Affinity (RDJ)

Chapter 1 - A 'New Life'

It's funny how they say that time is a healer. Because really, it's not is it? Over time, stuff in the past just gets fuzzier. And further away. And harder to remember. But that doesn't mean you're healed. That doesn't mean there suddenly isn't a huge gaping hole in your life any more. It'll always be there. It just gets patched up by new experiences, new memories, and little snippets of happiness that take you by surprise every now and again. But the hole is still there. Still festering. Until you die and you become the hole in someone else's life. It's just how it works. The circle of life.

It's been 5 months since you lost your twin sister, Robyn, in a car accident, and it's not a hole she's left behind. It's like someone came along, sliced you open, and drained you of every drop of your being. Organs ripped out, muscles stripped, and heart crushed in the bony, unyielding fingers of death.

You're empty. You'll never be full again. You're not even sure if you want to be.

The accident never leaves your thoughts. You were in it too, as was your dad. Rex, your older brother, was the only one not involved. Lucky bastard. Your dad was the most protected, being the driver, so he got away with a broken shoulder and a few scrapes. Your left arm was trapped in the metal workings of the mangled door for a few hours so you'd had several reconstructive surgeries to fix it, each time wishing you'd just die there on the table. That's how you felt, anyway. Like dying would be a blessing.

Anyway, you didn't, and now you just have nerve damage in your arm, rendering it useless every few hours as it numbs and becomes near un-useable. Not a great feature for an aspiring surgeon, hence the pre-med brochures scattered across your desk and the ones for the surgical programmes long gone.

But, we press on.

Your mom hasn't woken up since the accident. She's been in a deep coma since due to massive brain injuries from the impact. 'Traumatic', they call it. Each time they tried to wake her, it failed. You were hopeful at first, but after the 6 or 7th time you'd given up. When the discussion of a transfer arose, your dad went with it. Seattle Grace Hospital apparently holds some of the country's best surgeons, so the doctors in Florida were keen for mom to transfer - her only hope apparently. As if there was any of that left.

So, here you are. All the way from Florida - the place where you and your sister grew up, went to school, learned to ride your bikes - to here: rainy, miserable Seattle.

You still haven't unpacked. You're living out of boxes, unable to accept that this is your new life when your sister's was ripped away from her before it even started.

You glance over at the brochures, knowing that at some point soon you'd have to choose a college to attend. You'd already missed the first two weeks of first semester and your dad was worrying you'd fall behind. You'd made up your mind long ago that you were going, but not where. Not wanting to feel confined, you'd just let the choice come naturally. That's what you'd told yourself anyway.

You think you're set on the University of Washington. It's further away than a couple others but you don't think that would be a bad thing. Rex had agreed to drive you in some days and others, you'd just get the bus. You sigh as you envy at the smiles of the students on the cover of the brochure, hugging their textbooks to their chests with both arms and strolling animatedly past a huge, stone fronted building, greenery framing the idyllic photo. You frown at yourself for being so petty. This is something you'll have to deal with every day, no matter where you go to school.

You pick at the cotton on your hoodie sleeve, watching it fray and come away from the cuff in a satisfying zig-zag. Deciding that you're not up for it yet, you slide the brochure back into the top drawer of your desk where it will probably remain for another week at least.