Asystole ✷ Mark Sloan

𝟬𝟯𝟯 bad idea right?

𝙓𝙓𝙓𝙄𝙄𝙄.
BAD IDEA RIGHT?

──────

NEW YORK

AMELIA SHEPHERD HAD a drinking problem, it was pretty clear from the moment we'd arrived at the nightclub.

She'd ordered ahead and slammed drink after drink, leaving me in the dust as I nursed a rum and coke.

I was pretty sure she snorted something nondescript when I turned my head, and when I turned back to her, she was already onto cocktails. The bartender didn't look surprised: after all, she was a regular here.

Revolution was a low-budget nightclub in Chelsea, a little bit out of the way of the usual places I'd go for a drink with the acquaintances I'd made at Columbia.

It was dressed in dark colours and lacked basic hygiene. But that didn't stop Amy from idling across the bar and eventually dragging her face against the floor.

Every one knew her, she knew every one. I'd been invited by Amy into a world I didn't know for a night and paid the price in the form of blank stares and "and this is?".

Amy's idea of fun involved a lot of illegal things. I caught her doing things out of the corner of my eye. Doing deals she shouldn't have been.

My chest deflated as I realised how rocky this night would be.

Somehow I'd ended up, reeled in like a chaperone for a middle school dance, amongst an intoxicated crowd in a nightclub on a weekend. It was a dark crowd that seemed to move as one, tumbling me about as my chest tightened— fuck, how did Amy do this sort of stuff?

I felt like I was a little boat caught in a very stormy sea, really out of my depth and totally fucked. I'd had too many cocktails and I was just about sober enough to still know that I didn't like being here.

"You just have to keep going..."

Amy kept saying, appearing in my way if I made any move as if to leave. She seemed to materialise out of no where, her dark hair leaching out of the shadows with bloodshot eyes.

"We're celebrating- don't call it a night yet- the nights young—"

We were celebrating.

I'd just finished my first year of medical school and had a stretch of free time. It was now enraptured by the talons of a nightclub, my credit card held hostage behind the bar and my arm shackled in Amy's iron grasp as she came and went periodically.

"Celebrate!" Amy called from across the crowd, the sound echoed by her friends- a sea of faces I couldn't place names to.

I squinted around at them. I recognised a few of them from Addison's failed New Years party. Others I'd never even met. They all stared at me blankly, either too drunk to recognise me or too high to care— they all had the same plastic look to them.

Kind of like freshly packaged dolls, vacant but forced upright almost unnaturally. Between the bright lights and the lingering taste of apple liquor at the back of my throat, I felt completely submerged in a synthetic and intoxicating world.

My chest tightened.

I want out.

I'd never had panic attacks before, but there was always a first time for everything— as my chest heaved and I tried to force myself to stayed grounded, I tapped out a text to Derek, all while watching Amy out of the corner out of my eye.

I want out.

A minute later: On our way.

It took a lot to drag Amy, eventually, out of there.

I pressed my lips together, frowning as she staggered down the sidewalk, barely even able to keep herself upright. Her hands numbly fumbled against the wall of the nightclub we'd just exited, lips parting only to let out brief but crude swear words.

Ever so often, she'd sway as if she was about to faceplant the floor; I'd draw forwards as if tugged on a string, ready to catch her. She'd bat me away like an annoying insect.

"B-Beth."

I could barely even make out my name as she stopped all together, opting to collapse against the wall. The syllables were a slurred mess, barely more than a jumbled exhaled. Her pale face swung around to stare at me, gaunt and spotted with a rough night.

"We-We should go back inside."

I shook my head. "No way," I glanced over her, towards the road, catching sight of our taxi that was waiting for us at the curb. "We've got to go."

It'd been Derek's idea.

He'd urged me to go out for a Friday night, to follow Amy down whatever rabbit hole she fell down every weekend. He'd reasoned with me that it'd be a perfect celebration for the end of my first year; I'd been worked my ass off for months on end and hadn't had a night off in a long while. (Celebrate. Celebrate. Celebrate.)

But it wasn't graduation, hardly a reason for celebration. And there'd been an unsaid message too. Handle her, get her in a taxi before she wandered off into the dead of night, help me get her back into rehab.

We'd hatched a plan to get Amy back in the Hamptons by tomorrow— I was following through with my part and it was getting harder by the minute.

Oddly childlike, Amy grovelled against the wall, eyes rolling back into her skull as she let out the odd misshapen giggle amongst her moans. She was having a form of tantrum, limbs flailing as she slowly descended down the bricks.

I stopped beside her, letting out a long breath.

"Amy-"

A foot kicked out. A pair of unfocused eyes chased thousands of me across the alleyway.

"Ouch- fuck-" I swore, grasping my shin and staring at her, shocked. I was momentarily stunned, caught off-guard by Amy's moment of violence— she expectedly wobbled to her feet, readying herself to make a break for it— "Not on my watch—"

I've fucking had it.

I wrapped my arms tightly around her, gagging on the pungent smell of a woman whose really not had that great of a time. Amy floundered against my grasp, letting out a whine that was reminiscent of a toddler. Nails clawed weakly against my arm.

Remind me to never get a cat.

"Let me go—"

"No."

"-Beth-"

"No."

I began walking rapidly towards the curb, doing my best to drag Amy in the view of where I knew we'd be able to get help— I was a good ten staggers towards the taxi when the people occupying our taxi cab caught sight.

Within moments, the door was flung open and Derek was rapidly walking towards us.

Blearily, Amy's eyes fixed on me. "Motherfuc-"

"Beth, is she okay?"

Derek sounded out-of-breath, as if the short run from the taxi had been a marathon. I couldn't quite make out an answer, just a guttural grunt as Amy's arm bent to partially block my wind pipe in protest.

"You called my brother?!-"

My brief stint as a gym bunny (a career that began and ended in the last week of my college year to get some of those promised and scarce endorphins) seemed to pay off. I shoved Amy towards her brother and she actually fell to her knees, caught off-guard by my sudden release.

Derek dropped quickly after her, doing his best to cushion her fall. As he went down, I caught the eye of the person behind him—

Of course. I scoffed silently.

"Jesus," Mark slowed, having just exited the taxi after his best friend.

With a grim look on his face, he looked from me, down to the mess of Amelia Shepherd on the floor. Suddenly, I felt the cocktails- my eyes averted to the red lines on my arm, illuminated by the streetlamp overhead.

"Can you help me get her into the taxi, Mark?"

The two of them did their best to get her back to her feet, Amy blabbering incoherently on her way up. She stooped briefly to vomit across the floor— it caught Mark's right loafer and he bit back an expletive.

Slowly, I trailed behind them, feeling my head spin (I knew I shouldn't have had that third pornstar martini but Amy had been insistent). My adrenalin was gone by the end of the alleyway; I leant against the telephone pole at the end, breathing heavily.

I watched with wet eyes as they did stuffed her into the back of the cab. Ever so often, a rogue limb would flail, her victims including the back of Derek's head, Mark's chin and the back of the front passenger seat.

The driver let out a bark of warning which only caused Amy to retaliate as if it was some sort of challenge- she jeered drunkenly. I yawned tiredly.

"Fuck you!" Her words mixed together like a incoherent cocktail. "Derek you fucking douchebag- I'm going to kill yo-"

Mark shut the taxi door a little too enthusiastically, capturing the wild animal in the vehicle. She was too drunk to even think about using door handles.

After a few more minutes of shrieking and writhing, Amelia Shepherd admittedly defeat, or at least the alcohol and drugs did. I watched as she sunk down behind the car window, eyes closing slowly, wilting like a flower that was high on sunshine.

"I'm going to go with her back to her apartment and stay the night with her." Derek ran his hands tirelessly through his hair, face pale at the sight of the state his sister was in. I nodded numbly. His blue eyes collided with mine. "Thank you so much for everything-"

"Don't mention it."

Really. I thought. Don't even mention it.

I felt like an awful friend but it had to be done. Although I wasn't the closest and best friend Amy had, it still stung to know that I was part of some elaborate betrayal. It was for her own good. She was slowly spiralling out of control.

"Mark are you okay to call a cab-"

Mark nodded, setting his piercing eyes on my crumpled form, "Of course, we've got to get the second drunk home-"

I looked over at him, letting out a snicker that caused the corner of his mouth to twitch. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Derek give us both a grateful and nervous smile.

By the time I turned back around, Derek was gone and the taxi was already rolling away, solidifying Amy's fate for the next few weeks.

"Drunk?" I challenged, wrapping my arms around my shoulders as I realised how cold in really was in Chelsea tonight. A little breeze played with my hair as I teetered in ballet flats towards him.

He held up his hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

I squinted at him. "Did you say how many hands?"

He paused for a second, fixing me with a long look that almost looked exhausted. Then Mark's face cracked into a smile.

"Like I said, drunk."

***

There was something oddly cathartic about New York at night.

Sure, it was busy, the city never seemed to stop, even when it was supposed to. Three am was the sort of time where everything was supposed to be still, where lights were supposed to be dimmed, engines stopped and blinds rolled down to ward off the thought of the outside.

But New York persevered.

Despite my love for my sister's stomping grounds on the Upper East Side, I'd moved to the other side of the island, to the Upper West and in New York terms that was a lifetime away.

No one I knew rarely ever came to my area, something that had left me liberated but isolated. I had to explain where I lived to Mark amid a few sloppy hand gestures; he rolled his eyes at me and pulled me down into the subway, saying something about how I was no help.

Down underneath the city, things still hadn't slowed. We were jostled by people, some partygoers, some already up and ready for the new day that was on the verge of dawning.

Briefly, Mark had to take me by the hand just to make sure we weren't separated as we cleared the ticket barriers; I was practically dragged down towards the platform for the C line towards Euclid Ave.

He sat me down on a bench and peered up at the train times overhead.

Here, everything smelt industrial. The smell of the subway cars almost made me dizzy. Between the cocktails and fumes in the air, I felt like I was in some incoherent, dystopian world.

Every breath would make my head spin. I was almost abandoned on the bench as Mark checked the times- I watched him rub a hand over his face.

For a moment, I found myself fixated on his hands--- the same hands-- Get a grip Beth, now is not the time.

"I'm surprised you even know where Bloomingdale is." I mumbled, pressing my lips into a disjointed line and trying to swing my thoughts away from other things. Mark briefly glanced down at me, an eyebrow raised.

Mark didn't seem like the sort of guy to go many places. He lived in Midtown East, in a brownstone that I'd never visited.

Addison had briefly, she'd said it was nice, but Mark didn't strike me as the sort of guy who would go to the West Side when he lived on the East. I didn't really know much about him yet I was sure that he'd never go anywhere he didn't need to. Endlessly, he gave of the impression that everything he needed always came to him. Girls, jobs, opportunities. Mark Sloan had a certain magnetism that attracted them all.

"I've lived in Manhattan all my life." He said, matter-of-factly, and it dawned on me that I'd never really asked. "I'll be damned if I don't know every inch of this island off by heart."

"Oh," I said, realising I'm an asshole. "I've been here for nearly five years and I barely know any of it."

Manhattan was huge, bigger than my small hometown that was for sure. I'd grown up in a place where everyone knew each other, where you putting a toe out of line in another cul-de-sac, automatically triggered a phone call home from a wary housewife.

I'd lost count of how many people greeted me while I walked through Riverside. My high school had under a thousand students. My childhood church was only double that.

"It takes a while to figure your way around," Mark shrugged. "I remember I got lost in Central Park as a kid. I ended up by the Bethesda Fountain, strayed too far from the Bandshell. The poor kid that was hired to look after me must've shit themselves. But yeah, it's easy to get lost around here."

"I got lost in a Waldenbooks once." Mark chuckled at my slightly tortured tone as he sat beside me. "My Mom turned her back for five minutes and I was just gone— 5 years old and I'd hightailed it towards some brightly coloured shiny object. It was terrifying..." I broke off and looked towards Mark, gazing at the profile of his face as he clasped his hands out in front of him. "You must've been terrified."

He seemed to pause for a moment, as if he'd hadn't thought about that day in a long time. "I guess." He sounded hesitant, but then cleared his throat. "Everything seems terrifying when you're a kid."

I didn't say it but I was still terrified of a lot of things, even at 23 years old.

I had the funny feeling that a lot of people around here still looked at me as some sort of child. I was painfully younger than them, Mark especially who I was sure was nearing 30 at some point.

I didn't need to highlight something that had ostracised for most of my life by saying that I still scared of stupid things like grizzly bears and sewer rats.

Sat beside Mark on a subway platform, I felt oddly eclipsed by the universe. How as it that after everything, we kept getting put in these positions? Me drunk, at the front and centre, and Mark helping me home in the dead of night.

Not only that, but over the past few months he'd been popping up more and more in my life. I'd started volunteering at a clinic with Addison, a sister clinic to Archer's, one that specialised in neonatal care and midwifery.

For some reason, Mark popped up a lot, whether it was dropping off things, picking up work or just saying hi. He popped up when I went for dinner at Addison and Derek's, he appeared in the background when I phoned Derek for obscure and random reasons. After a few years of a Mark free life, I was suddenly being bombarded with him.I wasn't sure why I was even surprised he'd showed up to help Derek.

The problem with Mark showing up was that it'd make me think of Mark. One moment, I'd be sat at the dinner table gossiping about Upper East Side happenings, next I'd be remembering skin against skin and the hairs on the back of my neck would rise. I'd sweat and Addison would notice and ask if I needed the air con on. 

I'd catch Mark's eye across a room and a knowing would pass between us--

I shook those thoughts from my head.

"I'm getting the strongest sense of deja vu." I voiced the uncanny feeling and Mark turned towards me, a smile slowly blossoming.

"Hm?" He hummed. "I'm starting to think you're the one with the drinking problem, Montgomery."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm talking about this— you're forever a knight in shining armour, huh? Doesn't that get exhausting? Tell me, how much do you spend getting the suit of armour so, so shiny? Do you have a special armour guy or is it just like— "

Mark let out a bark of laughter, looking over towards the advertisement over the platform, it was a toothpaste commercial, a model with pearly whites leering at the two of us as the air rumbled with fumes.

I coughed out a lungful of dust all while Mark stewed over his response and cutting my last comment short.

"It's tailored."

"It's nice." I briefly ran an eye over what he was wearing. "Very shiny."

"Thanks?" He said and paused, "I think."

Humouring me, he followed my gaze. He was dressed nicer than I would've anticipated for Mark on a Friday night.

He was wearing slacks, a respectable looking shirt and (from what I could sense above the heavy gasoline smell) was wearing a lot of cologne, more than usual.

"All dolled up for your Friday night, hm?" For some reason, drunk me couldn't hold my head straight. It lolled on my shoulder, my dark eyes watching as Mark seemed to dull slightly. "Date night with Petunia?"

I'd heard rumours that they were still seeing each other. I wasn't sure to believe them. It was almost a test, that question- I watched him closely. He straightened in his seat, reaching up to loosen his collar.

This station was always hot, the flush of heat travelling through the tunnels causing his face and skin to flush.

"Something like that."

I wondered whether he'd come straight from Petunia Vanderbilt to Chelsea. I wondered whether Derek had phoned up as some sort of emergency call, begging him to leave some romantic candlelit dinner with his (insert whatever Petunia was to him as I was pretty sure that Mark didn't do relationships) to come help him out with the Amy situation.

I wondered whether Mark had told Petunia what he had to do or whether he'd just parted with a kiss on her cheek and promised a rain check, feigning a page to the ER—

I forced myself to stop thinking.

Compared to Petunia, I bet I looked rough. She was this refined thirty-something who dressed in Dior on her worst days, a 90's ode to Audrey Hepburn with her soft features and dark bottomless eyes.

I could imagine her looking good in candlelight. She'd dress similarly to Addie, pencil skirt, crisp blouse and some Louboutins.

Meanwhile, I was sat here, sweating profusely in a sequin short dress that was very obviously Amy's and not mine. I'd been uncomfortable until I'd been tipsy enough not to care. I wrapped my arms around my chest, hands clasping to my elbows.

I was pretty sure I'd seen Kate Moss in the same dress on the cover of some magazine but I definitely didn't feel like Kate Moss. She'd been candid and composed. I had sweat drenching my body like a thin film or even a second skin.

Again, Beth, stop.

"I told Petunia I can't see her any more."

Mark spoke after what felt like a long time. My reaction to his words was a journey: at first, I felt surprised.

They were together? That rumour was true? And now they weren't?

Mark didn't look at me, just rolled his shoulders looking up at the timecard. Apparently, our train was delayed by three minutes.

"I'm sorry to hear that?"

My words curved up at the end and I squinted over at Mark, trying to gauge his mood. He looked over at me, brow furrowed and lips pressed together tightly. For a moment, I was sure that I'd said something wrong— but then Mark's lip quirked upwards.

"Are you really?"

He sounded as if he didn't believe me. I didn't believe me either.

I held his gaze for a while before I shook my head, returning Mark's blasé smile.

"No, not really."

He didn't look too sad.

"Your girlfriend is a bitch." I added, because drunk me never knew when to shut the fuck up.

Mark looked perplexed. "She wasn't my girlfriend."

I called it.

"Right," I nodded my head, bopping it a few times like a fairground ride bouncing up and down a track. "Because you don't have girlfriends."

His face shifted. Something unspoken seemed to pass across his mind, something that caused his eyes to grow calculated.

He licked his lips, attention diverted as the rattle of the track filled the whole platform. He got to his feet, pulling on my arm to get me to move forwards. I followed, stumbling slightly as the train came skittering into view.

We boarded the subway car, with me staring blindly around at my surroundings and Mark tugging me softly towards a seat. He was gentle, placing me beside a bar so I could lean against it.

I gazed over at Mark as he took a few moments to wander around the subway car, looking around at the faded commercials and bright unforgiving overhead lights.

"I haven't been down here in years." Mark commented thoughtfully.

I wasn't sure whether he wanted to change the subject or whether he just wanted to voice his train of thought. By here, I knew he meant down in the subway. I just watched him walk around, body curling in on itself and limbs heavy.

He trekked up and down the carriage. Despite the chaos at the station, this carriage was mostly empty, aside from a teenager sat at the far end, dozing with headphones on against the window.

Mark appeared barely fazed by the hefty speed that the train picked up as we travelled uptown.

"You probably don't need to now, right?" He didn't look back as my voice lightly rung out above the screech of the carriage wheels. "You must be the only person I know whose dumb enough to drive in Manhattan."

That was the truth. Derek like taxis. Addison was partial to walking most places and taking taxis if the number of blocks went deep into double figures.

Amy, well, I don't think Amy was ever sober enough to drive when she needed to drive. My roommate in Bloomingdale cycled mostly.

My list of significant acquaintances and friends shortly stopped there.

"I don't mind the traffic." Mark shrugged, turning back to me and giving me a stellar smile. It was the sort of smile that almost blinded me. I squinted back. "Having unconventional working hours means that most days I skip out on rush hour."

"Every hour is rush hour."

He just rolled his eyes.

"I can tell you're not a New Yorker." He finally came to a stop in front of me, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against a handrail opposite mine. I tilted my head to the side, narrowing my eyes at his light but accusing tone. "You can't tell the difference between rush hour and normal hour."

"Well, I'm sorry we didn't have much traffic in suburbia," I leant my elbow against the glass behind me, swivelling around to stare at him and rest my head against a clammy palm. "The most traffic I've ever seen in Riverside, Connecticut was the one day a week there'd be a farmers market on the Main Street. Every Friday the whole town would want to go places all at once."

"It's not only that," Mark said dismissively. "It's crazy how different people from out of town are to the rest of us. Addison's more obvious than you are, though."

"Really?"

I found this oddly fascinating. Had I spent the last five years with 'CONNECTICUT' written across my face in big neon letters like some roadside 50s diner?

Or maybe there was a sort of smell about me, one that screamed suburbia? What was it: Appletinis? Loneliness? The smell of a different perfume on a married man's lapel?

"That first night that I met you," he began, leaning towards me. "At the opening of Archer's clinic, the party- I could've been able to tell that you weren't native New Yorkers from the cheeseboard."

"The cheeseboard?" I repeated dubiously, thinking back to that night.

I'd spent two days scurrying around Manhattan for a selection of cheeses that Addison was satisfied with. How the fuck could that be used to tell where we grew up?

"Yeah," Mark said, seeming to feed from my disbelief. "The giveaway was the labels- you had cheeses from all over the city. Murrary's, Vinter Wine Market, Beecher's, Di Palo's— it was a mess."

I just blinked at him.

"A true New Yorker grew up with a local delicatessen," Mark shrugged, "whether it's a small shop or internationally renowned. I grew up in the Upper East Side- there was this amazing Italian delicatessen in East Harlem. My Mom would buy everything from there and I still do."

I stared over at him, watching as he smoothly moved around with the curves and jumps of the train track. He was frustratingly graceful. I pressed my lips together. We'd stopped multiple times already in our journey up towards Bloomingdale, but he had barely even been jostled by it.

"It all comes down to cheese." I stated slowly, the words feeling weird to say out loud.

"Doesn't everything?" He joked.

"My Mom bought everything from a supermarket." I stated dispassionately. "There was one right next door to that Waldenbooks. I can't be bothered to remember the name of it— but she'd buy everything. She was deathly loyal to that fucking place."

"No wonder you're so miserable." Mark joked again and I couldn't help but break a smile.

"That amongst other reasons." My smile faded as quickly as it'd come along.

Mark seemed to sense a shift in the atmosphere so he cleared his throat.

"But— I used to love going around on different lines." He looked around the carriage once again, leaving me to follow his lead. We hadn't gained any people on the last few stops, only lost the sleepy commuter. "I'd spend hours as a kid just jumping across the quieter lines, sometimes actually getting off— I just don't find the time to do things like this anymore."

I couldn't quite relate. I'd spent a good proportion of my childhood following my siblings around like a lost spirit. Mark sounded as though he'd been a very independent kid. I'd literally been anything but independent.

My mother had been over-bearing and Addison and Archer had carried the weight of it.

"That sounds interesting." Was my soft reply.

Mark's nose wrinkled. "You don't want to hear about this sort of stuff, do you?"

"No," I insisted. "I find it interesting— our lives are so different."

I'd long ago gotten the impression that Mark didn't like to talk about his childhood. Even though, after sex, he liked to talk a storm, he liked to rattle on until it was the sort of sound you could fall asleep to.

He'd never touched on his childhood, he'd never mentioned anything at all. Derek had once ghosted over a few things but then grimaced at the thought of it. They'd been friends for so long, Derek had said, they shared a lot of our childhood, but not all of it.

But for some reason, Mark was very talkative tonight.

"Really?" He quirked an eyebrow. "Other than suburbia, obviously."

"The first time I went on a train was coming to New York for a talk at Brown when I was sixteen." Mark seemed to listen to my words closely, looking very intrigued by what I was saying. "It was a school trip to some future of STEM lecture where they brought in all of the science students around the state and a few boarding schools in Connecticut-"

"I remember those talks," Mark said, squinting at the ceiling as if he was fighting to remember something that wouldn't have been longer than ten years ago. "I did my undergraduate at Brown- we used to get extra credit to assist some of the talks. I used to spend hours flirting with the chaperones at the events."

I grimaced at the picture in my mind; Mark flirting with my elderly biology teacher, a bird-like woman who had dressed like she was in a Lisa Frank commercial.

I'd never liked my biology teacher so I could've never pinned my thirst for medicine on her. It'd been those annual talks until I'd arrived at Brown for my first term, that had really ignited my motivation.

It was at this point that the intercom voice announced 103rd street, the station I'd previously departed from yesterday evening.

Mark disembarked, stopping a few times to check that I was still with him. It was less busy uptown, with the station only holding a few remnants of the busy rush hour it'd been when I'd left.

This time, Mark didn't hold my hand, but rather just shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

"I hope Amy's okay." I muttered numbly, trying to split my attention into different sections.

I had to simultaneously make sure I was aware of where Mark was, remember my way back home and force myself to continue putting one foot in front of another.

"She won't be okay until she gets help." Mark said quietly, letting me take the lead as we finally made it to the land of the living.

I inhaled a lung full of (marginally) less polluted air and let my arms drop limply to my side.

"I feel terrible," I admitted.

I felt like I'd betrayed Amy by helping Derek— he was continuously frustrated over the fact that she evaded help and Amy was continuously enraged by the fact that Derek continued to help her.

For me, it was a lose-lose situation.

If I helped Amy gain some space, it'd cost me Derek's trust. But now that I'd helped Derek corner Amy, I'd lost Amy's trust.

Of course, I wasn't close to Amy by any means, but as mentioned before, the amount of people I knew in New York was a very limited number.

Every friend or acquaintance counted. I could count people I could count on just on one hand.

"She hated Derek for sending her away last year," I was quiet and thoughtful, the alcohol fuelling the sad part of my brain. "Last summer- when Derek tricked her into that Hamptons rehab, she's still not over it..."

My eyes were starting to tear up with drunk tears and Mark could sense it in my voice. We were only a block away from my apartment now, I could see the streetlamp outside my building.

But Mark made me stop, her stood in front of me and held my arms. I stared up at him, blinking furiously.

"Derek is the ultimate knight in shining armour."

His words were clear and thought out. He squeezed his fingers into my arm as if to keep me focused on his voice. I was definitely a distracted drunk.

"He's noble and will always do what's right, sometimes at fault, y'know?" Mark sighed, "that comes at the expense of things. Friends, family- but Amy needs someone to help her. You did good, Little Montgomery."

"I wish it felt good." I mumbled back. The alcohol had made me feel good but now I felt like shit.

"Alcoholism is a big problem. It'll do her some good."

"I know." I said because I did. I'd watched my dad go through it and now Amy.

The rest of our walk to my apartment was done in silence. Mark walked beside me, occasionally looking around at the buildings we passed. This area of the city was dominated by student apartments as we neared Columbia.

I was at the very north of Bloomingdale to the point that it was almost not— here, rent wasn't as extortionate as my undergrad rent had been on the upper-east side, but it was still steep. By the streetlamp, Mark gazed up at my building, a familiar brownstone that had been chopped up like something out of Breakfast at Tiffany's.

I looked over at him, a devilishly handsome man eclipsed by the warm glow of the lamp overhead. He met my eye, the blue colour glowing brighter than the moon as it sheltered behind plane trails.

"Walk me up?"

He hesitated but then, as if giving in, eventually nodded.

***

There's something about being in such a big city that changes you.

In a small town like Riverside, you were constantly bombarded with people. Whether it's the Friday farmers market or just a wander into your front garden, you're constantly seeing people you know. A small town is exactly as it sounds: small, intimate, almost deafeningly so.

But New York is big. Vast. There's more people in a yard than there was in a mile back home.

Here, people kept to themselves, their heads were down, eyes were adverted. There's more people but more space— as I'd said many times, my apartment in the Upper West Side was a lifetime away from the Upper East. Space like that changed the way you feel.

Space like that makes you lonely.

I'd said decided mentally to take Amy up on her offer for clubbing before Derek had phoned. I'd wanted the human contact, even if it was in my idea of hell.

For me, helping Derek had been the perfect way to justify something that was out of character alongside being the perfect get out of jail free card.

Text me when you're ready. Derek had said.

For me, that had translated to, text me when you want to leave.

I'd forgotten the last party I'd gone attended I hadn't exactly gone to college and medical school for the social life. I figured it must've been New Years Eve or the restaurant party that I'd had for my birthday. But now it was nearly August and I spent all of my days at home watching the world go by.

No matter how many dates I went on, too, I'd never been able to have a genuinely amazing time. Conversations were hard to bare. Sex was mediocre at best. I was slowly dwindling into a social fatality.

"This is me." I stopped outside my apartment door and swung around to gaze at Mark. It was bizarre to see him in the corridor, weird to factor him into my life on this side of the city. I gave him a gentle smile. "Thank you. For getting me home."

"It's no problem."

I believed him.

"Do you have work tomorrow?" I asked, realising how late it was.

Despite the fact that I could see the sun rising on the horizon through the window, Mark didn't look tired. It dawned on me that I didn't feel the hour either.

"Not early." He smiled in reply.

I nodded thoughtfully.

"I meant it before— what I said about Petunia. I'm sorry that you had to call it quits." I didn't know why drunk me felt the need to make things difficult, but I did. The words left my mouth like a second nature. The look that Mark gave me was very clear doubt. "I mean- I kinda mean it. She's still a bitch."

"A real bitch." Mark agreed, nodding solemnly, but he couldn't quite keep a straight face. "But as I said before— we weren't together."

I felt like that was a pitfall for Mark Sloan. I wondered whether that was something that pained Petunia Vanderbilt; Addison had spoken at large about how taken Petunia was with him.

How Petunia had told anyone who would listen to her that she was dating this young, hot plastic surgeon who could get her off at night and give her a boob job in the morning. But he'd never be exclusive. I'd learnt that first hand.

I sighed at the thought of how dumb the New York dating scene was.

"She was just there for-"

"When you feel lonely." I finished for him, before realising that I was outwardly projecting my problems onto him.

Mark fell silent and I froze with my keys in the door. I hadn't told anyone about how shitty of a time I was having socially.

The only person who had any idea what I was going through was my roommate, who was far more interested in her own life than mine. By the time my door was open I already regretted ever drinking alcohol. I heaved a sigh, watching it swing open in front of me.

"I'm sorry- I didn't mean to-"

I turned around to face him despite everything in me telling me just to bury myself underneath my duvet and never leave.

"It's okay." Mark said softly. I laughed at myself, shaking my head at how dumb I am. "It's been a long week."

"It has..." I trailed off.

Have his eyes always been this so fucking blue?

"Beth-"

I wasn't listening.

"I'm lonely." I said suddenly, purely alcohol speaking. I drunk enough to make say stupid things but not to make stupid decisions.

My brain kicked me for saying something so dumb, but still was held in suspense for what was to come.

Again, those tell-tale scenes flashed across my head: lips against my neck, hands in places, my legs wrapped around his neck.

A burn appeared at the bottom of my stomach. I was hungry for human contact, I was hungry for intimacy.

"Okay." His words were slow, hesitant.

He didn't quite know what I was implying and neither did I until my mouth kept moving.

"And my roommate is gone. My whole apartment is empty-" She'd left for Santorini last week without even telling me where she was really going. He caught on-- Mark stared at me with clandestine eyes- those fucking blue eyes. "So-"

"Beth, it's not a good idea-"

"Shut up." I said, taking a few steps forwards and cutting him off. Those eyes widened and his eyebrows raised. There was something about the way that I seemed to enforce this situation that he liked- a slow intrigue bloomed in his eyes. "Before you talk about how I'm drunk- I'm not as drunk as you think I am-"

He looked doubtful; like earlier, he held up three fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three, dumbass."

"Oh, you're sober now, huh?"

I'd found pretty early on that I had a fast metabolism; alcohol seemed to burn through me pretty quickly, hence why I had to drink a lot if I really wanted to go deep with it.

There was a sense of fear in Mark's eyes as he realised I'd probably remember our conversations.

"Don't worry, I won't relay Derek's knight-in-armour comparison onwards." He let out a breathy laugh. I was close enough to feel it on my face. We kind of drew towards people— that aforementioned magnetism drew me in like a bug into a Venus fly trap. I was close enough to smell the scotch on his breath. "Oh- you want to talk about being sober?"

"I had a drink with Derek." He said, his voice quiet because of our intimacy. I was literally centimetres from him, staring up at him with a smirk playing at the corner of my mouth. "Just one drink."

"How many fingers am I holding up?" I asked jokingly, and Mark scoffed.

My eyebrows raised as he swiped at me, pushing my hand away as I went to raise it— his fingers interlocked with mine, lacing them with the same softness that he'd had on the train.

I like one drink Mark, I thought.

"Are you going to say no?" I asked, gently almost against Mark's lips.

We were slowly drifting into my apartment. He was distracted, staring down at me, his hand straying to my waist. I walked backwards, pausing to flick up the light switch.

"Hmm?"

I had a feeling he was going non-verbal. Suddenly, being in such a short dress wasn't so bad anymore. I felt empowered; Mark's thumb played with the hem, brushing my outer thigh.

His gaze was harsh, scalding— he didn't even flinch as I closed my apartment door, nearly catching him as I leant around him. My naked collar bone brushed against his shoulder.

When I briefly closed my eye those same pictures ran rampant. They were sort of pictures I'd play on my dates if the guy's game just wasn't cutting it, when they'd left me so desolate after they'd finished and ended the sex part because that was all they needed. They were the sort of pictures that Mark had left with me like a promise:

"Oh- Little Montgomery," I sighed at the pet name but looked over at him nevertheless. He had a wicked grin on his lips and he spoke rather loudly as he pitched forth his next sentence. "If you ever get bored and need something to help you ease up a bit—you know my number."

I pressed my lips against his ear as I pulled back.

"If I asked you to fuck me, would you say no?"

The moment those brazen words left my lips I became paranoid.

My self confidence plummeted-- what if the years that had passed were too long? What if the offer was no longer on the table? What if he'd taken my rejection with him and vowed to never sleep with me again-- I didn't want to labour on that too long.

It took a glance at him for my fire to return and my sexuality to sky rocket.

He made a sound at the back of his throat and I wasn't sure whether it was entirely human. His breath caught and he stiffen against my touch.

When I looked back at him through my eyelashes, he was tense, as if torn. Here I was, a bit more intoxicated than he was, literally waiting for him to follow through on his offer that he'd made years ago.

I played with my bottom lip, pressing my hands on my hips. "Well?"

I'd literally never felt so hot. There was something about him, stood there as if in pain, watching me as I cocked my head to the side, inviting and innocent.

The last three years of dates had nothing on this feeling-- the thrill of provoking a reaction so carnal from a man who was now having a debate with the devil and angel on his shoulders.

"This isn't a good idea." Mark warned me, but his body betrayed him.

I gave him a long, brilliant smirk as he took a few wanton steps towards me. I met him in the middle, pressing my body to his and throwing my arms around his neck.

"It's a bad, bad idea." I said breathily against his jaw. "It's a terrible, terrible idea."

"A pretty bad idea." He repeated. "You're drunk."

"So are you," I pressed an open kiss against the side of his neck. "But at this point- I'm pretty sober-"

"You swear?"

I leant back, smiling at his apprehension. He looked pretty serious about it. I nodded. "Scouts honour."

"I'm sober too." He said it softly, gently stooping to press his lips to my collar bone— the feeling set my body on fire; I found myself gravitating towards it.

This. This was what my mind was woven from: stolen touches, the feeling of--

Magnetism.

A lazy smile and laugh accompanied the groan at the back of my throat. The strap of my dress slipped down my shoulder and Mark swore to himself when he realised I wasn't wearing a bra.

I took a few steps backwards, leading him towards the couch in the centre of my studio apartment.

With a sudden movement that almost felt natural, I was sliding off my dress and pressing myself against him, stark naked in the glow of my Bloomingdale apartment. There was a moment in between the seconds in which I let my hand stray downwards, in which Mark mumbled something. I almost missed it, but it rang in my ears.

"Derek's 'gonna kill me."

It was almost childlike for a moment; almost like a child fearful of being reprimanded by it's parent. I stalled for a second, drawing back and looking at him with round, tortured eyes.

In that moment I recognised something raw within us-- there was something vulnerable and careful about the two of us. Something left behind by the people that we care about.

It's okay, I wanted to say. It's okay.

I wasn't sure what it was. But it was okay.

"Fuck it," I said a kiss acting as punctuation.

The curt and violent phrase cut short the tender moment but my kiss was heated and heart-felt. Mark groaned into it, his hands roaming down my body and the snap of his belt buckle reverbed across the apartment. It was the first time we'd kissed in three years and it felt electric.

His hands gently pushed me back onto the couch and his head began its journey down my torso. He pressed kisses all the way across the valley between my breasts, down the stretch of my stomach and even closer.

My legs found their perch around his neck-- the silence was cut with the sound on my muscles scrunching and my jaw unhinging as I experienced one of the closest things to heaven my atheist ass was probably ever going to get--

But even as Mark gave me his little grin from between my legs, all I could think about was that I wouldn't be lonely for however long this would last.

It wouldn't be forever but at least for a little while.