Asystole ✷ Mark Sloan

𝟬𝟰𝟬 talk it out

𝙓𝙇.
TALK IT OUT

──────

THE DAY I'D broken my rib, Charlie had found me crying in the bath.

"Oh shit." 

He'd stood in the doorway. His eyes were wide, fixing on my torso. I'd winced at his how alarmed he sounded. His steps towards me were slightly staggered, he got down onto his knees, holding the side of the bathtub. 

"What happened?"

I'd glanced down at the large, angry-looking bruises that now patterned my ribcage. 

There were only a few but they were large and prominent, shining out through the clouds of bubble bath like charred holes in a letter someone had unceremoniously failed to burn. 

My face had made itself into this sheepish smile that I knew he didn't like, his brow knotted and I would have shrugged if it didn't hurt like hell. I'd wiped my tears on my wrists and held myself together.

"I had a rough day at work." I'd said.

He tried to nurse me to health like some sort of broken baby bird, but I'd persevered. I'd gotten myself out of the bath, I'd dried myself down and I'd even cooked a half-hearted dinner in the process, all while shaking off the way he shadowed me as if I'd fall apart at any time. 

I'd kissed him and patted his cheek, repeating the word I'd said a thousand times that day: "I'm fine". Charlie had followed, disbelief and concern in his eyes. I had less concern. It was exactly what I said it was: a rough day at work. 

It was only when I sat down to write out the incident report in bed, that I actually resumed the same sadness I'd felt while in the bath.

Charlie had kept his distance.

"I don't know how you do it."

"Hm?"

 I'd even put my glasses on. I never wore my glasses. The light was scarce and my eyes were tired. I'd blinked over at him, hands juggling a few pieces of paper and a pen, staring through the lenses of my reading glasses. 

He'd taken to leaning against the doorframe and smiling sadly at me. When I'd realised what he was referring to, I just cast my gaze down to the floor, eventually returning to signing on little dotted lines.

In a way much like Mark, Charlie was able to stare at me as if he could see straight through me. I'd gnawed on my bottom lip and tried to ignore the way he gingerly stepped forwards, eventually sitting on the beside me. 

His side of the bed had been relatively untouched as he'd taken to sleeping on the couch to not disturb me when he worked late into the night. He'd looked over my shoulder at the legal forms: Seattle Grace Mercy West will not be held liable to blah blah blah... 

I'd just been able to catch the furrow of his brow out of the corner of my eye.

"You're not happy, Beth."

Sometimes, Charlie felt more like my therapist than my boyfriend. It'd been that way from the start and I suppose that that was the problem with dating an accredited therapist. My eyes had closed very fleetingly as if those words harmed me deeply, but he'd stared at me, watching the movement of my face. 

His hand had pressed against my arm. 

It felt like I was in therapy. It felt like this conversation was a professional concern that left a metallic, sour taste in my mouth. Goosebumps had risen on my arms as he laid his head on my shoulder. I'd exhaled loudly, leaning my head on top of his.