// LOVING SOMEONE //

chapter 1

pov: amelia

I thought I was invincible but all it took was her words: "You are not my sister. Cristina is my sister, you are Derek's sister and Derek is gone." It shouldn't have hurt me as much as it did I mean, Meredith was there for me more-so than any of my blood-related sisters these days and more than even Addison after Derek died. But there was something about her words and the harshness behind them that made me feel powerless and alone.

I had no one on my side. But I lashed out and I hurt her just the same. She'd probably be able to get over it. "The widow Grey, she's okay". She's stronger than I am, stronger than I ever was. Not having anyone around to make me feel loved or appreciated made it that much easier to just want to give up and to throw away everything I have worked for these past four years.

Four years of sobriety and of being the mother of the dead, brainless baby and four years of being reminded of the dead, drug addict man who was my first love. All that and somehow I managed not to kill myself with the drugs and the self pity and wallowing in my endless pit of darkness. But this new life I worked to build was never fully constructed; the walls were always caving in. Derek's death was the fucking wrecking ball breaking everything down and forcing me to clean it up and rebuild from scratch, yet again.

I thought I was okay, I thought I was secure; I was living this life and living with his wife.

He loved her for a reason.

Why was it so hard for me to see past her harsh words, so much so, that I couldn't even bear the thought of what Derek would actually think of this all? "He would be sick if he could see it, he would be disgusted".  I helped tear down my own walls this time. I'm just the wrong Shepherd. Always the wrong Shepherd. I'm the wrong Shepherd to Meredith; she wants Derek, not me. She'd give anything to have him back and not have me around haunting her with the resemblance of her deceased true love. But nothing can change the past.

All there is to do now is finally break, because that's all I can think to do next after her words and  Owen's words tore into me as deep as they did. I have not felt this unwanted in years, but it isn't the first time. I don't even care anymore.

I walked myself over to Joe's; leaving my car parked in the hospital lot thinking I can just get it some other time. As soon as I opened the bar door and heard the bell above the door jingle acutely, almost tauntingly, I knew it was all in my addiction's hands from here, I was just in the backseat, witnessing my own destruction now.

At least I saw a familiar face. Not a friend, but a colleague. Maybe if I pass out drunk, I could trust that he'd help me out. I didn't think one of the first things he'd say to me was if he could buy me a drink. I guess no one filled Dr. Riggs in on all of the information about the addict doctor that is me, but I don't blame him. A smart, attractive guy in a bar buying a drink for a woman all alone like myself, not unusual, nothing out of the ordinary to him. So I take the drink.

Vodka tonic. Just like old times, baby. I could do this. As soon as the glass is set down in front of me with the transparent, devilish liquid inside, I get nervous. I have second thoughts, but then her words come back to me, and so do his. Owen is the last person I ever wanted to piss off and the only person I want on my side, but he's had it with me. He doesn't want me. Not now, maybe never.

All the negativity deafening in my mind, I can't take it, and so I take a sip, without even thinking about it. Feeling the soft flame of the alcohol slide down my throat and burn through my nostrils as I exhaled after that first swig, I remembered what I was missing. It felt good; I don't know how I ever thought it could be bad.
After my fourth glass I started telling Riggs how vodka tonic was always my favorite. I was really going on and on about my liquid drug of choice like it was an old lover. I barely acknowledged him when he paid for the drinks and said he'd be heading home for the night and to enjoy myself, I must've smiled or said thanks or something but I don't remember that itty-bitty detail. He wasn't really on my mind. He was just my supplier for the night.