Asystole ✷ Mark Sloan

𝟬𝟯𝟱 oh, baby!

Meanwhile, Derek leant forwards, looking very interested in what we had to say.

"I leant Beth my car and she got in a fender bender with a fire hydrant."

Derek looked miffed. 

He stared at Eli, the owner of the Nissan Micra that I had, yes, unceremoniously crashed within moments of getting into the driver's seat. The way Eli had uttered those words, you would've thought that I'd murdered his unborn child— he looked at me with an unhinged madness in his eyes. 

I grimaced, fiddling with his car keys, the key fob spinning around my index finger.

My voice was extremely small. "I can explain-"

"No I can explain," Derek said briskly, his brow now furrowed as he caught sight of Eli's car keys in my hand. I shot him a tepid frown. "You can't fucking drive."

Another grimace. "Well," I muttered, looking down at my nails. "I mean there's that and-."

Eli made a sound that reminded me of an angry cat. "You told me you knew what you were doing."

His accusing little eyes followed me as I gently placed his car keys down onto the desk he was leaning against. 

I'd never been to the nurses' office, it was actually really nice— but I couldn't quite focus on my surroundings when Eli was just so angry. He had the sort of temper that would fill the room and suffocate you. It was so wild to see when he was usually so calm and composed— it reminded me of Mark.

"I told you Charlie was going to be giving me a driving lesson." Was my diplomatic reasoning to Eli's anger.

I had. I'd managed to find some time this past weekend to try and refine my driving skills (well, what little skills I had). Charlie had been up for it and Eli had given me his car keys on my promise that I'd take good care of his car. 

He really liked his car and was very, very protective over it. It was dear to his heart and he treated it like his firstborn child. He had proudly driven it since he first moved to Seattle. Meanwhile, the most I'd driven (successfully) was a gentle cruise around the Hamptons in Addison's old Camaro and that had been nearly 20 years ago.

"Yeah, driving," Eli seemed to have calmed down a little bit. "Not crashing."

"It came out of no where!" I insisted.

"Fire hydrants don't move." Derek said.

"Fine- It wasn't too bad, it was more of a scratch. Your car got off better— you should see the other guy." I huffed. "Bill me for the damages— Send me the bill, I'll pay for it to be fixed."

"Maybe you should actually invest that money into driving lessons," Eli commented sharply. I just scoffed, rolling my eyes.

"Is your driving permit even valid anymore?" Derek questioned, looking as though the thought had only just struck him. I didn't say anything as I, honestly, had no idea. He didn't like my lack of an answer. "Well, that's rather irresponsible—"

"Yeah, okay—" I cut him off with a bright, wide smile, hurrying to change the subject. The look on Derek's face told me this wasn't over. "I assume you wanted something, Derek?"

Eli mumbled something in the background about how I was hopeless. I chose to ignore him instead of starting another argument. It felt oddly childish, Eli glaring at me over the desk while Derek stood between us, hands on hips. 

It felt as though I was living the teenage fantasy I never had: a teenage who stole and scratched their parents car and was in the middle of being reprimanded.