grey's anatomy fanfiction, meredith/derek - broken like my window
Broken Like My Window
Author’s Notes: Eh. Dark and twisted Meredith + pointless, literaturegeek crap. It’s what I do. [And in my defence, it is totally raining right now. Hence the angst.]
When she tells herself she is ok, the lie is effortless. She doesn’t have to try to believe herself anymore, because she’s dark and twisty inside, and this denial is just one symptom that all the lights are switched off. When she’s home alone she lies in the dark because she likes it, she feels at home in the shadows. And she listens to the wind, the soft howl as it curls around corners and presses the boughs of the tree outside her window up against the glass.
One day the window will shatter, and she’ll cry. She won’t scream, because she knows it will happen; she’s expecting it. But she will cry. She’ll run from the room and she won’t be able to look at the jagged pieces of glass spread across her floor because they’ll remind her of herself. For tonight, she just sucks in each breath to convince the world that she’s still making an effort.
In the morning, the smell of cupcakes lingers in the kitchen and it makes her hiccup, the taste of last nights tequila only increasing the nausea. Self-medication, she thinks, happens in a variety of ways and forms. The screen door closes with a slam and the sound echoes in her aching head. The world spins. The ground isn’t actually moving, but these little earthquakes interrupt her day all the time now. She can’t tell the difference between the slow motion and the still frame anymore. She smiles though. Pretending is the easy part.
Days pass. Weeks pass. She realises she has to confess.
“You don’t want me,” she tells him, “I’m not just scary and damaged; I’m dark and twisty.”
“I do want you Meredith,” he tries to argue.
“No, you birth foals,” she laughs, and upon close analysis she figures that her genuine amusement actually reflects her bitterness. It’s sick to actually find this funny, “You want someone simple and uncomplicated, someone who bakes cupcakes and smells like coconut essence and Jasmine.”
He did eventually start dating Izzie but it wasn’t until months after she said that. She still likes to think that maybe she fixed something for once instead of screwing it up; because Meredith breaks things, like empty bottles of tequila and marriages.
Days pass. Weeks pass. She realises it’s time to confess again.
“You can’t fix me,” she tells him, “Give up on me.”
“No,” his defiance is evident, even in that one syllable.
“I don’t want to be in your future,” she glares, “It’s frustrating enough being in your present.”
“You don’t have a choice,” he tells her as she slides down onto the bathroom floor, letting her head thud against the tiles. If she were a china doll she would be shattered; “Because you are my future.”
She abandons the search for a decent counter argument, persuaded to keep her mouth otherwise occupied for now. She can’t forget though, even if she can lie.
Finally the window breaks. Ironically she’s not even in the room when it happens, but she hears the crash and comes running up the stairs, her hand flying to her mouth with a loud gasp. He follows her, concerned, and she tries to push him away, making small ineffectual fists and shouting until drained of all resistance, she leans against the doorframe, peering in at the damage.
And the window reminds her: she is broken.
She will never be put back together, but she squeezes her eyes shut and tries to believe him when he tells her barefoot form to wait at the door while he sweeps up the broken glass.
She bites down on her lower lip, because in her mind the metaphor is real and she’s sweeping bits of Meredith off the floor, letting them slide into the trash.
Still, she closes her eyes and tries to believe him when he says he’s willing to put the pieces back together. Maybe, she thinks, he’ll succeed and then she’ll let him turn on the lights. She’ll have scars of course, from where glue has patched the gaps, but maybe it won’t matter to her then.
For now she trembles, and he takes her apart piece by piece with his hands, but with each kiss, he puts her back together.
Author’s Notes: Eh. Dark and twisted Meredith + pointless, literaturegeek crap. It’s what I do. [And in my defence, it is totally raining right now. Hence the angst.]
When she tells herself she is ok, the lie is effortless. She doesn’t have to try to believe herself anymore, because she’s dark and twisty inside, and this denial is just one symptom that all the lights are switched off. When she’s home alone she lies in the dark because she likes it, she feels at home in the shadows. And she listens to the wind, the soft howl as it curls around corners and presses the boughs of the tree outside her window up against the glass.
One day the window will shatter, and she’ll cry. She won’t scream, because she knows it will happen; she’s expecting it. But she will cry. She’ll run from the room and she won’t be able to look at the jagged pieces of glass spread across her floor because they’ll remind her of herself. For tonight, she just sucks in each breath to convince the world that she’s still making an effort.
In the morning, the smell of cupcakes lingers in the kitchen and it makes her hiccup, the taste of last nights tequila only increasing the nausea. Self-medication, she thinks, happens in a variety of ways and forms. The screen door closes with a slam and the sound echoes in her aching head. The world spins. The ground isn’t actually moving, but these little earthquakes interrupt her day all the time now. She can’t tell the difference between the slow motion and the still frame anymore. She smiles though. Pretending is the easy part.
Days pass. Weeks pass. She realises she has to confess.
“You don’t want me,” she tells him, “I’m not just scary and damaged; I’m dark and twisty.”
“I do want you Meredith,” he tries to argue.
“No, you birth foals,” she laughs, and upon close analysis she figures that her genuine amusement actually reflects her bitterness. It’s sick to actually find this funny, “You want someone simple and uncomplicated, someone who bakes cupcakes and smells like coconut essence and Jasmine.”
He did eventually start dating Izzie but it wasn’t until months after she said that. She still likes to think that maybe she fixed something for once instead of screwing it up; because Meredith breaks things, like empty bottles of tequila and marriages.
Days pass. Weeks pass. She realises it’s time to confess again.
“You can’t fix me,” she tells him, “Give up on me.”
“No,” his defiance is evident, even in that one syllable.
“I don’t want to be in your future,” she glares, “It’s frustrating enough being in your present.”
“You don’t have a choice,” he tells her as she slides down onto the bathroom floor, letting her head thud against the tiles. If she were a china doll she would be shattered; “Because you are my future.”
She abandons the search for a decent counter argument, persuaded to keep her mouth otherwise occupied for now. She can’t forget though, even if she can lie.
Finally the window breaks. Ironically she’s not even in the room when it happens, but she hears the crash and comes running up the stairs, her hand flying to her mouth with a loud gasp. He follows her, concerned, and she tries to push him away, making small ineffectual fists and shouting until drained of all resistance, she leans against the doorframe, peering in at the damage.
And the window reminds her: she is broken.
She will never be put back together, but she squeezes her eyes shut and tries to believe him when he tells her barefoot form to wait at the door while he sweeps up the broken glass.
She bites down on her lower lip, because in her mind the metaphor is real and she’s sweeping bits of Meredith off the floor, letting them slide into the trash.
Still, she closes her eyes and tries to believe him when he says he’s willing to put the pieces back together. Maybe, she thinks, he’ll succeed and then she’ll let him turn on the lights. She’ll have scars of course, from where glue has patched the gaps, but maybe it won’t matter to her then.
For now she trembles, and he takes her apart piece by piece with his hands, but with each kiss, he puts her back together.