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chapter eight. (the wicked witch of the east coast ) S2E1 — teardrops keep falling on my head.
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THIS FEELING ON DAPHNE'S CHEST — it makes her feel sick-ridden with guilt. She drowns her sorrows in Joe's bar with drink after drink and hopes it vanishes the sensation of wrongdoing that bears on her heavily.
She blew out on her date with Elliot and foolishly fumbles in front of Addison before darting out of the hospital in record timing in sharp direction to the bar, not even considering to warn Derek and Meredith of the tornado that is Addison Montgomery-Shepherd. She feels sick. She is sick. She's known the truth for so long, and what did she do? Kept her lips sealed and hoped for the best. It's pathetic of her, that's the only way to describe it.
"You okay, Daphne?" Joe, the bartender, asks with concern, and Daphne glances up at him through her lashes with her head balanced on the palm of her hand.
"Not really," she says, honest. No lie could hide the expression on her face which betrays all of her emotions.
"Oh," Joe lets out. "Well, that one's on the house."
Daphne smiles tightly. "Thanks, Joe."
But not even a free drink can make her feel better. It makes her feel underserving. She, the entire time, had known the truth behind Derek's twisted past and there hasn't been a single inkling within her that urged her to inform Meredith. She should've. She knows that. And it doesn't make it better when Meredith Grey storms into the bar and slams her purse down next to where Daphne's sitting.
"You knew, didn't you?" Meredith asks harshly. "You knew that he was married?"
Daphne grimaces, swerving on her stool to face an irate Meredith, "Yes. I did. But —"
