyes against the wave of nausea that comes with tasting George on Erica's ghost.
This is wrong. I know it, I can feel it, but I push that thought to the back of my mind as the elevator dings open and I all but drag her in my room.
"Take off your clothes" I order. And the ice in my voice tells her that this is not about her or even me, this night will be about someone she will never know. Someone who is all I'll ever know.
She strips quickly, she's not shy, and I guess she could even look beautiful to someone who had never seen what Erica looked like when she was naked, her perfect body resting on my sheets, her blue eyes dancing in the dusk of my room.
I take off my clothes quickly, nothing like the slow tease I used to play out for Erica. This is me going through the motions, and that's all it's supposed to be.
And as I sit on the edge of the bed and she kneels wordlessly between my legs, I'm grateful at this stranger for knowing what I want of her.
Her mouth is hot on my flesh, her breath tickles me as she breathes on my core, her teeth scraping against the delicate skin of my inner thigh.
My hand finds it's way in her hair and I thread my fingers through it, grabbing a handful and pulling her towards me. I don't need slow, and I don't want teasing or seduction from her. I only want one thing and as she looks up at me and nods I think she gets it. And I loosen my grip on her.
Her tongue is on me in an instant, and I fight against the instinct to close my eyes because that is what I've always done with Erica, and this is why I need this night.
I keep them open and steady myself on my left arm perched on the bed behind me, and my right hand never relinquishes it's place in blonde hair as I watch her head bob up and down against my flesh.
And for one moment there, there is no Archfield, there is no stranger, there is just her and me and her beautiful head between my thighs. And I can hear her voice calling out my name, telling me how good this feels, flooding me with awe as to how it can be good for her when I'm not even touching her, and awe because I believe her when she tells me it is, because it is for me too when I get to taste her skin, when I get to love her.
I feel my body tense and I realize I've just done all I had sworn not to do. I've closed my eyes and I've thought about her.
And I feel bad, but this feels good, and I start to rock against her face, and I bite my lip not to moan her name.
And then suddenly I come undone and my world explodes between my eyelids and Erica's scent is filling my nostrils, and Erica's voice is filling my ears and in my mind her eyes are on mine and she holds me tight and smiles as she cradles the back of my head while my body shudders for her.
And for a moment that feels like a lifetime I can live in the illusion that she never left me, that I never made her leave me. And I'm happy. And I'm..
"Who's Erica?"
My eyes snap open and I push her as far away from me as possible and I want to scream, and I want to cry, and I want to die, and I want to punch her mouth for not being hers, for saying her name, for tainting that perfect image with her voice
"Hey, it's ok with me. It's ok if you think about someone else, I don't mind, I do it too. I was just wondering who this Erica chick that you were calling out for was, that's all"
And here it is again, that name. And she says it as if it's not the most precious name in the world, as if it's no one.
And I guess for her it is no one.
I want to yell at her to stop saying it. I want to shout that there is no Erica chick, that Erica is a woman, the most perfect woman I've ever met, that she used to be my woman.
And I want them to fucking stop saying it's ok. It's not ok. It is just not ok. And I made it not ok. And it's my fault that it will never be ok again.
The room is spinning and I have yet to say anything to her as I rush to the bathroom and throw up. The bitterness of tequila and regrets twisting my insides, burning my mouth.
*Chapter4*
I don't know how long I've been lying here, naked, on the floor of the bathroom, but the knocking on the door stopped a while ago and I find myself thankful to this stranger for the second time tonight, once for being here, and once for going away.
The door to the hotel room opens and closes, and I hear voices outside the bathroom door. And I recognize the voice. It's Mark. She must have called him for me, and I want to take back that I'm grateful, but maybe I just have to bow my head and thank her for the third time.
I need him now. I need somebody, anybody.
Because I'm lying here, and I haven't moved since my bowels were done emptying themselves.
And I'm reminded of another time, another lifetime, it seems, and another woman, one who too lay on a bathroom floor mourning the loss of the one she loved.
It's ironic I should be thinking about Izzie Stevens right now. But I am not only thinking about her, I am her. Because Erica might not have died, but she's dead to me.
"Callie it's me, open the door" I don't move
"I know you're hurting Callie, but freezing your ass off won't solve anything. Look, open up and you can get dressed and we'll talk."
His voice from behind the door comes to me as if in a dream. I only wish it was that simple.
"I don't want to talk"
"Ok, then, no talk. We'll just.. sit, and be miserable together" When I don't answer he tries again
"I'll let you kick my ass, how about it?"
The door swings open and the sudden cold hits my naked body and I shiver. He's there in an instant to wrap me up in a blanket.
"I should have known it would take my ass to get you out of there" he jokes. And I'd smile if I could remember how to do it.
He leads me to the bed, but I can't sit there, so I just let myself slide against the wall, down to the floor. He looks uncomfortable for a minute but then he sighs and sits down next to me.
"I hate you" And he's silent. He doesn't answer
"I hate you because I was doing fine before you.. before you made me think about her"
He nods as he takes it in, and I'm glad he feels bad too. I need someone to feel bad, I can't be the only one.
"And I hate me. Because I made her go away. I was scared and I made her go away and I hurt her. I never wanted to hurt her"
I dab at my eyes, at the tears that aren't there yet but that will be soon.
"I wanted it all, you know. I wanted her, and I wanted to be normal,and I wanted my family not to hate me. But I'm not normal and my family will hate me, and I don't have her"
And my hand finds my eyes again but there are still no tears, and I don't understand. How can I feel dead inside and not cry? She's been gone for a month and I haven't cried yet.
"You haven't heard from her since.. uhm.."
"Since she broke up with me? You can say it Mark. It's true, she did. Believe me, denying it won't make it go away. I've tried."
He smiles a little sad smile that is so out of place on his normally stoic face. I guess he misses her too, in his own way.
"I tried to call her a couple of times. At first it would ring endlessly but then .. I even went to her apartment once but the doorman wouldn't let me in, said .. uhm .. he said she had lifted my name from the list of people allowed to visit. He tried to call her while I was in the lobby but she just didn't answer." I breathe in deeply and I feel my body hurt from the effort, and I'm not sure if it's because I've been lying on a cold floor for the past hour, or just because I don't know how to breathe without her anymore.
"I mailed her, I texted her .. I even sent her fricking flowers. But she never answered and the flowers kept coming back."
I swallow against the stone that has lodged itself in my throat since she's been gone
"I .. I think she left." He looks at me like I'm crazy
"Seattle, I mean. I .. I think she left Seattle." And even though in my head I've known it for a long time, hearing the words, even as they come from my lips, shocks me. And I want to take them back because somehow I just made it more real.
"I mean, I don't think she'd leave Seattle over me, I .. it's just that .. it's been a month, you know .. and .. uhm .. a month and she never answered any of my calls, and now her phone is disconnected and she's never home, and .. " And I stumble over my own words, trying to take it back, trying to make it all go away but I can't, and I fell like I'm crying but I'm not and this whole thing is fucking ridiculous. I was doing fine not even six hours ago and now I'm a mumbling mess naked on the floor of the Archfield suite and somehow, somehow this makes me laugh.
And I laugh so hard I can barely catch my breath, and my sides hurt, and I clutch at my stomach because I've never laughed this hard in my whole life
"Of course she'd leave Seattle! She's Erica Hahn! She's actually cardio-god Erica Hahn! She could go anywhere and they'd be lucky to have her. She could walk into a hospital and demand a job and they'd make her head of fucking surgery in less than an hour. She's .. she's Walter Tapley's surgeon, for God's sake .. she's .. she's .. she's Erica Hahn .. and .."
And suddenly I'm not laughing anymore.
And suddenly I realize it's true. She could be anywhere and her life could be perfect, I'd still be here, and I'd still be no one.
"Why would she still be in Seattle. What could Seattle possibly ever offer her"
"You." He nods absentmindedly, as if it's the obvious answer and the deepest truth all in the same
"Seattle has you"
"Well, it wasn't enough apparently. It .. I wasn't enough." My head hurts from the force of my desperation as I bang it against the wall behind me "God, I hate me. I hate this. I hate this place, and I hate this city, and I hate Seattle Grace. And I hate her"
And I realize as I say it that part of me really does
"Of all the things I hated, working at Seattle Grace wasn't one of them. I used to love the place. Do you know I actually cried when I was admitted into the surgical program? I did. I did, and I was so fucking happy. And now? Now I hate it, because .. because I .. picked it over her. God, can I be more pathetic? I picked a hospital over my .."
I breathe in deeply
"Over my girlfriend."
I said it. I said it, out loud. My girlfriend. I was Erica Hahn's girlfriend. And somehow this makes me feel better. At least it makes me feel something.
"You don't hate her. And you don't hate Seattle Grace"
"But I do! I do! I hate it because now I see how wrong it is, how fucked up it really is, and she made me see it. And now I can't work there anymore and not see it, and I don't have her anymore either. I just .. it was easier. When I wasn't thinking about her. It was .. easier."
"But it was wrong"
We both nod. And we sit here, on the same floor, propped against the same wall, but we're miles away. Our thoughts are running in a million different directions.
Mine are with her. They are always with her.
"Did you really moan 'Erica'? While she was fucking you?"
I can't help but laugh. His thoughts were obviously on something else entirely
"I did. I did."
I will always moan her name. No matter who I'm with.
Because a part of me will always be with her.
****
So.. what do you say, should I post the rest?
Author: Spooky85
Pairing: Yeah, right, like you even need to ask
Rating: Very very mild Nc17..for now.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did Erica would be scrubbing in for an open heart surgery on Izzie Stevens and Sadie would never have been born.
Author's Notes: Ok, just to warn you. This is the first piece of anything I've ever written in my whole little life. It's in Callie's POV because I get confused about all the She and Her of third person. I started writing it when I first learned of Brookgate, so it pretty much differs from canon from then on. This is also unbetaed and I'm so not english it's not even funny, so plenty of mistakes and the fault is all on me. If you're dark and twisty and like angst you probably won't find it totally annoying. If you're in the mood for happy stuff.. keep searching because you are so not gonna like it. 'Nuff said.
*Prologue*
I love my job.
I know a lot of people think it's weird, I know they think it's not the job for a lady, I know my parents weren't at all thrilled with my choice, and yes, I know that a lot of surgeons look down on Ortho, like we're less deserving of being called doctors. Like humans are made up solely of hearts and brains.
What I do is good, it is most definitely as important as any of their 'higher' specialties, and it sure as hell is a lot more rewarding.
Take today, for example. I have already reset four shoulders, two legs, I've made three grown man cry and I've heard the satisfying pop of a bone being set into place more times than I can count. And I haven't even had lunch yet.
God, I love it.
As I walk along the corridors of Seattle Grace I look around and admire the force and energy of it all. The pit is filled to the brim, every OR is packed, the clinic is in full swing, there are doctors running around everywhere. Good doctors, rushing to save another patient, another life.
I smile as I walk past Christina berating one of her clueless interns about something or other. Bailey's the resident Nazi, but Yang's shaping up to be her rightful successor. She's good. She'll be a great surgeon someday, they all will. This place will teach them to be, like it taught me.
The cafeteria's not as packed as I would have thought, the line is almost non existent, they aren't already out of my favorite salad, for a change, and there still is one vacant table near the windows, so that I can crack one open a little bit and let the sunshine rays warm my skin as I eat in peace.
I send a little thankful prayer to whoever is my guardian angel, for the extra effort they're putting on making my days a little more perfect everyday.
I'm happy. Good God I'm happy.
"I was hoping I could catch you, I have a rhinoplasty in an hour and then a face lift at four, but I thought we could hit Joe's tonight"
Mark. My best friend Mark. He's scoffing down his burger like he hasn't had anything to eat in days. I sustain my curvy self on salads and he gets to look like a friggin statue while eating greasy burgers everyday. I can't help the smile spreading on my face. I hate him.
"I can't tonight, I'm on call" I say as I fork a cherry tomato and pop it in my mouth
"Weren't you on call yesterday night? And the night before that, and the one before that, and.."
He's cute with his eyebrows all scrunched up in a frown like this
"I was, I was" I say cheerfully "It's hockey season, Ortho is swamped. They really needed the extra help and I volunteered"
I love hockey season, for Ortos it's like christmas everyday. Crazy breaks, lots of OR time, lots of tears. Good all around.
His pager goes off and he gets up to leave. His half eaten apple, his only concession to healthy food, finding it's way in the waste basket.
"Well, don't work too hard, Torres"
"And that's your philosophy for life, right?"
I tease and he throws a "right" in my direction as he rushes to attend to whatever emergency there could ever be in plastics. It's probably just McDreamy whining about his crazy girlfriend. Losers.
I'm almost done with my lunch as my eyes catch on something on the other side of the room, a flash of golden. But it's gone as soon as I turn my head, the doors to the cafeteria still swinging back and forth in it's wake.
I shake my head.
No time to think. Lots of happy surgeries to go to. No time to think.
*Chapter1*
I'm scrubbing out of my third surgery for today, I'm exhausted and energized all at the same time. It's the same feeling every time, and every time it shocks me.
It's a feeling like no other, it's almost like sex.
My heart is beating wildly, my head is spinning from the adrenaline rush. I look down at my hands, I'm sure they should be shaking by now, but they are not, and that's what makes me a surgeon. A great surgeon, if I may say so myself. My residency is almost through. I will be an attending by the end of the year.
I'll be Seattle Grace's Ortho Attending. I'll be where I've always wanted to be professionally.
The chief hasn't told me anything yet, but I know there'll be an opening for me. I'm the best ortho resident and he knows it. I've flown solo more times than I can remember. Even back when I wasn't supposed to operate without an attending present, they still had me doing a lot of procedures by myself.
It was scary, but it was great.
It's always been one of my strong suits, I can stay calm and collected under pressure. I've always been able to do that. I've never cracked under it's weight, and I've never been unsure of myself when it comes to my job. Only once I have let myself waver, but I'll never do it again.
When this patient was brought in four hours ago I was sure he would lose his right leg. A bad break above the knee. I was sure I wouldn't be able to fix that, but I did. Even though a lot of the tissue was damaged, even though it took me almost an hour to take out of his flesh all the bone fragments, I did it.
The doors to the scrub room swing open and Mark walks in. He smiles at me as he starts to wash his hands. I can feel his eyes on me.
"What?" I ask, a laugh in my voice
"Do you ever plan on talking about it?" I stop mid stroke and I turn my head to him. He can clearly see the confusion on my face. I don't have the slightest idea what he's talking about
"Callie.." it's a warning. "About her."
Oh. That.
"I don't know what there is to talk about"
I reply honestly. He's silent. That alone tells me I'm not finished with my answer
"Look, it's over. She left me. She left Seattle Grace. End of story. There's not much to talk about"
"Are you sure?"
I honestly hate him when he does the shrink thing, like when he told me it was ok to be feeling like I didn't even know I was feeling. When he revealed to me I had been thinking about ... her, all the time.
"There should never even have been a story to talk about in the fist place. I mean...it was a mistake. We weren't right for each other. We obviously weren't right for each other, I'm not.. you know.. 'gay' or anything. So.."
"So.." he shakes his head, urging me to go on
"So it's ok. I'm ok. Hell, I'm better than ok, I feel great. I've never been more on top of my game. I'm totally, totally focused. I'm good" I nod. I am.
"When's the last time you went home?" he pretends to be all innocent and changing the topic, but I know better
"I don't know, two days ago, maybe three. What does that have to do with..I mean I told you Ortho's swamped and.."
"Say her name" He demands. It' s a challenge and I feel my blood instantly boil in rage. I fold my arms over my chest
"Why?"
"Humor me"
"Why should I say her name?"
"Just do it" - "No" - "Do it!" - "No! Mark, stop it!"
He backs down. We were shouting, I know that, and I really don't have a clue as to why, but we were, and my cheeks are red and my ears are ringing.
I hastily towel my hands dry. I'm furious. I've been in such a great mood lately and I really didn't need him to ruin it. Fucking prick.
"Fine. If you say you're ok I believe you. But I am not. I am not ok with you overworking yourself. I'm not ok with you acting like nothing ever happened. I'm not ok with you pretending this whole past year didn't mean anything to you. I'm not ok with you pretending you don't turn around every time you see blonde hair. I'm not ok with you acting like it doesn't kill you every single time those blonde hair turn out to be somebody else's. And I most definitely am not ok with you crashing a couple of hours per night in the on-call rooms for the past month!"
I'm shocked. He knows.
"What, you didn't think I'd notice? I need you to stop doing this..this..denial thing that you're doing. And I need you to come with me to Joe's tonight. Ok?"
I can only nod. I am too shocked to do anything else. He knows.
He moves towards the OR door and pushes it open with his shoulder. And just before he disappears behind it he smiles at me.
"It's ok that you miss her"
I am frozen to the spot. I am alone in the scrub room. He knows
*Chapter2*
Joe's is crowded, as always. It's filled to it's limits with doctors and nurses. George and his cohorts are sitting at one of the boots. They are cheering at something stupid, I don't know what. I can't hear them over the noise in the bar, and I don't really care.
Once I would have wanted nothing more than to be invited to that table, to make friends with them, to be allowed into George's world. Now I barely look at them as I sit down with my shots of tequila in front of me.
I really don't want to be here.
This place is full of memories of all the times I tried and failed.
I stare at the shot glass in my hand and I try to think back on when was the last time I've had tequila.
Even Joe was taken aback when I ordered it, refusing the glass of wine he had poured me out of habit the minute I walked in here.
I don't want wine.
Wine tastes like her.
And I know I'll stop drinking it, like I stopped drinking beer after George.
Every sip would burn a hole through my heart and I don't want to hurt.
I don't want to feel at all.
But I can't pretend I don't anymore.
Ever since I spoke to Mark earlier today I haven't been able to function. At all. I was barely able to snap out of it long enough to tell Bailey I was going home.
And I really thought I was. Going home, I mean, but then I remembered.
The last time I was there was a month ago.
The last time I was there was with Erica.
Erica.
God, I haven't thought, let alone said her name since that night.
It's almost crazy, and if someone had told me then that her name on my lips would sound foreign to me I'd have laughed.
For almost a year she's been my friend, my best friend, my rock, my.. my girlfriend.
I guess she was that too, no matter how I didn't want to see it, to acknowledge it.
For almost a year she's been the person I'd buy coffee in the morning for, the one I'd share lunch time with, the one who'd laugh with me, and drink with me, and hang out with me.
The one I'd kiss goodnight, the one I'd sleep with, the one I'd fuck.
No. Not fuck.
The one I'd make love to.
And here comes that word again. Love. I've already lost two relationships over that word. Once because I said it too soon, and once because I never said it.
I suck.
Well, I guess I deserve a drink for that revelation.
Again. I see it, out of the corner of my eye, I see it. Golden hair.
And I really don't want to turn around and look, because I know it's not her. I know it's not her coming back for me, to sweep me off my feet, kiss me and take me away.
Those are fairytales. This is life.
But I turn anyway, because I'm reduced to being a slave to her ghost.
And it's not her of course. I knew it wouldn't be.
And so the second shot of tequila finds it's way down my throat. And it's bitter. And I deserve it.
I close my eyes to block everything and everybody out, so I don't see Mark coming in, lacing his arm through that of the blonde girl. I don't see them approaching me. But I hear the scraping of the stools being dragged from under the table for them to sit on and my eyes snap open
"I'm glad you decided to come after all"
And for a split second I'm tempted to tell him that I didn't come to Joe's tonight for him, that I came here so I could be as far away from my bed that still carries Erica's scent as I possibly could without having to do the pathetic thing and go to the Archfield.
"Yeah. I'm here" I say instead, and I see him nod in acknowledgment.
"This is Sadie, she's a new intern. Thought I'd give her the grand tour of Seattle Grace"
"And you brought her to Joe's?" I raise an eyebrow
"That's about the best part of working in that hospital" he jokes. His sly grin firmly on his face. This is the look that earned him his McSteamy nickname. This is the look that earned him his McSlimy nickname too. It was Erica's favorite
"Why didn't you just take her to one of the on-call rooms?" I know it's rude, but I was on my way to getting drunk and I really didn't need their interruption.
"Oh, he tried. But I wasn't interested" out the corner of my eye I see her smirking "Would you.. be interested.. in giving me that part of the tour..uhm.."
Smooth. Pathetic, but smooth.
"Callie. And I'm not much of a tour guide, I'm sorry"
I stand up to go home.
No, not home. Just, not here.
"Oh, that's too bad. Mark here told me we might actually have a lot of things in common"
I look at her for the first time since they decided that it was ok to join me. I'm ready to tell her that we have nothing in common, that she doesn't know me. That the only person who ever truly knew me has gone away from me, and that I won't sit at the table that once used to be hers and mine and let her flirt with me.
And I look at her, and I'm frozen.
From this stranger's face, her eyes are looking back at me. And she's not her, and her hair don't have the same golden hue that hers had, and her eyes are just a couple of shades off her impossibly blue ones, but damn, she's close.
"I'm not a good tour guide for the on-call rooms, but I could show you a thing or two about the Archfield suite"
She's on her feet in two seconds flat, and we're out the door before Mark can even realize he's being dumped by two women at once.
She's not her, but she's close enough.
*Chapter3*
People say they love hotels for the anonymity they offer. I hate it.
I hate the Archfield. The worst moments of my life have been spent here. Here is where I crawled when George kicked me out of his house and life for the first time. I was so depressed that night that I couldn't do anything much except cry and eat a bucket of ice-cram that I had room service deliver to me.
When I opened the door to retrieve it, dressed in my pajamas, with bed hair, red eyes and a runny nose, the bellboy smiled at me and wished me a goodnight. I've never felt more invisible in my life.
The second time I was here was when I slept with Mark to forget about George. I do that a lot, don't I. Sleep with Mark to forget about people, I mean.
The third memory of this place is bittersweet. It is the place where George asked me to marry him. He dropped down on his knee, told me he loved me and couldn't be without me, and then he proposed. And it would be a sweet memory if it didn't bring with it the memory of all that went wrong after that moment. Because this is also the place where I yelled at him for being friends with Stevens, the place he had just left before falling into bed with her. The place where he confessed his betrayal.
When I left, the morning after our break up, I swore to myself I wouldn't come here anymore.
And I didn't. For the longest time I felt whole, I had a place to live in, even if it consisted of Christina's couch. I had a life that was free of heartache and hotel rooms.
I had her.
But now she's gone and I'm breaking that promise to myself as I check in a suite for tonight.
Tonight that I'll be spending with this woman, this girl who is nothing like her, but still reminds me so much of her.
And it's back to not saying her name for me. I won't taint the memory of it with this stranger's body.
"Hey! They know you here. Cool." she whispers after the concierge fills in my check in form for me and hands me the key to my usual room.
I wish she wouldn't talk. So I push her against one of the elevator walls as soon as the doors close and I kiss her. Hard.
She tastes like the beer she barely drank at Joe's and I close my eyes against the wave of nausea that comes with tasting George on Erica's ghost.
This is wrong. I know it, I can feel it, but I push that thought to the back of my mind as the elevator dings open and I all but drag her in my room.
"Take off your clothes" I order. And the ice in my voice tells her that this is not about her or even me, this night will be about someone she will never know. Someone who is all I'll ever know.
She strips quickly, she's not shy, and I guess she could even look beautiful to someone who had never seen what Erica looked like when she was naked, her perfect body resting on my sheets, her blue eyes dancing in the dusk of my room.
I take off my clothes quickly, nothing like the slow tease I used to play out for Erica. This is me going through the motions, and that's all it's supposed to be.
And as I sit on the edge of the bed and she kneels wordlessly between my legs, I'm grateful at this stranger for knowing what I want of her.
Her mouth is hot on my flesh, her breath tickles me as she breathes on my core, her teeth scraping against the delicate skin of my inner thigh.
My hand finds it's way in her hair and I thread my fingers through it, grabbing a handful and pulling her towards me. I don't need slow, and I don't want teasing or seduction from her. I only want one thing and as she looks up at me and nods I think she gets it. And I loosen my grip on her.
Her tongue is on me in an instant, and I fight against the instinct to close my eyes because that is what I've always done with Erica, and this is why I need this night.
I keep them open and steady myself on my left arm perched on the bed behind me, and my right hand never relinquishes it's place in blonde hair as I watch her head bob up and down against my flesh.
And for one moment there, there is no Archfield, there is no stranger, there is just her and me and her beautiful head between my thighs. And I can hear her voice calling out my name, telling me how good this feels, flooding me with awe as to how it can be good for her when I'm not even touching her, and awe because I believe her when she tells me it is, because it is for me too when I get to taste her skin, when I get to love her.
I feel my body tense and I realize I've just done all I had sworn not to do. I've closed my eyes and I've thought about her.
And I feel bad, but this feels good, and I start to rock against her face, and I bite my lip not to moan her name.
And then suddenly I come undone and my world explodes between my eyelids and Erica's scent is filling my nostrils, and Erica's voice is filling my ears and in my mind her eyes are on mine and she holds me tight and smiles as she cradles the back of my head while my body shudders for her.
And for a moment that feels like a lifetime I can live in the illusion that she never left me, that I never made her leave me. And I'm happy. And I'm..
"Who's Erica?"
My eyes snap open and I push her as far away from me as possible and I want to scream, and I want to cry, and I want to die, and I want to punch her mouth for not being hers, for saying her name, for tainting that perfect image with her voice
"Hey, it's ok with me. It's ok if you think about someone else, I don't mind, I do it too. I was just wondering who this Erica chick that you were calling out for was, that's all"
And here it is again, that name. And she says it as if it's not the most precious name in the world, as if it's no one.
And I guess for her it is no one.
I want to yell at her to stop saying it. I want to shout that there is no Erica chick, that Erica is a woman, the most perfect woman I've ever met, that she used to be my woman.
And I want them to fucking stop saying it's ok. It's not ok. It is just not ok. And I made it not ok. And it's my fault that it will never be ok again.
The room is spinning and I have yet to say anything to her as I rush to the bathroom and throw up. The bitterness of tequila and regrets twisting my insides, burning my mouth.
*Chapter4*
I don't know how long I've been lying here, naked, on the floor of the bathroom, but the knocking on the door stopped a while ago and I find myself thankful to this stranger for the second time tonight, once for being here, and once for going away.
The door to the hotel room opens and closes, and I hear voices outside the bathroom door. And I recognize the voice. It's Mark. She must have called him for me, and I want to take back that I'm grateful, but maybe I just have to bow my head and thank her for the third time.
I need him now. I need somebody, anybody.
Because I'm lying here, and I haven't moved since my bowels were done emptying themselves.
And I'm reminded of another time, another lifetime, it seems, and another woman, one who too lay on a bathroom floor mourning the loss of the one she loved.
It's ironic I should be thinking about Izzie Stevens right now. But I am not only thinking about her, I am her. Because Erica might not have died, but she's dead to me.
"Callie it's me, open the door" I don't move
"I know you're hurting Callie, but freezing your ass off won't solve anything. Look, open up and you can get dressed and we'll talk."
His voice from behind the door comes to me as if in a dream. I only wish it was that simple.
"I don't want to talk"
"Ok, then, no talk. We'll just.. sit, and be miserable together" When I don't answer he tries again
"I'll let you kick my ass, how about it?"
The door swings open and the sudden cold hits my naked body and I shiver. He's there in an instant to wrap me up in a blanket.
"I should have known it would take my ass to get you out of there" he jokes. And I'd smile if I could remember how to do it.
He leads me to the bed, but I can't sit there, so I just let myself slide against the wall, down to the floor. He looks uncomfortable for a minute but then he sighs and sits down next to me.
"I hate you" And he's silent. He doesn't answer
"I hate you because I was doing fine before you.. before you made me think about her"
He nods as he takes it in, and I'm glad he feels bad too. I need someone to feel bad, I can't be the only one.
"And I hate me. Because I made her go away. I was scared and I made her go away and I hurt her. I never wanted to hurt her"
I dab at my eyes, at the tears that aren't there yet but that will be soon.
"I wanted it all, you know. I wanted her, and I wanted to be normal,and I wanted my family not to hate me. But I'm not normal and my family will hate me, and I don't have her"
And my hand finds my eyes again but there are still no tears, and I don't understand. How can I feel dead inside and not cry? She's been gone for a month and I haven't cried yet.
"You haven't heard from her since.. uhm.."
"Since she broke up with me? You can say it Mark. It's true, she did. Believe me, denying it won't make it go away. I've tried."
He smiles a little sad smile that is so out of place on his normally stoic face. I guess he misses her too, in his own way.
"I tried to call her a couple of times. At first it would ring endlessly but then .. I even went to her apartment once but the doorman wouldn't let me in, said .. uhm .. he said she had lifted my name from the list of people allowed to visit. He tried to call her while I was in the lobby but she just didn't answer." I breathe in deeply and I feel my body hurt from the effort, and I'm not sure if it's because I've been lying on a cold floor for the past hour, or just because I don't know how to breathe without her anymore.
"I mailed her, I texted her .. I even sent her fricking flowers. But she never answered and the flowers kept coming back."
I swallow against the stone that has lodged itself in my throat since she's been gone
"I .. I think she left." He looks at me like I'm crazy
"Seattle, I mean. I .. I think she left Seattle." And even though in my head I've known it for a long time, hearing the words, even as they come from my lips, shocks me. And I want to take them back because somehow I just made it more real.
"I mean, I don't think she'd leave Seattle over me, I .. it's just that .. it's been a month, you know .. and .. uhm .. a month and she never answered any of my calls, and now her phone is disconnected and she's never home, and .. " And I stumble over my own words, trying to take it back, trying to make it all go away but I can't, and I fell like I'm crying but I'm not and this whole thing is fucking ridiculous. I was doing fine not even six hours ago and now I'm a mumbling mess naked on the floor of the Archfield suite and somehow, somehow this makes me laugh.
And I laugh so hard I can barely catch my breath, and my sides hurt, and I clutch at my stomach because I've never laughed this hard in my whole life
"Of course she'd leave Seattle! She's Erica Hahn! She's actually cardio-god Erica Hahn! She could go anywhere and they'd be lucky to have her. She could walk into a hospital and demand a job and they'd make her head of fucking surgery in less than an hour. She's .. she's Walter Tapley's surgeon, for God's sake .. she's .. she's .. she's Erica Hahn .. and .."
And suddenly I'm not laughing anymore.
And suddenly I realize it's true. She could be anywhere and her life could be perfect, I'd still be here, and I'd still be no one.
"Why would she still be in Seattle. What could Seattle possibly ever offer her"
"You." He nods absentmindedly, as if it's the obvious answer and the deepest truth all in the same
"Seattle has you"
"Well, it wasn't enough apparently. It .. I wasn't enough." My head hurts from the force of my desperation as I bang it against the wall behind me "God, I hate me. I hate this. I hate this place, and I hate this city, and I hate Seattle Grace. And I hate her"
And I realize as I say it that part of me really does
"Of all the things I hated, working at Seattle Grace wasn't one of them. I used to love the place. Do you know I actually cried when I was admitted into the surgical program? I did. I did, and I was so fucking happy. And now? Now I hate it, because .. because I .. picked it over her. God, can I be more pathetic? I picked a hospital over my .."
I breathe in deeply
"Over my girlfriend."
I said it. I said it, out loud. My girlfriend. I was Erica Hahn's girlfriend. And somehow this makes me feel better. At least it makes me feel something.
"You don't hate her. And you don't hate Seattle Grace"
"But I do! I do! I hate it because now I see how wrong it is, how fucked up it really is, and she made me see it. And now I can't work there anymore and not see it, and I don't have her anymore either. I just .. it was easier. When I wasn't thinking about her. It was .. easier."
"But it was wrong"
We both nod. And we sit here, on the same floor, propped against the same wall, but we're miles away. Our thoughts are running in a million different directions.
Mine are with her. They are always with her.
"Did you really moan 'Erica'? While she was fucking you?"
I can't help but laugh. His thoughts were obviously on something else entirely
"I did. I did."
I will always moan her name. No matter who I'm with.
Because a part of me will always be with her.
****
So.. what do you say, should I post the rest?