Meredith Grey's VIPenis

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Derek Shepherd walked outside into the drizzling rain, his hair slowly curling up wet sticking to the sides of his face and forehead. He didn't like the rain. He didn't like the scenery. He didn't like Seattle. He didn't even like his own life. He came to Seattle a mere month ago to accept an offer he couldn't refuse from the Chief of Seattle Grace.

His dream was to become chief, to be on top no matter what it took. He left his Brownstone home in New York, he left his practise, he left his family, he left his friends, he left his fiance. He left everything and everyone he loved. And now he had learned the cheif had also offered the position to another contender, Preston Burke. Now he was expected to fight for something that was promised to him, he had to work harder than he had worked for the last ten years. This was complete bullshit.

He made his way to a secluded area in the deep of Seattle, the heart of Seattle. To bad he felt other wise. It was crap. The trees, the lake and the long journey to the city was crap.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

Fucking tin. God damn fucking tin is where he lived. How he chose to live like this? He had no idea. How he even signed the dotted line ending up owning acres of useless land. He was just retarded.

Slaming the door to his trailer he threw his briefcase on the ground next to his coffee table. His first stop was at the fridge, grabbing a bottle of beer he chuged it down in one take. Then another. Another. Another.

And another.

Drinking and glowering at the Seattle night was not going to make him better. It would not help him become cheif, but he needed something to numb the pain. Something to get him through the night.

Through his life as long as he was stuck here.

He grabbed the newspaper.

---

Look

He waited impatiently. He knew he practicaly lived in the middle of nowhere. He lived in the middle of nowhere! He was crazy. He knew he was crazt, maybe a little bit dilusional. This was something Derek Shepherd would never do. Ever. Even in his college years he would never do something as stupid, as careless, as crazy as this. Never.

Now he was 41 years old. Why in Gods name did he choose to do this now? He was in pain, he was hurting, he was alone. Those were the three factors in this. He missed his family. The support system he had all the time when he was back on the east coast, happy. He missed his home. The warmth of his stone fireplace, the softnes of his egyptian cotton sheets, the TiVo he had just installed a few weeks before he left. He missed Addison. His fiance. The love of his life. The woman he was suppose to spend the whole eternity with. He left her for his job. The thought of his own happiness in tact not even bothering to take in consideration her feelings. She was devistated, heart broken, just damn surprised.

And now he felt the same way. One hundred times worse. He couldn't call her. She must have moved on, or had forgoten about him by now. Mark. Mark would take care of her. He was his best friend since grade school. But there was a problem.

He hated her. She wanted to kill him.

That wouldn't work.

Maybe she had went on vacation. Derek knew how much she wanted to visit Paris. Maybe she left. Maybe.

Maybe Mark was screwing another one of his scrub nurses on his bear rug.

Maybe his family was having another one of their dinners.

Maybe a newly wed couple moved into his house he had customly designed seven years ago.

Maybe life was going on without his knowing. He was stuck. He was stuck and couldn't get out of the world of umbrellas and ferry boats. Of sluty interns and jackass boss'.