pov: amelia
I thought I was invincible but all it took was her words: "You are not my sister. Cristina is my sister, you are Derek's sister and Derek is gone." It shouldn't have hurt me as much as it did I mean, Meredith was there for me more-so than any of my blood-related sisters these days and more than even Addison after Derek died. But there was something about her words and the harshness behind them that made me feel powerless and alone.
I had no one on my side. But I lashed out and I hurt her just the same. She'd probably be able to get over it. "The widow Grey, she's okay". She's stronger than I am, stronger than I ever was. Not having anyone around to make me feel loved or appreciated made it that much easier to just want to give up and to throw away everything I have worked for these past four years.
Four years of sobriety and of being the mother of the dead, brainless baby and four years of being reminded of the dead, drug addict man who was my first love. All that and somehow I managed not to kill myself with the drugs and the self pity and wallowing in my endless pit of darkness. But this new life I worked to build was never fully constructed; the walls were always caving in. Derek's death was the fucking wrecking ball breaking everything down and forcing me to clean it up and rebuild from scratch, yet again.
I thought I was okay, I thought I was secure; I was living this life and living with his wife.
He loved her for a reason.
Why was it so hard for me to see past her harsh words, so much so, that I couldn't even bear the thought of what Derek would actually think of this all? "He would be sick if he could see it, he would be disgusted". I helped tear down my own walls this time. I'm just the wrong Shepherd. Always the wrong Shepherd. I'm the wrong Shepherd to Meredith; she wants Derek, not me. She'd give anything to have him back and not have me around haunting her with the resemblance of her deceased true love. But nothing can change the past.
All there is to do now is finally break, because that's all I can think to do next after her words and Owen's words tore into me as deep as they did. I have not felt this unwanted in years, but it isn't the first time. I don't even care anymore.
I walked myself over to Joe's; leaving my car parked in the hospital lot thinking I can just get it some other time. As soon as I opened the bar door and heard the bell above the door jingle acutely, almost tauntingly, I knew it was all in my addiction's hands from here, I was just in the backseat, witnessing my own destruction now.
At least I saw a familiar face. Not a friend, but a colleague. Maybe if I pass out drunk, I could trust that he'd help me out. I didn't think one of the first things he'd say to me was if he could buy me a drink. I guess no one filled Dr. Riggs in on all of the information about the addict doctor that is me, but I don't blame him. A smart, attractive guy in a bar buying a drink for a woman all alone like myself, not unusual, nothing out of the ordinary to him. So I take the drink.
Vodka tonic. Just like old times, baby. I could do this. As soon as the glass is set down in front of me with the transparent, devilish liquid inside, I get nervous. I have second thoughts, but then her words come back to me, and so do his. Owen is the last person I ever wanted to piss off and the only person I want on my side, but he's had it with me. He doesn't want me. Not now, maybe never.
All the negativity deafening in my mind, I can't take it, and so I take a sip, without even thinking about it. Feeling the soft flame of the alcohol slide down my throat and burn through my nostrils as I exhaled after that first swig, I remembered what I was missing. It felt good; I don't know how I ever thought it could be bad.
After my fourth glass I started telling Riggs how vodka tonic was always my favorite. I was really going on and on about my liquid drug of choice like it was an old lover. I barely acknowledged him when he paid for the drinks and said he'd be heading home for the night and to enjoy myself, I must've smiled or said thanks or something but I don't remember that itty-bitty detail. He wasn't really on my mind. He was just my supplier for the night.
It might have been the drinking but I heard a voice in my head say, "you're gonna get bad again, Amelia. You're not being smart," and I could not care less. My conscience couldn't help me now. I didn't want help.
Next thing I know I'm waking up. I feel a soft grip on my shoulder shaking me ever-so-annoyingly as everything was loud and bright and annoying, she was annoying me. I wanted to yell "what do you want!?" but before I could even get the words out or even look her in the eye... Vomit. It poured out of my mouth, reminding me why I dumped vodka tonic in the past, a terrible lover. The worst. The taste stronger coming up than when it went down. I guess I can't hold my liquor as well as I used to.
I couldn't stop, but she was quick. She got the bartender to hand her a plastic bag used to wrap normal customers takeout for me to continue retching into. I felt her hand on my shoulder again, not shaking me this time, but patting me and rubbing me and I heard her say something like "it's okay" or "you're fine" but I couldn't really tell over my gags. I finished throwing up, luckily it was way later than when I got here and the bar was fairly empty, no one to witness my lowest point of the evening. Well, except her. Maybe she wouldn't tell anyone about this, which would be the last thing I needed.
Still somewhat drunk, I worked up the courage to look her in the eyes now. Blue eyes, but not just an average blue that you would ever forget, blue enough to make you feel something. Or maybe that was just my drunk mind getting lost in the color for too long.
She took the puke-filled bag and dumped it in the trash next to the bar entrance and returned back to me with a worried look on her face. Her silky voice pierced through the bar's old time rock 'n' roll jams playing from the jukebox. "Are you alright? Do you need me to get you home?"
I looked at her and laughed, rocking forward because my gut started to hurt from how hard I was laughing, and from the puking, of course. Home. Where was my home? She looked at me, confused but sympathetic because she must have felt bad over how erratic I looked in that moment. "You can take me to your place," I said suggestively, trying my hardest not to seem too pathetic. "My home... doesn't really exist. My home isn't welcoming to me... it's not my home. I don't have a home right now. She fuckin' kicked me out!" I broke out laughing again; stumbling off of the stool I was sitting at, barely able to stand up on my own now from the drunkenness and the laughter.
She caught me, wrapped her left arm around my waist, holding me up so my legs wouldn't give out under me. "Fine, you can come home with me. We can talk when you're sober," she seemed angry now. Pissing people off seemed to be my best suit, my overall talent. She lead me to the parking lot and opened her silver, passenger side door for me and helped me in, closing the door for me once I was seated. She walked around the front of the car and then hopped into the driver's seat right next to me. Only now did I notice how dark and empty the parking lot and the streets were. I looked at the time, 4:27 a.m.; she must be exhausted if she just got off work at this hour.
"Arizona?" I said, tentatively, trying not to piss her off even more than I already have in the last ten minutes for being a dumb drunk, puking and then laughing like a total head case. She faced me, eyebrows furrowed, still looking at me with pity in her alluring eyes. "What is it?" she questioned, I took a deep breath, still feeling the intoxicant bile at the back of my throat and said, "I'm sorry... that you have to babysit me like this. I was fine all on my own. You probably just wanted to get some food or a drink to unwind after your shift or whatever and I had a bad night or bad... I don't know... and I wanted to take it out on myself."
I genuinely began to feel bad that Arizona had to put up with me for the next I-don't-know-how-long. "Amelia, I know you're an addict. I know that this kind of thing can be out of your hands sometimes, but I almost feel disappointed in you."
At that moment I sunk down into my seat and placed my elbow on the arm rest to my left so I could rest my chin on the heel of my hand and also be able to focus more on Arizona's blue eyes and what she was saying to me without my head swaying back and forth, but I was still piss drunk and all I can think about is going to bed.
"I wish you hadn't relapsed, Amelia. We're not close, but I know your sobriety was something you worked hard at. If something was wrong, I wish you would've gone to Richard or Maggie or even me, I'm open to listening and helping you. The point is, even though you must have felt alone tonight, you didn't have to be alone."
She had a point. "I understand, but Arizona... my mind isn't... I'm not as in control as I'd like to be. Ever. But I know. I fucked up, it's on me. Maybe I can get past this. But please, lecture me some other time... I probably won't even remember this later. And thank you for offering to be there for me, you're an exceptional person, better person than any other asshole in my life right now. You, my dear, are a gem. Thank you, thank you, now please bring me somewhere to sleep because I will pass out in your car... and you'll never be able to drag me out. You'll have to leave me in here with the windows cracked like those mothers who are too lazy or crazy to take their kids into the stores with them." I started laughing again, obnoxiously, but it was funny-I mean, I guess it was. Arizona looked at me, not laughing but smirking just enough for me to know she wasn't angry anymore. "Oh, Amelia. What am I gonna do with you?" I looked at her, with a dopey smile on my face, glad to know I finally had someone by my side.