What She Needs

17. Sister Blister

Sister Blister by Alanis Morisette

I want to point out that in my story Amelia has studied psychology as part of her research. I know I have said it before, but I wanted to make it clear so you all can understand where she's coming from. 

As always, check yourself before you read the chapter. If you know you are struggling, maybe take a break from reading. Don't put yourself at risk!

AMELIA SHEPHERD 

"I swear to God, if you don't unlock this door in 10 seconds, I will smash the lock in. I won't even pay to repair it, you'll have to explain to Derek why you're suddenly missing a door in your house!"

'I'll be out in a minute, Amelia! Jesus, you're so dramatic!'

I can practically hear Meredith rolling her eyes behind the heavy bathroom door. I wouldn't go as far as saying that she's barricaded herself in... but she's been conveniently doing her makeup for the last half an hour, over what is supposed to be breakfast time. She retreated to the safety of her bathroom after Derek kissed her on the head and left for work, getting a ride from Addison, who has been over every night this week. It's been nice. I hadn't seen her since she left LA. 

'I'm not joking Meredith! You can finish your makeup later. It's breakfast time! I'm starving.'

'You're not starving, we had a massive dinner last night.' 

She isn't wrong... but I don't know how to get into her head that no matter how large a meal is... you still need to eat three of them a day. It took me a long time to learn that. 

I guess Meredith feels a bit guilty for dragging me into her shame of eating when she corrects herself:

'Sorry, I don't mean to make you feel like you're eating too much. If you are hungry, there's pancake mix in the cupboard. I can't promise it's in date, though!'

'What cupboard? Come and show me!'

The door clicks open revealing Meredith, surprisingly with a makeup-less face. What the hell has she been doing in there?

'For God's sake, Amelia!'

She roughly grabs my hand and uses all her might to drag me down the stairs and into the kitchen. She relinquishes the pancake mix from the cabinet next to the refrigerator, slamming the door shut and practically throwing the box onto the counter.

'There! Do you need me to read the instructions for you too, or are you capable of that much?'

The displeasure in her voice is hilarious. I'm making mental notes, that all it took to get Meredith down for breakfast was to annoy her.

'Nah, I'm good. You can sit your little butt down while I make them though!'

She scoffs, and looks like she is heading for the doorway, but I catch her wrist in time, cringing as  she sucks a pained breath. My hand has obviously connected with a cut.

'Sorry, I shouldn't have grabbed your wrist. Is that a new cut?'

 I keep my voice void of emotion, not displaying sympathy, or annoyance, or anything that could influence her from opening up to me.

If I can show I'm not phased by her cutting, I can take away the power, the secrecy it holds over her. She'll be more inclined to open up, knowing I can stop my own emotions over riding me and making her uncomfortable. It's what makes me a good surgeon. I can compartmentalise.

'No. It's old. It's from last week, just before you arrived. I picked the scab, though.' Meredith admits. 

'Here, let me see.' I put the pancake mix down for a second to play doctor, not sister.