Outside of Fear

Chapter Eleven

Meredith thought her first night and following day out of the hospital would be peaceful, even if it was in a hotel bed. She doesn't exactly have a home to go back to, but the hotel is better than lights constantly on, monitors beeping, and nurses coming in and out every hour.

But no. She was wrong. Dead wrong.

Meredith spent the day after her kiss with Derek laying on the once-white covers of the bed, with a trash can by her side. Pain. The pain was excruciating. She couldn't move because her spine and gash on her back hurt so badly, and her entire stomach set on fire every time she breathed.

The pain was so bad it made her puke. Twice. Hence the trash can.

Now, sweaty and exhausted, and ready to cry, Meredith lays in a sports bra and shorts sprawled under the ceiling fan that's on high. For some reason, spreading her limbs out like a star and having a pillow under her back doesn't hurt as badly as the other positions. So, she hasn't moved, and doesn't plan on it anytime soon.

The prescription drugs helped a little, but she can only take four per every twenty-four hours. They're supposed to be strong. Meredith nearly laughs at the label on the small orange bottle. Nearly laughs because if she actually does laugh, she'll probably puke again. The pills are the opposite of strong. Her pain is strong, the pills she took this morning only take the slightest edge off.

And even taking those two little white drugs took a lot of convincing. She'll happily oblige with the antibiotics and other non-addictive drugs, but narcotics are always a dangerous route. One she knows all too well from experience. And it's very possible the effects of those drugs have stopped working because she puked them up. Gross.

Meredith glances at the nightstand where her phone lay. Part of her wants to call Cristina. Or Alex. Or Teddy. Even Derek. But the other part of her doesn't want anyone to see her in this state. She's a disaster.

Sleep. That's what she wants. That's what she needs. Problem is, the pain is too much to sleep. Meredith lets out a low groan. The world is cruel, but her body is even more cruel for making her feel like this.

Strangely enough, her phone begins to buzz, signaling an incoming call. Meredith sighs deeply, closing her eyes and trying to decide if it's worth the effort to move and pick up the small device. 

As the phone continues to buzz, the colonel counts to three and on her third count rolls her body sideways to reach her phone off the table. Biting back a scream, and clutches it tightly and rolls back into the only comfortable position.

She doesn't even look at who's calling before answering and putting it on speaker, laying it near her head and trying to catch her breath.

"Colonel Grey speaking?" Her voice surprises even her, coming out strained and in more pain than she thought possible.

"Death, I'm glad you picked up. I was afraid this was the wrong number."

Meredith perks up at this voice, a small smile finding its way onto her face. "Why are you calling...on an unsecured line?"

General Michael Kellin laughs slightly. "It's secured. Don't worry."

"Why are you calling?"

"You sound like shit."

"I feel like shit." She deadpans. Speaking is hard. She's tired enough as it is and doesn't have the energy to have a long conversation. Or even speak without taking breaks between sentences.

"I guess that answers my question then. I was wondering how you were doing. Is it six weeks post-op, now?"

"Yeah, six weeks. I'm dying, though."