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Hangovers are a cruel, bitter, and unnecessary form of torture. Sure, drinking wasn't exactly the healthiest activity to partake in; it destroyed your lived and melted your brain, in excess. However, the majority of people who chose to drink, chose to do so mostly to empty their brains momentarily, to forget all the shitty things going on in their life. So how, on god's green earth, did the idea of hangovers come about? Awakening, after the first fun-filled night in what felt like forever, with a splintering between your eyebrows, a churning in your stomach, and anxiety sitting tight in your chest.
Rosie rolled out of bed at four am, a time her body naturally woke her, a fact that plagued her, irritated her to no end. But today, it proved itself to be helpful, her early arising her leaving her with time to rid herself of her hangover. She groaned as she trudged around her room, slipping into her running clothes as if a second skin, and slamming the front door behind her.
She made her way towards the park, moisture dripping down her forehead as she jogged, sweating out the alcohol from the previous night.
She heard footsteps and jogging behind her, and her eyes widened as Addison moved toward her side, jogging alongside her, wearing a matching Columbia University jumper.
"Morning," Addison panted, "we need to talk."
"Are you stalking me?" Rosie gasped.
"No," she denied, "you told me last night that you run every morning."
Rosie shook her head at her own antics, "I see," she huffed, "why do you care? You haven't been speaking to me for weeks."
"I can explain-
"And you cheated on Derek?"
"Rosie," Addison tried to speak, but she'd never been one to run, and Rosie was pushing on angrily, effortlessly, "can you slow down?" the woman wheezed.
"You cheat on your husband, with a whore, and, in that time of crisis, decide the best way to handle the situation is to ignore your best friend, who, by the way, always gives you great advice." Rosie had stopped running, turning to face the woman.
"My marriage was over before I slept with Mark," Addison whispered, tears brimming in her eyes, "I know, it was a silly, and frankly slutty decision, but he cared, you know? He asked how my day was, he brought me coffee, he-
"Wait," Rosie interrupted, "you didn't just sleep with Mark the one time?"
"No," Addison admitted, "I have so much to tell you."
Rosie's face softened upon seeing the obvious pain gracing her best friend's features. She frowned, linking her arm with Addison's, as she dragged her in the direction of the nearest coffee shop, where they fuelled themselves with caffeine, before they stopped by Rosie's apartment - the two women chatted for just under an hour before Rosie got dressed ready to start her shift. Addison caught her up on everything she missed since leaving for Africa, and Rosie, thought slightly disappointed in her friend, understood, and comforted the woman.
Rosie slipped on a pair of heels, Addison slipping her own shoes on by the door, and they headed to work, as Addison was requested to attend the hospital on a case, and she was planning on attempting to speak to Derek.
When the women entered the hospital, she sought out Burke. However, with no exciting cardio surgeries scheduled for the day, and an intern already assigned to the service, Burke suggested Rosie stick with Addison, and she was assigned neonatal for the day. So, she headed to the locker room to change into scrubs, and clip her hair back loosely, pulling a few front strands out to frame her face.
