Aftermath

Part 21

Two weeks since Cristina's wedding. Four therapy sessions. Carolyn Shepherd had left a few days after the wedding. Derek had started working full shifts at the hospital again, he was pretty much back to normal. My shift had ended at 4:00, I had gone to therapy after, and now I was home. Derek's shift ended at 9:00. He should be home soon. 

I sat on the edge of our bed, fumbling with the bottle of pills in my hand. SSRIs, a common drug treatment for PTSD. Dr. Turner had prescribed them for me today, saying I was seriously sleep deprived and they would help me sleep undisturbed by nightmares. 

The first two therapy sessions were awkward at best, I told her all about my crappy childhood and how I was all dark and twisty. The third session I talked about the shooting. Not the baby. I couldn't really talk about the baby to anyone, even my husband. Today, I told her about the PTSD attacks when she noticed I looked exhausted, and she gave me drugs.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the bedroom door open, only to find Derek. I breathed in relief.

"Hey," he flashed me a smile and leaned down to kiss me, "How was it?"

I kissed him back but didn't return the smile, leading to a concerned look on his face. I held up the bottle of pills. 

"SSRIs," He read off the label.

"According to the shrink I'm sleep deprived and prone to PTSD attacks,"

Derek sat down on the bed next to me and kicked off his shoes.

"Sleep deprived?" He questioned.

I gulped and cast a guilty look at my husband.

"I...I can't remember the last time I slept through the night," I admitted quietly.

The shock on his face was clear.

"But, I thought you were getting better, I mean, you haven't been waking me up as often, and I've been-" He stuttered.

It took a lot of self control not to break down in front of him right then when realization spread on his features.

"You haven't been waking me up," 

I shook my head.

"Why, Meredith? I can help you, why don't you wake me up?"

"Just because I can't sleep doesn't mean you shouldn't either. I'm not screaming anymore, I just jerk awake and can't go back to sleep,"

His gaze softened and he brushed my cheek with his thumb.

"You should wake me up. I don't care if it's every night, let me be there for you,"

I shook my head, "Well now you don't have to worry about it because I'll be drugged. Apparently talk therapy alone isn't going to get dark and twisty Meredith all whole and healed,"

"You know that's not true, it will help, okay? You just need to give it some time,"

I managed a tiny smile. Somehow, my husband managed to be so optimistic. Instead of responding I got up and put some pajamas on, before grabbing a glass of water from the bathroom and putting on the bedside table next to the jar of pills. I sat there, studying it while my husband changed.

"Did you eat dinner?"

"Yeah," I lied. I wasn't hungry. 

"Okay," He sighed and climbed into bed, settling his gaze on me. 

I didn't move from my spot, but I opened up the jar and dumped a pill into my hand and rolled it around my fingertips. After a few minutes, Derek spoke up.