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Move in with me (Amelia)

⚠️⚠️TRIGGER WARNING: Self H@rm is mentioned heavily

DONT IGNORE THÉ WARNING

'L/n, get over here! I need you on this.' Amelia Shepherd calls me. I'm a 4th year resident at Grey Sloan Memorial, and while the other attendings tend to stick with certain other residents and blatantly ignore me, Shepherd chose me. 'What do you need?' I ask her. A major trauma came into the pit just a minute ago, and I strolled down to find a surgery. 'Bring this guy up for CT, bring me the scans when he's ready.'  She orders while the gurney is pushed in my direction. 'Got it.' I grab the gurney and whisk him away.

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I'm waiting for his scans to show up when he begins to sweat, a lot. I turn off the scan and go inside to check on him. His fingertips are blue and his blood pressure begins to drop.  The pieces are connecting in my brain and it clicks. He's hemorrhaging. I look over to the radiologist and yell 'Page Shepherd!'

We get into the OR and I'm standing on my own after scrubbing. 'Where's Shepherd?' I ask. 'She's not here yet, you have to start.' Bokhee tells me. I take a deep breath and look down at the patient. '10 blade, please.' I'm handed a scalpel and I begin to cut into his scalp. Blood begins to pour from his head and I cut deeper. I go through the steps in my head. Find the source of bleeding, litigation, pack it, place a shunt, suture and close. 'Litigation, Bokhee.'

I'm just about to start closing when Amelia opens the door, with a mask covering her mouth but I can tell she's furious. 'What are you doing?' She demands. 'Dr. Shepherd the patient haemorrhaged in CT. He needed emergency surgery and although I paged you, you didn't come. I had to place a shunt myself, and I'm closing now.'  I say level-headedly. 'Dr. L/n, if this surgery went wrong it would have been a suspension! You should have waited for an attending to answer your page.' She tells me. 'If I had done that he would be dead! I paged the entire neuro department and nobody showed up. I did the right thing for my patient.' I retort. She groans in frustration and exits the operating room.

When I've closed the patient and he's sent up to the ICU, I see Shepherd waiting for me. 'You're off my service. For the rest of the week. Come back when you've learned how to deal with a patient.' She informs me. I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out. Instead I shrug and walk away.

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When I get home I go straight to the bathroom and grab a razor blade from the cabinet. I had a problem a while ago and usually I don't do it anymore, but today I've had a bad day and I really feel the need to. I cut deep into my arm and watch blood pour from my wrists. After a few cuts on each arm I clean up and put plasters over them. I go to bed, drained and upset over stupid things.

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Everyday for the next 4 days I bounce from specialty to specialty, hoping someone will need my help. Usually they say no, they have a resident and I'm not necessary. I'm sitting in a storage closet studying and hoping someone will need me. Until I'm paged by Amelia for a trauma, where she finds a massive brain tumour in a child's cerebral cortex. 'I want you on this. Can you handle it?' She asks me. 'Yes of course, thank you.' She eyes me for a second. 'Okay, let's go scrub.'

We're in the scrub room washing our hands after the surgery when Amelia breaks the silence. 'Im sorry. You were right, that patient would have died had you not saved his life. I was out of line.' She admits. 'I'm sorry for being so rude to you when you confronted me. I should have told you what I was doing.' I say in return. Although I'm focused on my hands, I see her smile and look down. Then I see her smile fade. Then I see worry in her eyes. 'Y/n,' She whispers. 'What happened to your arms?' I look at my wrists and see what she's talking about. They've become little scars now, but they're still red and I try my best to cover them when possible. 'Oh, I was practising sutures.' I lie. 'No you weren't.' She turns off the water. 'No, I wasn't.' My voice breaks. 'When did this happen?' I don't speak. 'Was it when- Oh my god, Y/n. I'm so sorry.' She puts her hands on my shoulders. 'You're going to have to scrub again.' I say to try and change the subject. 'Y/n. Are you okay?' She asks me. 'I am. I had a problem, but I fixed it. This was just a- a rough day, I guess.' I tell her. 'Believe me, I know all about rough days. But this-' She traces the new scars all up and down my arms. 'This isn't a one time thing. It's an relapse, and it's coming back to eat at you. I think you should see someone.' She suggests. 'No.' My voice wavers as I decline her offer. The last time I saw a therapist was a while ago and they told me I was faking it for attention. The last thing I ever wanted from it was attention. 'Okay, it's okay. Look, sit down and take a breath.' She helps me onto the floor and I sit in a cross legged position. 'I'm sorry, I had a bad relationship with a therapist in the past and I don't want to do that again.' I explain. 'It's alright. But you need someone to help you. Why don't you move in with me? We spend a lot of time together anyway, and this way I can help you get through this. You don't have to say yes, but I think you should be around someone that can help you.' I look up at her from where my eyes were glued to the floor. 'Okay. I'll move in with you.'