Addison is sitting on the couch, her body covered in her favorite red sweater.
Her phone is on the table in front of her. Every time Addison's gaze lands on it, she wants nothing more than to run away.
I can't call him.
Mark has been on her mind constantly this past week. They haven't seen each other or called at all since that dinner, and Addison feels her fragile will breaking more and more every passing second.
She misses having someone she can talk to, someone who wants to know how her day was, and doesn't walk away from a room just because she entered.
She misses Mark. How he smiles when he sees her, and his whole face lights up, his soft gaze that makes her feel so seen, his laugh. God, she misses even his voice.
She caught herself far too often this week, sitting in the bed and forgetting Derek was sleeping next to her. She automatically looked up Mark's number in her phone before remembering they were no longer talking. Well, she isn't talking to him. She's sure Mark's dying to see her caller ID on his phone.
I can't do that do Derek.
Derek came home one day after her dinner with Mark. Addison finds herself wishing he'd came a day earlier. What would he do, seeing her having dinner with his best friend while he's away? Would he finally look at her? Talk to her? See her?
He apologized, but his behavior didn't change at all. It was as if he never even came home.
He spent all day at his practice, and when he got home, he fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow. Or he just hid in the bedroom because he didn't want to see her. Or talk to her.
Addison doesn't know which option hurts more.
I am sorry, Derek.
Addison reaches for the phone.
"Red?"
"Could you please come over?"
"I'm on my way."
