In An Ideal World

Chapter One: In

Amelia's POV

In my ideal world, being gay would be okay. I would be able to be with the one whom I love the most, without dealing with criticism from every person whom passes me on the streets. I can't hold another girl's hand in public and kissing is most definitely forbidden. Even though I don't care about other people's judgements, I still can't bare to deal with their insults for some odd reason. I should be brave and suck it up but it's hard sometimes, when everyone is using one word, one label to define your entire being, I just wish being bisexual was normal and I could just love who I wanted.

All of these judgements are the one reason I have never been with a woman, kissed a woman, held a woman's hand or even slept with a woman; except for one. Even though I find them gorgeous, I'm just too scared so I hide behind handsome young men who really don't deserve to deal with me. My biggest fear is telling a woman I like her and them laughing and turning away; claiming they're straight or some nonsense like that. Nobody is open about things like this and it just makes my heart ache. It seems as though I need like a 'mama gay' or something to follow, as if I was a duckling.

I told my brother Derek a couple years ago, and even though he was supportive he still ended up muttering under his breath, "It may just be a phase, Amy." These words broke my heart and have haunted me even more than what the strangers' said and it's the main reason I've hidden away all this time. As much as he loves me and supports me, the fact that he assumed it was just another phase really hurt. I wanted to be just like him, how come he's allowed to be with women and I'm not?

The most terrifying part if I ever do come out is the rest of my family, though. My mother's silence and judgemental stares alongside my sisters' laughter and ridiculing would just make me feel even more worthless than I believe I am. If all these protesters claim that being anything other than straight is a choice; not just who you are, are bullshitters. I hate to use foul language like that, but they are. Why would I choose to be ridiculed and judged, I just don't understand.

I've only ever been with one woman and that was my mentor, back in Hopkins. She was out as a lesbian and prideful, every year on pride month she would wear scrubs with the lesbian flag under her doctors coat. Some patients' parents got mad and well, that didn't work out well for them. Arizona would drag them out of the room and start scalding them about how it's a new, modernised society and how they shouldn't be homophobic as they were setting a bad example for their kids. She also made sure to add the statistic that 1 in every 3 people are a part of the LGBTQ+ community, and that if their kid grows up to be one of those they would want to feel wanted and loved, not scared and terrified.

That statistic has lingered with me ever since, poking at the back of my mind everywhere I go. Whenever I walk in a crowded street I try to think of how many people must be a part of the community, some closeted like me but some completely out like Arizona. I always wanted to be like Arizona, but I never had the courage and I moved programs before Arizona knew that I properly fell for her so in her eyes, I was probably just a fuckgirl.

Now I'm an attending and I've decided to move to Seattle to continue my career. I still think of Arizona, but the thoughts have began to fade over the years and my memories blurred. I'm in Seattle for one reason; Derek. Even though he sometimes says the wrong things and hurts my feelings, he's the best sibling I have and I think I'm his favourite sister. Apparently though, Derek got shot and decided not to tell me so, maybe we're not as close as I think.

I rented out a small apartment just down the road from Seattle Grace, I thought it would be convenient being super close and I really didn't want to be homeless and live in my car because well, last time that happened it didn't work out too well. I hopped out of my car and ran up the stairs like an eager little kid, placing the key in the lock and spinning it in eager anticipation to see what my new living space looked like.

I am not impressed.

What kind of roommate is this?

They're not here to greet me and the place is a mess.

Were they not expecting me?

This sucks!

I walked in and sat on the couch, it's lumpy, of course. This just makes my day even better.

I sigh in discontent and lie down on the couch, telling myself I'll just have a short, 5 minute nap. If my roommate wasn't here to greet me then why don't I scare whomever they were by sleeping on their couch. The bags under my eyes and my messy, scruffled hair will probably make them think that I'm some homeless crackhead. Well, the crackhead bit doesn't seem too inaccurate, considering I was a drug addict before I moved here.

After I looked past the lumpiness of the couch and the clutter that was gathered upon the tables, this place wasn't that bad though. It seemed very homely and smelled faintly of vanilla; a nostalgic smell for me that really brought me back to better times. I smiled to myself before falling asleep, maybe this place is better than it seemed at my first glance.