What She Needs

45. Hunger

Hunger- Florence and The Machine

Trigger Warning- disordered eating

Addison Montgomery

I turn the corner in my SUV, and there's Mer, loitering on the curb as if it's a balance beam. I have to stop the car a couple of feet back from the bay so I don't collide with her. I honk the horn and she jumps a little, before making her way to the car and slipping into the passenger side.

"Pop your seat belt on." I remind her and she does as she's told.

"Everything okay? You're kind of quiet?" I ask after we've driven a couple blocks. 

Since my involvement in Meredith's treatment has lessened, she tends to come out of therapy telling me all about it, what revelation she's had, what Grace has said that she's annoyed about, what her homework is for the week. Today, she's barely muttered a hello, and is staring out the window, looking directly at the sun. Longingly almost- as if by looking at the star it's heat and light will automatically flood into her soul. If only she'd let it. 

I turn another corner, and the sun disappears behind a high rise building. Meredith moves her focus to her hands in her lap. Her tote bag is is wrapped around her wrists, and she's rubbing the fabric between two fingers. The stitches on her hand aren't being pulled thankfully. Mark used a dissolvable monocryl as the cut is across her palm, so Meredith won't have to go back to the hospital to have the sutures removed. It looks as though they're already disappearing. She's a fast healer. 

"Meredith?" I ask again, when I can turn to look at her at the red stop light. 

I hate her bangs. They sweep to the sides and are grown out and long. They hang as curtains across her face, obscuring my attempts at reading her. Thankfully, when I call her name, she has the agency to tuck her hair behind her ears and look me dead in the eye.

"I've skipped breakfast every day this week." She blurts out, guilt written across her face. I'm utterly blindsided. 

We've been making her breakfast. I've seen her put granola bars in her bag before work. The perplexity reads in my eyebrows, and so Meredith reaches into the tote wrapped around her hands and pulls out 4 unopened granola bars, and one half eaten one.

"That was Monday's." She points to the open packet. 

"Oh Sweetheart." 

"No! Don't pity me!"

She's right. Eating disorders thrive on secrets, and she just took all the power away from her urges by telling me. She doesn't need pity. She's stronger than I give her credit for most days. I need to learn the difference between parenting and coddling. 

"Right. Well, thank you for telling me, that must've been hard. How do you feel now I know?" 

I'm hoping she continues to open up, especially since my eyes are back on the road, hopefully taking some of the intensity and pressure out of the conversation. 

"Like I should've kept my mouth shut." She mumbles.

"Fair enough." I validate. "I'm glad I know though. Did you tell that to Dr Garcia?"

"No she had.... other topics she wanted to discuss today." She shrugs.

"Would it be okay if I texted Amy and told her what you told me?" I ask, knowing that I'm bound to handle this from an outsiders perspective, and really Amelia is the only one who can relate to Meredith. 

"Don't call Amelia. She doesn't need that right now."

I guess it's kind of true. Amelia is very much on the edge right now. She has been since Meredith went missing....well, since Meredith attempted suicide really. The pair really are sisters, and they fight like sisters too. But Amelia is extremely attached to Meredith, never having a younger sister before, and I suppose I shouldn't overwhelm her with responsibility when she's back to staying with Arizona, after teetering on the edge of a drug relapse.