Asystole ✷ Mark Sloan

𝟬𝟭𝟵 seven forty-five

There was something completely stupefying about doing the walk of shame from out of your own apartment that hadn't quite stuck with me until I'd been legging it out of there.

I supposed that I could go to Addison and Derek's, but they would just ask questions and that was something I didn't need nor want. There was Calum—but he had a girlfriend now, that would have been awkward—and there was Amelia, Derek's sister. 

But, I barely knew her and Derek had made some clear signs that he didn't want us to mingle (she was an apparent bad influence) so, rather obediently I'd kept my distance.

That just left one person.

"Beth!"

The one person I was running from.

I swore under my breath, rather stuck in the situation. He seemed to be hurrying towards me, causing me to fixate around on the spot. For some completely stupid and completely pointless reason, I was searching for what seemed to be a last-minute-hiding-spot, flailing my heels around so abruptly that I actually happened to whack Mark Sloan across the face with them as I panicked.

"Fuck!"

My eyes widened as I turned to face him, watching as he grabbed his jaw and his muscles clenched with the sudden pain of my heels- PRADA, nice make, they'd been a wedding gift that Addison hadn't been able to fit into- smacking against bone. 

Instantly, I was wracked with guilt, horror filling me as I watched the plastic surgeon inhale sharply.

"I am so sorry—" I trailed off wordlessly, realising that within my stupor and Beth-Montgomery-Sweet-Heart-I-Won't-Hurt-A-Fly moment, he'd gotten me right where he wanted. 

For a split second, I thought he'd be upset or angry or something that you'd expect a man you'd practically (but accidentally) assaulted to be.

Instead, he chuckled, drawing back his hand and looking at me with an amused light in his eyes.

"That's one hell of a swing you've got there, Montgomery." He commented wryly, causing my face to fall into a look of a complete daze. Numbly, I raised an eyebrow as he rubbed it and shrugged nonchalantly. His eyes flickered from my ashen features to the heels that swung limply at my side. "Huh, they were right after all—the devil really does wear PRADA."

I stared at him for a long, pregnant moment, not quite processing his little witty one-liner. He looked exactly as I'd left him, but this time with clothing (I wasn't exactly sure of my feelings about that at the time but it wasn't far from disappointment mixed with relief). 

His hair was still tousled, lips still slightly swollen and there was an unnatural sheen to his skin that I was sure matched my own—his eyes also happened to burn a hole straight through me as he stared back.

He seemed so concentrated on staring me down that I decided to try and bolt again.

"Not so fast."

Mark caught me as soon as a single muscle twitched. His stupid buff arms shot out faster than I was able to process and clamped me down to my spot, causing a frustrated yell to escape my lips. 

I fought a bit, had a bit of a childish moment, banging on his arms and attempting to throw my body weight in any given direction. But stupid Mark and his stupid premium gym membership didn't want to budge.

"Mark- I swear to god- if you don't let me go-"

"You'll do what, Little Montgomery?" Mark asked humorously, his eyebrows wiggled as I blatantly gave up the fight and allowed him to just prop me up like some sort of crappy cardboard cut-out. "You'll hit me with your shoes?"