Happy

"Drugs end all dream"

Life was like a funhouse mirror at times, all distorted and wrong but delightfully fun. Because as it turns out, in order to feel less guilty, one ought to take more drugs. It was the only way. And the more she took them - yes, the more shittier she felt, but also, the less guilt ate her up whenever she looked at Derek.

Addison had spent every single night of the last two weeks out, drinking, dancing, snorting lines of varying substances off of strangers who were just as fucked up as her at the time and coming up with excuses as to why she couldn't see her fiancé.

I've still got a lot of things to do. Can't come over tonight. Goodnight, Honey.

No, don't come over. Dr. Stabler let me stay for the Lieberman case. I know I miss you too.

Savvy came over. Yeah, she's staying the night. We will. You know it. I love you too.

She tried her damn best to be such a mess so she wouldn't think about Derek at all anymore, which seemed nonsensical to a layperson, but the pain she felt was deep and overwhelming. The guilt she felt wasn't even numbing the pain to a bearable level that she could withstand and that always always led her right to Dean's doorstep every night.

That was when she saw the problem - actually, she realised she was the problem.

Why was she always so inclined to sabotage all the good in her life?

And so, she decided.

At first, it was just good sense. To stop all that she was doing because it was the right thing to do. Also, Coke was going to ruin her relationship with Derek and Coke didn't care who gets hurt in the process.

Because they've been tiptoeing around each other for the past week and a half. Something so trivial and minute could somehow turn into a full blown argument about nothing and everything in between. She even, once or twice, got physical with him (it was the drugs, not her) and he always stormed out so he wouldn't get physical with her.

It was not right, she knew that. It was what it had become. But if he were to call her, she'd come running and if she ever called, she knew Derek wouldn't hesitate to be at her side without a single thought to ignoring her.

But this, it was just pure determination to prove to Dean that she could stop, that she didn't have a problem. She could stay sober even if she didn't want to or need to. She hadn't been sober since she started, which was over five months ago, now.

"I'm fine. It's not a problem. I can stop anytime I want." her voice had been a bit monotone as she spoke out the clichés, not bothering to even try and fool herself.

"Then, stop." he challenged.

"Fine. I will. And I'll prove to you that it's not a problem for me. Not like it is for you."

Since she'd been going out a lot lately, she hadn't been showing up at the hospital and to the point where Derek got wind of it and he came banging on her door one day when she was so terribly high off both weed and Coke.

While she had seen Dean prepare it this way plenty of times before, it had been her first. Smoking Coke was not something she had given much thought before since it had too much added steps, and frankly, she was a little afraid of accidentally overdosing. But on the plus side, it resulted in a different kind of experience entirely because smoke penetrates the system almost immediately and right then and there she was rocketing from that very high.

She had been a vibrant buzzing ball of energy for a good fifteen minutes before it began to become a bit too much and she decided that she needed to come down or at least even everything out. She stood up and went to her window, turning a fan on to suction the smoke from the room before lighting the joint and taking a deep, full inhale. It was harsh, harsher than cigarettes because it was unfiltered and she had to stifle herself from creating a cacophony as she choked and sputtered on the first hit.

Mixing uppers and downers was inadvisable to say the least but Addison was certain she knew what she was doing. Still, even the most brilliant of minds could make a miscalculation and once she had snuffed it out within the hour she realised that she had definitely miscalculated.

Sometimes she just couldn't make an effort to remember that she never reacted well to weed. And so her gut wrenched and she reached for the freshly emptied garbage bin, retching into it. Awful, bitter bile flooded up her throat. She began to dry heave and she grabbed for a bottle of water, chugged it to get the taste of bile out from her mouth.

So, mixing Coke and weed was not for her, she concluded. It had been too much and she was almost in a panic but she had decided it wasn't going to be enough to kill her, so there was no need to turn herself in by calling an ambulance. She most definitely felt sick, though. Pushing the bin away from herself and curling up on the couch, staying just by the edge so that if she was sick again she would not run the risk of drowning. She closed her eyes to try to block out the sensation of spinning. This was just a minor setback, she told herself, she would just have to be more careful next time.

Addison had felt heavy, fighting fustily to remain conscious. She had been drifting off only to be startled awake by a thunderous knock on her door. Darting upright and lunging for the little black box which held her 'supplies', she tossed them under the sofa.

"Who is it?" she groaned towards the door.

"Addison … Addie, it's me. Open the door." Derek's voice answered.

She could only hope enough time had passed for the smell of marijuana to dissipate. She opened the door and Derek stepped inside and looked around the apartment which Addison was suddenly very grateful that she had tidied. "You've not been to the hospital lately. They told me." Derek said, looking at his fiancée who was apparently still in pyjamas in the middle of the day.

"I wasn't feeling very well, Derek." Addison shrugged lazily.

"Are you sure it's not something more?" Derek asked curiously as if he knew something.

Addison dismissed that idea, Derek couldn't know. He couldn't know because he didn't see the obvious signs in front of him as per usual. "I'm positive."

"Look, I don't know exactly how stupid you think I am, Addison, but something is wrong with you and I know it." he went from concerned to angry rather quickly.

"Nothing is wrong with me and I'm sorry that you doubt your own intelligence so much, Derek." Addison replied coolly.

Derek looked like rage was boiling inside of him. "Addison, I can smell the weed and you look like you're high as a fucking kite."

"Perhaps Mrs. Bingham from upstairs is up to her herbals again." she dismissed his suspicions.

"No, it smells like fucking weed right here in this apartment. And you don't deny being high." Derek quickly responded.

She fell back against the couch. "Derek, honestly I have nothing to tell you. I don't owe you an explanation just because you came barging into my apartment."

"You can't keep using that as an excuse. I care about you, Addison. Your future. Our future." Addison just continued to stare up at the ceiling which just further infuriated him. "What's the matter with you? It's your career we're talking about here? Why aren't you concerned? You're gonna repeat unless you do something. You need to speak with the Dean or the academic advisor to discuss your options. Maybe you could make up for the hours in the summer - I don't know."

It was in the handbook, he thought to himself. It clearly states that if they were to miss too many hours, they may not be able accumulate the number of hours required for them to graduate.

"Stop worrying too much, Derek. They're not gonna notice."

"Are you not listening to me? Gosh, you're intolerable when you're high, you know that?" he spat, vexed as he sat down next to her, "I bumped into Annie this morning, she said she hasn't seen you in two weeks. So, I'm pretty sure someone's noticed, Addison." he said sarcastically to which she just rolled her eyes.

"Who cares about that bitch. I'm talking about Terence," he was their medical student coordinator, "He hasn't called. No one but you have been knocking on my door. Nobody cares, darling." she said, turning to him and patting him on the cheek.

"Oh." he frowned.

Well, he supports if the school knew she had been absent, they would have probably taken action by now.

"Just relax. Gosh." she laughed in disbelief for how he had just almost completely lost it just then, and the one-eighty of his emotions.

Derek let out a heaving breath. "I'm sorry. I was worried for you."

"I know. I know and I love you for it. But if something were to happen, the Captain will just donate a hall or a pool or something and I'll be off the hook."

"Right." he said under his breath. The advantages of being obscenely rich - you can buy your way out of just about anything.

"But that doesn't explain what you've been doing for the past two weeks."

With her so out of it, she couldn't even come up with a good enough lie and just mumbled her way through an explanation.

Sick. Archer. Weed.

He didn't ask any more questions but she knew he called bullshit.

That was three days ago.

Three days of Derek staying over, hovering, and watching her every movement. Three days of her being held as prisoner in her own home - well, basically - and three long days of not seeing Dean, who have been blowing up her telephone with missed calls and voice messages. And if he knew where she lived he'd already have broken down the door.

She'd see this through, though - that she, with a drug problem was a long shot.

She had been having a pretty uneventful couple of days in the hospital; it was psychiatry, after all, which by far, out of all the rotations, was the shortest one. Just from eight in the morning to three in the afternoon and no on-calls.

Generally, she preferred the ones with longer hours, even though it meant more standing and waiting around and patient rounds. Maybe it was just the Coke that had made it all delightfully pleasant. It sure made time go a lot faster and made everything seem bright and brilliant.

But now, seven hours went by like seven days without Coke. And when she went back home, she couldn't do anything but mope and lie around. She tried studying, though nothing was sticking. She read. She drank. She watched TV and went shopping for more clothes, purses and shoes that she knew would just end up unused and in her closet.

It was like without drugs her brain couldn't function anymore. She didn't know what to do with her time, didn't know how she did it before, she couldn't figure out how to keep herself entertained so she wouldn't have the thoughts and the cravings, to distract herself from temptation.

She wanted to sleep but she also didn't want to succumb to human weakness, cave to the demands of her pathetic husk of flesh and bones. Not enough nicotine in the world could keep her alert at this point, and she'd become so tolerant to caffeine over the years the chemical might as well be inert.

She didn't tell her fiancé the truth. Things were tense and mostly silent between the two of them. Derek didn't so much as glance in her direction if he could help it. If this was how he had reacted with just weed, imagine if she told him about Coke and GHB and Dean. The truth would only get him more upset and she didn't feel like dealing with his disapproval so soon.

She had only been drug free for about thirty hours before a glance at the fireplace - at her second secret supply hidden behind the brickwork - made her pause to consider her options. The impulse blossoming through her mind was an absolutely terrible idea, she knew that all too well. She shouldn't even be thinking about it. She made a promise to herself. But then again ... she would be able to get things done a lot faster.

And that was the ultimate point, wasn't it?

Her days at the hospital would go a lot faster, she'd get things done quickly and efficiently and no one else would have to suffer, including herself, she reasoned. And not only that, she would be able to concentrate on studying again.

Made perfect sense, really.

And besides, she reminded herself as she dug out the old, familiar black case containing a packet of powder and a straw ... it'd only be the one time.

But then, it became twice and thrice and the next thing she knew she was making up for the two and a half days, the thirty hours, she was drug-free.

She had relapsed and it was okay, it was fine - yeah, it was all part of the journey.

Tomorrow was a new day. Tomorrow, she'd be clean again. For good, this time. But tomorrow had other plans for her. She had gotten too close to a schizo and he bit her arm and she had to have two tetanus shots and - ohmygod, she almost died.

Could you not see? You only live once, right?

By her dozenth 'only the one time' excuse (necessary, now, as she couldn't afford to let herself crash in the middle of work) she'd begun to accept the fact that she had made a rather poor decision. But even then, the thought didn't really bother her, it was just so much easier this way. Everything calm, thoughts falling in perfect logical symmetry and the world muted to such a comfortable level of stillness around her. It was enough to make her wonder why she ever wanted to quit in the first place.

She told herself she needed the drug just until they transferred the schizo to a proper mental facility or else she'd be riddled with anxiety every time she went to the hospital.

A week had gone by, the schizo had already been transferred, the impetus for keeping herself buzzed erased. Now, she had no excuse for not letting the drugs wear off. She was not some pathetic junkie, so she did as she rightly should and dutifully put everything away with nary a twinge of apprehension for what she knew would happen next.

Withdrawal, of course, but it couldn't be so bad. She'd been through it and she always came out alright in the end (that was because she always succumbed to the cravings.) ... it'll be fine.

Soon enough she was snapping at Derek through a vicious migraine, snarling at Mark and everyone else for merely talking, she resisted the urge to punch a hole through the drywall as she retreated to her bedroom to curl up under the duvet in misery. And good God, now she remembered with horrible, agonising clarity - this was why she had to quit. Because her brain felt like it was about to melt out through her ears and the entire world was clouded by a fog of exhausted, never-ending piercing torment.

Fuck Coke and fuck every single stupid neuron involved in making the idiotic decision to use again. She was never ever going back on the stuff as long as she lived.

But even as she thought that she knew it was an empty promise. She would have forgotten the pain, the haze of despondency and anger and guilt. Hell, by tomorrow morning she would be mostly back to normal, if perhaps a bit tired. Caffeine and cigarettes to wake her up. The combination of dopaminergic stimulants would erase all memory of this torture. Her legal alternatives would mute the unpleasant side-effects of harsher chemicals while at the same time strengthening, sharpening her recollection of the high.

And eventually it wouldn't seem like a bad idea anymore. Withdrawal would fade away until it was just a nebulous reminder of something unpleasant, nowhere near the level it needed to be to put her off doing it again.

The fact that she could so accurately predict her own future stupidity was, quite frankly, depressing.

Even more so when it inevitably came true.

This time there wasn't even a special circumstance at the hospital. She was just bored. Bored, bored, bored and Derek and Mark were still in their respective shifts and Derek was most possibly on call for tonight, she couldn't go to Dean's because you know, she was trying to stay faithful, and all of her friends were either busy with life or school or work to make any time for her.

Ugh. Unfair.

Addison sat curled up in her armchair and wondered what on earth made them all think that leaving her alone in her apartment for the entire afternoon was in any way a good idea. But then she quickly reminded herself that she was an adult and she didn't need supervision.

Maybe she could drive up to Connecticut to see her parents?

Except she sort of didn't want to, really. It was a two hour drive and she hated driving long distances.

There was absolutely nothing at all to do. Lacking any decent distraction, she found that she'd been staring at the loose brick in the fireplace for a good twenty minutes now.

Despite her own better judgement she began to weigh the pros and cons. Withdrawal had been uncomfortable, yes, but it hadn't been that badly excruciating. And when compared with the blissful serenity she knew will come of using ... well, it was hardly much of a trade-off, now was it? She'd be focused enough to even start studying, maybe, or even tidy up the apartment because it was a mess.

Derek would appreciate the attempt regardless.

It didn't even have to be a whole dose - just a few milligrams. A tiny amount. Enough to supplement, nothing beyond that.

It occurred to her some forty minutes later that she was an absolute pushover when it came to convincing herself to not do stupid things. Those arguments had been fucking moronic. And yet despite the inanity here she was ... quite happily high, actually, so maybe she didn't mind all that much.

But she would mind. Later, when she was crashing. She knew that. Knew she'd mind quite a lot really. Then she'd be absolutely furious with herself. It was interesting how she can predict such things even now, while verging on being completely shitfaced, and how at the moment it all just seemed sort of funny. Later, it would not - she knew it wouldn't. But right now it was amusing. It was hilarious.

Chemicals did such strange things to the brain.

She chuckled to herself as she turned through the pages of her textbooks. Well, whatever. She had a good hour or so before it'd start bothering her - might as well make the best of her high while it lasted.

Another hour passed, and since the first dose really hadn't been very much she decided it'd be fine to do another hit. She was still in the middle of her studying anyway, and the growing headache had been too distracting to continue reading the tiny words anyway. Plus Derek wouldn't be home until the morning - he called some twenty minutes ago to say he definitely had night call (a way to get them used to night shifts and was part of their education and requirements in order to graduate.) and he'd be delivering twins.

Well, he'd be watching the OB deliver the babies. 

Addison had cheerfully told her fiancé to have a lovely evening before she left the apartment to get herself one of those chemistry setups from ToysRUs. She used to do those little experiments as a kid all the time and she loved it, especially when the Captain was there with her, pretending to be her lab assistant.

Shit! Didn't she have work today?

It had completely evaded her mind. Oh, wells. It was too late to do anything now. So, not all of today's calls were Dean's, then. She'd just have to call tomorrow morning.

Half a dozen iterations of just one more hour, then she'll let it wear off. It creeped by before she realised it was now past midnight and she'd managed to incrementally nudge herself into quite the impressive Coke high. The crash was going to be absolutely horrific. Shitty. But maybe it wouldn't be quite so bad if she instead titrated off. Halve the next dose, quarter the second ... then instead of crashing she'd come down in stages. It seemed like an excellent plan. What a genius! Which truthfully doesn't mean all that much because everything seems like an excellent plan right now.

And that, she reminded herself in a tone of thought which should have been stern but which came out more like giddy amusement, was exactly how Coke worked. It made the world silly, free of all worries, consequences lose meaning until they were absolutely pathetic and nothing in the entire universe was outside her control. But still underneath it all was a tiny voice screaming through the ice - you idiot, none of this confidence is real, it's just the chemicals! Everything is going to go to absolute shit in a few hours and it's all your fault!

It was so easy to drown out the yelling though; so simple to just ignore it and go on with whatever she was doing. Which ... at the moment was nothing? Oh, she'd finished her experiments.

Well, she hadn't even noticed she was done. Maybe she should go for a walk then.

Wandering the streets of New York in the middle of the night?

Brilliant, sounds like fun.

By the time she returned to the apartment it had been well over six hours and she was exhausted. Derek was home, sitting on the armchair and pretending to read one of the magazines on the coffee table, he looked worried and relieved, Addison didn't care. The entire world had gone back to being putridly awful and she just wanted to sleep forever.

"Where did you go?" Derek asked, looking up from the magazine as Addison walked into the sitting room.

She grimaced at the sunlight filtering through the window and rubbed at her forehead, trying to ease a migraine she knew won't go away until she either slept or did another hit of Coke. Derek was here, though, rendering the second option infeasible. Which really begged the question of why she'd even bothered coming into the sitting room in the first place, as her supply was still hidden by the fireplace.

What, had she thought Derek would fail to notice if she just walked over and removed the loose brick?

The man was ordinary, yes, but he wasn't blind.

Derek was still staring at her expectantly, so Addison forced herself to ignore the pain in her head and responded in as casual a voice as she could manage. "I just went for a walk."

"In the middle of the night?"

His expression was somewhere between bemused and exasperated - fairly standard when interacting with her these days. Under ordinary circumstances, Addison would just shrug it off, reply with some quip about normal people and go about her business. Right now, though, she was in pain, and frustrated and tired and angry ... and she didn't want to fucking deal with Derek's stupid condescending disbelief.

Why should it be strange that she went out for a walk at midnight?

There was nothing odd about it.

Stop making that damned face, you idiot.

It occurred to her belatedly that she was scowling venomously over at her fiancé. Derek was starting to look slightly concerned, like maybe he thought there was something wrong. There wasn't. Really, there wasn't. Nothing's going on at all.

No, everything's normal, Addison thought pointedly, loudly, as if hoping her message would somehow travel the empty space between them through raw willpower and then, she wouldn't have to bother trying to form the right words to put Derek off the trail.

I haven't done anything stupid, just made a few slightly inconvenient decisions. But I can handle it, it's fine. Fine, fine, fine. I knew exactly what would happen. Oh and by the way you're sitting right in the fucking way of me getting to my secret supply and that's making me want to punch you in the face, but I won't because I'm not that pathetic.

She was not.

Derek was still looking at her. Addison forced the glare off her face and turned to head towards the bedroom. "I'm taking a nap."

"It's almost six in the morning," he pointed out.

She gritted her teeth against the urge to turn back around and shout at the man.

"I know what time it is," she snapped acidly instead, then stalked off through the doorway and down the hall.

She knew she had to report to the hospital at eight. But also, she couldn't get herself to care right now.

Sleep. Sleep would make it better. Then, she'd be fine.

Hopefully.

When she woke up she still had a headache.

Coke would make it go away (a fact she knew with frustrating certainty) and nicotine, while not entirely effective, still might ease the discomfort somewhat. Paracetamol probably wouldn't do much of anything but could be a good idea regardless, to take the edge off. Especially if ingested in conjunction with caffeine. But then, no, no ,no, she was not falling into that particular trap again - drugs over drugs, swallow the cat to catch the mouse. Never leads to anything good.

Chemical abuse put her in this situation in the first place, she reminded herself, and adding more substances definitely wouldn't solve the issue. Actually the better option would be to simply force herself to suffer through the consequences - unpleasant, yes, and undeniably painful, of course ... but maybe if she just endured the discomfort this time it'll finally manage to stick in her brain and serve its purpose as a proper deterrent. It probably wouldn't. In fact, she knew full well that it wouldn't ... but maybe.

At the very least the decision helped her feel less like a pathetic addict. Because a proper junkie wouldn't willingly avoid drugs for the sake of teaching themselves a lesson, now would they?

Derek was still on the armchair when Addison gave up on going back to sleep (head hurting too much, couldn't keep still) and instead wandered into the sitting room. The curtains were open, stabs of pain pulsed through her brain from the light outside, but she didn't move to close them. No, that would make it too obvious that she was not feeling well, and Derek might try to offer her some sort of pain reliever.

So, instead she winced away from the light as subtly as she could, edged into the kitchen; but then she realised she couldn't make coffee because that has caffeine, and getting a glass of juice or water sounded like too much work for too little payoff. She settled for simply standing and glaring at the tile pattern by the sink. Not symmetrical, she thought. Abruptly, she found herself infuriated by the sight. Honestly, how fucking hard was it to lay tiles in a symmetrical pattern? Who the hell built this place, and were they blind or just fucking stupid?

"You feeling alright?" Derek asked from the sitting room. She glanced over with a scowl, then quickly turned back towards the sink as the reflection of sunlight off the mirror over the fireplace shot a bolt of agony through her skull.

"Fine," she bit out. Clenched her fists at her side, made a concerted effort to force the stormy glower off her face before she turned back around. Calm down, relax ... she was perfectly alright, it was just a headache, nothing more. She could deal with this. She was fine.

"You look like you have a migraine or something." Derek had lowered the magazine now, regarding her with a concerned expression. She couldn't stop the acid glare that stole over her features.

Fucking Derek with his fucking concern - it was not like the man actually cared. No, he was just following his usual role of the perfect responsible 'doctor', diagnosing conditions, providing assistance; she'd do the same for any random stranger and the commonality strips the gesture of whatever meaning it might have held. Even more so when she knew full well he would rescind all sympathy within seconds if she were to tell him what was really going on.

That was how it always goes, after all - everyone would be full of comfort and support until they finally figure it out. Then, the platitudes would drop to steely disapproval, exasperated reprimands and trite, repetitive lectures as if she was a child caught red-handed with a bag of candies. It always came down to things like dangers and health risks and don't you know you could die, pathetic warnings that lose all meaning because for fuck's sake she knew it already. She understood the repercussions far better than Derek or Savvy or Mark did, in fact, as she had actually been through them - was going through them.

They hadn't; she knew they hadn't. Mark might perhaps have some inkling thanks to cigarettes and alcohol, but Derek? Savvy?

Oh, God, never, not in a million years.

Tell me, Derek, exactly how many times have you snorted? What was the worst thing you've ever been willing to do for half a gram of white powder? Do you have any idea what it was like to realise you are slowly killing yourself, only to find that you just don't care?

No. Derek didn't have any concept. None of them do. And because of that they didn't seem to be able to comprehend that appealing to a sense of self-preservation didn't work when no such instinct existed.

And then, of course, they'd all just move on to attempting to convince her of her own illusory fortitude.

How could you throw away your life? What were you thinking? Why would you do that to yourself? Don't you respect yourself enough?

You could die!

She’d say, I don’t care! I DON’T CARE!

And no, she always felt like yelling, no, she fucking hadn't been. No one ever seemed to realise just how many cigarettes she smoked - how she hadn't gone a single day without at least a pack in months. But just because it was legal they somehow assume it was different.

It was not.

There was less of a rush and the high wasn't anywhere near as energetically euphoric but it was still a fucking stimulant, still affects the brain in exactly the same way as Coke did.

So, why, why on fucking earth was she allowed to indulge in one chemical addiction without comment while the other would get her locked up in a clinic? 

Societal double-standards, fuelled by politics and fearmongering rather than actual facts.

Derek was still looking at her, raising his eyebrows in a questioning manner and Addison realised she'd been glaring wordlessly at the man for a good two minutes now. She broke the stare with a quick shake of her head (Bad idea, bad idea, headache exacerbated by the movement) and stalks off toward the sofa.

"I don't have a migraine," she asserted irritably, then flopped down on the cushions and curled up with her back to him.

Returning to the bed would probably be the more sensible option if she wanted to avoid Derek asking questions ... but she had just remembered about the Coke hidden in the lining of the mattress, the marijuana tincture in the loose floorboard, cigarettes on the bedside table. No. No no no, her room was a veritable sea of hidden drugs and no matter what she'd promised herself for the moment she knew her willpower wouldn't hold out if salvation was near enough at hand. Better to stay near Derek - he'd undoubtedly continue to pester her, but that was a fair tradeoff for the benefit of keeping on-track with this forced bout of sobriety.

Derek didn't try to interrogate her though. Mercifully, he just let the subject drop, went back to his magazine and read quietly while Addison laid on the couch and scowled at the cushions like they were somehow personally responsible for the hell she had trapped herself in.

"Someone's been calling you the past hour."

Dean.

"Who is he?"

"Who?"

"The guy who's been calling you." he snapped.

"How am I supposed to know, Derek? Did I talk to him?" she snapped back exasperatedly.

"Addison, I was just asking a question."

"No." she said, pulling herself up on her elbows and glaring at him, ignoring the sudden rush and heaviness in her head, "You were implying something." Her fists clenched as she resolutely stared straight at her fiancé, nails biting into her palms. "If you have something to say, then just say it."

"Are you cheating?"

The question hit her like a tonne of bricks, even though she knew it was coming, and she scoffed, "No."

"Do I look stupid to you?" he suddenly yelled, which she wasn't prepared for and she recoiled, "Nobody goes out for a walk for that long! I asked your doorman, he said you left at around midnight! That's six hours unaccounted for. So tell me, where were you really?"

There was a tiny voice in the back of her mind that was telling her that it would be better for her to just be honest, but an even larger part of her was simply angry. Furious. She didn't want to fight with him, but this time, she really wasn't lying.

"I was out walking." she said once more in a flat tone of voice and then, added as she sat up straight, "By myself."

"Do you really think I am stupid enough to believe that?" His voice was cold in a way that she had never heard before.

She stared back at him in frustration. "Believe what you want but it's the truth. Maybe you're accusing me of cheating because really, you're the one who's actually doing it!" she said angrily.

"I'm not and I know you're lying, Addison. I know it."

"I'm not lying!" she got up, ready to storm off. She couldn't take it anymore.

"Where do you think you're going? We're not done!"

She didn't care what he believed. She just didn't want to be here with him anymore. She could go to her shift in her pyjamas, she didn't care.

She probably should stop at Savvy's first.

"Stay", he demanded, shaking with anger.

"No. You can't make me. If I want to go out, there's nothing you can do about it."

"Why are you doing this?" Derek asked.

"It's sad", she hissed and turned around sharply to leave. "That you would accuse me of cheating to make yourself feel less guilty. It's pathetic ... you're pathetic."

And that was it, the final straw. Derek grabbed her arm and yanked her back so forcefully that she landed on her ass on the floor. And it was the same old downward spiral again. Both of them stubborn and viscous and rough. She fought back, kicked him in the stomach and he too was kneeling on the ground. Addison pounced and pushed him backwards by the shoulders and every time he pulled himself back up, she'd shove him right back down. Again and again and again.

"Addison, stop. Stop."

She leapt forward, scratching and beating him roughly across the neck. Derek grunted in pain, knowing that he would probably sport a bruise. "Addison! Stop it! Stop!"

She was so good with her words, sharp knives that hurt Derek where nobody could see. Not even Derek, himself. She could make him believe anything. She twisted words and he let the wounds fester until he couldn't take it anymore and answered her with a rough grip, and a shake and he was right in her face. "DAMMIT ADDISON, DON'T MAKE ME DO SOMETHING I'LL REGRET!"

His eyes were wild, she noticed, as the full force of his anger washed over her. It wasn't that bad, she deserved it, she supposed. But she had done it, had gotten him to lash out at her, proved she could command his full attention. And yes, it scared her - knowing what could happen if he lost control of himself.

Shock and guilt quickly replaced the anger on Derek's face as the sight of Addison startled him back to composure. Her hair was still dishevelled from sleep. Dark circles under her eyes, not yet carefully covered over, bore witness to the same deep weariness Derek felt in himself. He quickly dropped his hold on her shoulder and turned away, shamed and horrified at becoming almost violent with the woman he loved.

She frowned quietly as Derek released her and started to turn away. "Derek?" she hid her face under her palms, unable to stop an uncharacteristic rush of tears. "Don't. Don't you do this to me. Don't do this to us." she said and placed a hand on his chest.

God, she was so fucked. Derek could not know about Dean. It'd crush him to pieces. Or maybe it'd hurt her more. But she could fix this.

Yeah, she could.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for hitting you, Derek." she started.

Sometimes an apology was all they need.

He didn't move. She could feel his heart pounding fast and hard through the fabric of his T-shirt. He was warm, almost feverish. He let out a small sigh and she could feel how his chest rose under her fingers. His lips twitched again and finally his glance darted around a bit before he finally looked at her.

"I'm sorry but I'm so tired of being accused of doing something I didn't do. I tell you the truth and you don't believe me and it breaks my heart." she begged, leaning over him as she cried into the fabric of his shirt, "I am not cheating on you." she pleaded, "I'm not."

"Okay. I-I believe you, Addie," he stroked her hair gently. "I believe you. I just ... love you, Addison. So so much. But I-I feel like you're slipping away from me and I'm so scared because I don't know what to do."

She wiped away her tears and sat up slowly. "But I'm not. I'm right here, Derek."

Derek frowned. "No, no, you're not. You've been off for a while now. But I haven't said anything because I wanted to give you your space. The weed and you not showing up at the hospital, that's not you. I can't ignore it anymore."

"Darling," she gave him a weak half-smile. "Nothing's off. I guess ... You know that weed has always been a little off for me."

Derek nodded. He knew that. The last time they did weed together she spent the whole night vomiting. And the other time, she had gotten a little too panicky and paranoid. "But I feel like it's more than that. You've changed. It feels like you've been pushing me away. Do you even want to get married?"

He looked at her with such a sad glance that it hurt and sent ripples of pain through her.

"Yes. Yes. Yes." she kneeled on the ground, cradling his face in both hands. Her voice steady and sure and desperate all at once., "I'm telling you, Derek, I do. I want us to get married. And I'm not pushing you away. Never." she conceded, sighing as she leaned against his chest. "Believe me. I want us to get married."

Derek sighed heavily, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I want that too. I want to spend my life with you."

"Me too."

With an almost silent sob he lifted up his hand and gently caressed her face. The blue in his eyes seemed more intense than ever.

"I'm sorry …" he whispered and she could feel how he started to tremble. He slowly sat up and then buried his head in her chest, hugging her tight.

"I'm sorry." he cried out as she returned the embrace and wrapped her arms around him. She had never seen him like this, so exposed and so fragile. It made him even more beautiful somehow. She felt her own lips twitch as she tried holding back crying. His body was shaking as he sobbed lightly and she pressed him against her, smelling his skin, his hair and the scent of sweat and coffee and disinfectant.

"I was … I … I'm so scared of losing you …" he whispered and immediately looked back down, staring at the yellow throw blanket. "And then, when that guy called you ... I … I just …" he said and trailed off.

"I forgive you, Derek … It's okay. We don't have to talk about that anymore." she said, quickly wanting to change the subject and he looked up at her teary-eyed and nodded. She placed her hands under his jaw, lifting his head upwards slightly.

For a moment she was just drowning in those blue eyes, teasing the drawstring of his bottoms and made quick work of the knot.

"Addie," he objected, his hand closing over her wrist. "I-I don't think we should."

"It's fine." her hand slipped out of sight and Derek took tight hold of the edge of the couch once more.

Once they were able to catch their breath, Derek rolled to the side, pulling her with him so that their legs remained entwined. She rested her cheek against his chest — slightly damp with sweat. His hand found hers on his breastbone and he laced their fingers together.

She kissed his cheek, then the delicate skin just below his ear before she spoke again. "I love you."

She might be evil. She might be a bitch. She might be a skank and all the other derogatory terms. But that was the truth.

He felt so warm. His glance was telling her how incredibly bad he felt about this whole situation. He felt ashamed, she could tell, and that in turn made her feel ... relieved?

God, she was such a horrible person.

He kissed her gently, reverently, his fingertips trailing along her cheek as she clung to the feeling of being whole for however long it would last.

A quick shower and change of clothes later and she was back to looking less like a pathetic, washed-out junkie and more like a responsible member of society. It was all a ruse, though - she still felt like nothing so much as a shambling corpse, and her head couldn't stop pounding in what seemed like an eternity. But still, beyond the pain and discomfort was a vague sense of victory ... she had successfully diverted Derek's suspicions of her cheating. But why did she still not feel like a disgusting fraud? She'd fixed everything with Derek now. He was never going to be suspicious anymore.

Hopefully.

She had managed to convince him of more bullshit. Like the person who'd been calling her was this first year resident who would not take 'no' for an answer.

It wasn't a lie, really. He was real. He existed. He really did kept bothering her with his advances. Only, she was telling Derek the truth misleadingly.

It was all just a pitiful sort of victory, yes, from her 'sobriety' to her pathetic lies, but an accomplishment nonetheless.

Because what, honestly, was she hoping to achieve with all this? Proving she could do it? Why? Nobody will ever know, assuming she somehow managed to overcome temptation ... and besides which even if someone were to figure it out it was not like anyone would care.

What if she were to walk over to Dean's right now, stride into his apartment and announce that she'd been entirely sober for ten whole hours? Even in her head it sounded idiotic. Dean will raise an eyebrow, congratulating her with skepticism like he wasn't sure whether it was for her an accomplishment or not. Congratulations? Welcome to the club? We're just the same? It wouldn't even register in his mind as a struggle worth validating ... because truthfully, it wasn't.

Ten hours. Not even half a day. And the majority of which was spent sleeping, and the rest sulking about the apartment and scowling at couch cushions and arguing with Derek, scratching him and making him cry and bleed. That was not an accomplishment, that was just stupid.

And it was not going to get any better. Not for a long time. The headache might ebb within a day or so but in its place will be weeks and weeks and weeks of exhaustion, moodiness, irritability ... she'll be even more of a hellish git than ever, and Derek will snap at her again, tell her to get over herself, to quit whingeing.

Then, after all of that, even if she succeeded ... what exactly will she gain from it? After all there was a fucking reason she'd climbed willingly into this self-made grave to begin with. Because her brain was a trainwreck screaming along through a firestorm of racing never-ending reams of thoughts and memories, and the only way to escape from the looming sense of imminent insanity was to freeze it all in place through chemical means. That wouldn't change just because she decided she needed to prove some asinine point about willpower to Dean.

Nothing ever really changed, she should damn well know that by now. But somehow she still always seemed to forget.

A pause as she stood in the doorway with her hands curled around the edges of the knob, as if it was the thing that was holding her up.

The second she stepped into his apartment she knew something was wrong.

She got out of the hospital a lot later than usually, mostly because it was going to be very very awkward between them at home. And really, she had nothing else better to do. Yet, as she started to shut the door she saw Dean lying on the couch, his belly down and multiple bottles of beers strewn between the couch and the coffee tables. At first Addison thought that Dean had passed out, that he was sleeping off whatever binge he went through, except as the door shut Dean popped his head up and peered over the armrest. His eyes were bleary and his cheeks were flushed. There were parts of Addison that wanted to sneer and make all her usual comments, yet there was also another bit of her that remembered that she was no saint.

"What happened?" she asked instead. "Alcohol poisoning?"

"Do you need something, Adrianne? Some weed, Coke? Maybe someone you can sink your talons into?" he sneered, sitting up straight.

"You're mad at me," Addison stated, dropped a hand on his shoulder, and Dean shrugged it off like she'd burned him.

She expected him to be as much.

He didn't ask why she was in his apartment. If he asked, she had no answer.

She perched herself on his lap and pressed her chest against his, and her eyes were staring at his. For the moment, he wrapped an arm around her waist and arched a brow. Addison slid her fingers through his and made a show of playing with them, up until he started to no longer feel rough at the edges. And no, he was still supposed to be anger. No. No. He shoved her off his lap and Addison just seemed to glide into the seat next to him.

"And what set you off, today?" she asked.

"Nothing," he replied. Addison just smiled at him.

"Oh, Honey, you said I have the nails of a predatory bird, now what made you so pouty?" she pressed and was on him again in moments, a knee between his thighs and their breath creating a whole new alcoholic drink as they stared into each other's eyes.

"Why are you even here, Adrianne?" he asked.

"Why did you let me in?" She shot back. His eyes fluttered to a close and he took a deep long breath.

"It was already open. I didn't let you in. A murderer could walk in and I wouldn't even care."

"So, you want me to leave," she said, turning him by the chin so he faced her, "is that it? I'll leave if you want me to."

"You didn't answer me," he stated harshly. He punched the cushion beside her, and for a brief second, Addison remembered how and why she kicked Dean out of her life previously.

"You didn't answer me." she said back.

Because the question of Coke being a problem for her didn't just come out of the blue. Dean liked to play his games and hated it when Addison played hers, which in all honesty was only fitting as Addison liked to play her games, but she could not stand Dean's. Still, there was something that always drew them back to one another but Addison couldn't put her finger on what exactly.

"You know I won't." he bared his teeth like some sort of animal that Addison had often enough told him he was. One of his hands hooked around the back of her neck and pulled. Their lips smashed together clumsily and there were too many teeth being involved as they tried to kiss. Addison pulled at Dean's hair. She pulled so hard that Dean had to tilt his head back and hiss in pain.

"I fucking hate you, Adrianne," he growled. Addison just smiled through her high and tugged harder, not enough to rip out the lovely hair, but enough that it forced Dean to show off his neck.

"Feeling is very mutual, Dean," Addison gave a purr and then latched her mouth to the tan skin of Dean's neck. She bit and nipped in a rough and careless measure. There was no need to impress Dean, no need at all. Dean grabbed her wrist hard and wrenched them behind her back. Addison arched back and glared .

"Have you come here to break it off for good?" he demanded. She raised a brow. "Why didn't you answer my calls? I called you all week."

"Because I didn't want to talk to you ... or see you."

Her answer hurt him, if his face was an indicator.

"Fuck you." he attempted to shove her off again but she wouldn't budge.

"You're too drunk to." she snorted, "Drunk or high or both?"

"And you're a giant mess, who's in denial so huge you tried to prove a point and lost and that's why you're here. You're too emotionally constipated to even be in a proper, faithful relationship." Dean threw out a barb.

"You're a raging alcoholic and cokehead who sees no issues with the fact that he's driven everyone but the emotionally constipated person away," Addison's retort was only mostly painful. She knew how to rile him up, what to say to make him hurt deeply. She knew how to leave the deepest cuts.

Family.

It was true in a way; he had no one but her.

Dean rolled so he could look at her.

"Shall we compare notes on how fucked up the other is? Maybe then we can find some common ground?" He snarled. Addison fell atop him, her entire body caging Dean in.

"You want to go there tonight, Dean?"

"Why not? I'm feeling so much more sober."

Her kiss was harsh, but it always was and it always sent a roll of absolute delight along his spine. Dean lifted his legs up and bracketed her narrow hips. One of his hands slid down along her spine and brushed along his ass.

Addison's body was what drew him to her at first. A nice one night stand, but then there was a mind behind that body and then it all became this.

A relationship that no one could ever understand.

Savvy always told her to just leave, that Dean shouldn't have any hold over her.

Dean seemed to have read her mind and laughed. But of course he hadn't and he removed his hands from her ass and instead wrapped his legs around her waist and pulled her down so she was flush against him.

"You're going to pass out," she growled between kisses. She rocked her hips against Dean, and there was no way Dean was keeping the moan from rolling out from his throat.

"Not when you move like that you fucking bitch." She pulled back just far enough that Dean could actually focus on her face if he wanted.

He didn't.

"Like this?" she asked and moved her hips in the exact way she had before. Dean tipped his head back, not only to allow the whining moan emittance from his mouth but also to not look at Adrianne. Fucking Adrianne. Dean squeezed his thighs hard around her, and he only received a grunt. Deep, low and only slightly pained, but afterwards she didn't move - her body was completely still. Dean wondered for a few moments what was going on and then Addison pulled away, untangling herself from Dean's grasp, and then he was left wondering if he'd gone too far.

"Leaving?" he asked, though he made sure he didn't sound as worried as he felt. Addison snorted and pulled at her clothes.

"Showering. You hate me smelling like hospital," she replied. Dean blinked; he actually didn't really notice what he called 'the smell of death' on Adrianne. It was something he filed away as she pressed him in against the bed, but the memory resurfaces and he gave a scowl.

"Yes, go do that. I might not be awake when you get back, though."

She just looked at him for a few moments, her hands on the waistband of her jeans. She looked like a pretty little picture that Dean wanted nothing more than to mark up.

"Is that a promise?" she challenged. Dean glared at her before shifting on his couch.

"You bet, it's a fucking promise." He rolled to his stomach and buried his hands beneath his cushions. He was ready to go on to continue to ignore Addison, when he felt a kiss at the back of his neck right behind his ear.

"Well then, I'll take an extra-long one so you can owe me in the morning." she punctuated her sentence with a smack against his ass. Dean gritted his teeth, he hated her, he really did, but at the same time he loved her very much.

Dean could feel himself slipping maybe he shouldn't have had the last five drinks.

"You'll pass out in your own vomit like that." she stated, "Come, I'll take you to bed. I can't have you die on me without making it up to me in the morning first."

He felt himself sway and the room move a bit more. His balance was absolute shit, but that was what Addison was for. But it was not like she could do much of anything if he were to collapse right here, right now.

"It'd be a good one in the morning. No half-assing."

"You're deadweight, Dean! Hold yourself up! I can't carry you all the way!" Addison commanded as she half dragged, half carried him across the room. "And so help me God if you pass out on this floor, there will be no morning rough, apology sex."

"You don't do apology sex."

"Fake apology sex before my shift."

"I am so grateful you penciled me in," he snarled.

"You should be."

She jostled him a bit more - how, when he was so much taller and all muscles? That might have been a turn on on a normal day but he was drunk and he didn't think his body could do much of anything other than sleep right now - but eventually he was able to move his legs towards the bedroom, and then proceeded to drop rather unceremoniously on the bed.

He grabbed her wrist before she could go and pressed a kiss to the pads of her fingers. "Don't leave, okay?"

"I won't. Not this time."

Dean was her escape.

When the world was just a little too much, when everything became just a little unbearable, when it all felt like it was two seconds away from crashing down, Dean was there. She curled into his arms after the shower, letting him whisper soothing nonsense to her, taking comfort in the quiet rumble of his voice. She liked the way her name sounded on his lips when he said Adrianne.

She drifted off after the shower, content to lay with Dean and his snoring.

She had given up. It was the first time she'd ever quit anything, the first time she didn't see something through. It was a confirmation that she was as screwed up as Dean was.

And maybe she unwittingly gave up on something or someone else because this was far more exciting.