chapter eighteen what have i done to deserve this?
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Every creak of the metal locker doors and every muttered conversation echoed with an almost shrillness in Blake's head. She fought to keep her eyes open, the exhaustion from the previous night threatening to pull her under. Sleep had been a fleeting visitor; she and Mark had been up until the first rays of dawn peeked through the blinds, leaving her with a meager three hours of restless sleep.
But exhaustion paled in comparison to the awkward tension that hung heavy in the air. Every glance she stole at George across the room was met with a flicker of hurt and a quick, defensive shift of his gaze. They were both avoiding each other.
"Fifty bucks says O'Malley caught her doing Mark Sloan." Alex's voice cut through the tension.
Blake flinched, the accusation hitting her like a physical blow. It was true, of course. At least some of it. Just excluding George.
"What? Wh-who said that?" Blake stammered.
Cristina scoffed. "No one had to say it, I mean, look at you." She scanned Blake's face, taking in her exhaustion. None of them actually thought the accusation was real but that did little to soothe Blake's nerves. "You look like someone who had a long night." Cristina lowered her voice before specifying, "Multiple rounds."
"You're a bitch, Cristina, you know that," Blake snapped, glaring at the woman. "I need eye drops. Or pepper spray," she said, slamming her locker shut a little harder than necessary.
"Ooh, someone's cranky," Cristina taunted, a smirk twisting her lips.
Alex leaned against the locker next to hers. "There are on-call rooms for a reason," Alex suggested.
She wanted to scream. Didn't anyone get it? It wasn't just about a stupid one-night stand. It was about the culmination of a bad day, the betrayal of a friend, the crushing weight of loneliness that had driven her to make a decision she wasn't sure she even regretted making.
