Warning Signs - erica_callie comm challenge fic 1/1
AN - This piece is for the erica_callie LJ community challenge. (Write a fic (of any length) or create a fanvid inspired by the lyrics of Coldplay's " Warning Sign.")
Warning Signs
Why is it that the things that are the most obvious in life are often the things that we miss?
It’s like suddenly our twenty-twenty vision has been clouded with a dark oblivion that we’re too stupid to even think about removing.
It’s the not thinking about it that’s the worst.
Why is it that we’re more than comfortable to ignore what’s really going on if it makes our lives just that little bit easier?
There’s children starving all around the world, and I know it, there’s information about it all over the news, we all know, and yet in my normal day to day life the thought of them doesn’t cross my mind. And what about the homeless, there’s hundreds of people living on the streets of Seattle, stuck outside in the cold wind and icy showers, but unless I see them with my very eyes, thoughts of them don’t crop up while I’m all snuggled up in my warm apartment.
If I let myself think about these things I’d go crazy, I’d be so upset, so distressed that I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on my job, on my day to day life. It’s full out selfish, there’s no other way to describe it and yet we all do it, we put ourselves first and everyone else comes in second.
It’s terrible really, how much lack of thought we all have about some issues, especially if there’s a sign that we could be doing more.
Not thinking about issues is appalling, I’ve realised this now, but when there’s a clear sign, screaming out for me to notice, for me to actually do something about it, and I still choose to ignore what it’s trying to tell me, I know It’ll end up being one of my biggest regrets.
“Signs are there for a reason,” that’s what my mother always used to say.
I used to roll my eyes at her when she said it to me throughout my childhood, my immature mind responding with a “Well no shit mother! Of course a sign is there for a reason. If there’s a road sign telling you to slow down because children might run out, then you slow down.” It really was quite simple, right?
Wrong!
Life has signs for everything. Road safety, the human body, animals, religion, children, other people, what to do, what not to do, it’s all there for us to see.
Some of them are simple and easier to understand. If your stomach growls, it’s normally your body’s way of telling you you’re hungry. If you’re driving in your car and the lights turn red it means stop. If you see a child fall down and cry, you go over, pick them up and make sure they’re okay.
All of these things are warnings, and like I said, as a child I really thought “Oh how simple,” but it took years for me to realise that it’s not the warning the sign is giving you that matters, it’s the way you interpret what that warning means and how you react that counts.
I never knew that sometimes the warning signs in life were more complicated than “What you see is what you get.” Sometimes you have to look a little harder, listen a little more carefully to really hear what they’re trying to warn you about.
So far, I’ve missed a couple of these more complicated warning signs that life has tried to caution me with. My marriage to George being the main one I blatantly missed. There were no lit up neon signs with “Don’t do it Callie!” flashing at me to try and get me to stop the madness I was about to delve into (Which is slightly ironic considering I eloped in Vegas where the whole city is lit up with these ridiculous displays of lights) and no one ever grabbed me by the arm and said straight out “Callie, marrying George is a bad move for you, slow down and just see where it goes, don’t rush into it.”
When my marriage fell apart, I spent days crying, wondering where I’d gone wrong, wanting to know why life hadn’t thrown me a damn bone and showed me how wrong it all was from the very start. It wasn’t until a week later when I was in the shower after a particularly brutal day at work that it all became clear to me. Life had thrown me a sign at the earliest possible moment, but I had stupidly chosen to not think about it, to ignore it.
My warning sign for my relationship with George? Izzie Stevens.
It all clicked into place in that moment; how had I been so blind to it. She was right there, in front of my very eyes, yelling into my ears that I would never be as important to George as his friendship with the other interns, but I ignored it all. It’s like my brain had the information but decided to put it into a filing cabinet to process later, only deciding to go through it and yell, “Hell no Torres, this is the worst idea you’ve ever had!” once the whole thing had already fallen apart.
You think I’d learn from something like that, right? Me too. I really thought that that mistake was firmly etched into my brain along with the knowledge to never experience something like that again during my lifetime.
Apparently though, I’m a lot slower than I thought, because not only did I not learn from my own stupidity, I acted the whole damn thing out and refused to let myself read all of the blazing warning signs telling me to stop, take a breath and just think about my actions and the effects they would have.
The warnings signs that life was offering me this time were so big, so important that I’m actually ashamed that I didn’t see them. I feel angry with myself, and I feel guiltier than I ever have in my entire life.
Last time I missed warning signs that could have saved me from getting hurt. This time I missed warning signs that could have saved me from hurting her.
It makes my stomach knot so tightly that I feel physically sick, my throat’s so dry that I feel like I’ve got a permanent lump stuck there to stop me from talking anymore empty words and my eyes are so red, so sore, that I actually welcome the pain they bring me, if only to punish myself that little bit more for my major slipup.
I, Callie Torres hurt Erica Hahn.
I hurt my best friend.
I crushed my lover.
I done all of it with reckless abandon, ignoring every obvious and not so obvious sign that life hurled at me... that Erica hurled at me, just so that I wouldn’t have to deal with all of the scary, new, and confusing emotions that came along with having a relationship with her, a woman. I didn’t want to think about what it all meant, didn’t want the word ‘gay’ to ever flash through my mind.
The signs were so obvious, so, so obvious that I want to go back in time and slap myself and yell, “Hey Torres! Stop being a selfish little bitch and open up your damn eyes!”
I should have know when Erica stuttered and walked away after our first kiss outside of the hospital that she was just as confused by it all as I was.
I should have known that when she panicked about Mark knowing about our relationship that she wasn’t just worried about people talking about her, but instead that she was scared he’d freak me out, or maybe even her.
I should have known that when she found the courage to ask me out on our first date that her heart was nervously pounding ten times faster than my own.
I should have known during our first time together that when she stopped to brush a strand of hair out of my face and whispered, “Are you sure?” she wasn’t just asking about the sex, she was asking about so much more, she wanted confirmation that I really wanted to be with her, that I would willingly fall and trust her enough to catch me. I should have looked into her gorgeous blue eyes and whispered all of the words I knew were lingering in my heart, but instead I pulled her lips back down to mine; covering up all of the discussions I knew we needed to have.
I should have known that when I left her the morning after she made her beautiful speech about leaves, gushing happily with her wonderful epiphany that she was gay, that sleeping with Mark wasn’t right. I should have known that when I told her about it and she said “Okay,” with a broken look in her normally strong blue eyes that it was anything but okay.
It wasn’t until she walked away from me after our argument, leaving me standing alone, that the bubble burst and I was finally overwhelmed by the amount of screeching warning signs there were all around me.
I stood rooted to that spot for ten minutes in utter disbelief with myself and my actions; I couldn’t believe how completely messed up I had allowed the situation to get. It was like my brain suddenly released all of these moments, these crystal clear signs, into my mind and allowed me to see what it was that I’d ignored; how deep the damage I’d committed already went.
I went straight to Erica’s house, standing for hours outside of her door, pounding my fists against it and begging for her to let me in and listen to my pathetic excuses. I yelled until my voice went horse, and then I sunk down against the door and cried. I’d royally fucked up something great. I’d ignored all of the good parts, channelling my vision to only see the bad.
I stayed there all night, but she never relented to my pleas and let me in. When my shift came around the next morning, I went in desperate search of her only to find every last trace of her removed from the walls of Seattle Grace Hospital.
“She’s gone, left, not coming back.” These were the painful words that fell from the Chief’s mouth when I asked him why Erica hadn’t been into work for two days. I cried in an on-call room for an hour with Mark rocking me, holding me in his arms to comfort what I allowed him to help break.
I spent the next week calling her cell nonstop, emailing her every day, I even went to her house every time I’d finished my shift just to see if this time she’d give in and hear me out. I had a Saturday off and without a doubt; I knew I would spend it at Erica’s house, continuing with my quest for her to forgive me.
When I pulled up in my car and glanced at her house, I knew immediately that something was wrong. The blinds that used to be drawn across the windows were gone, the beautifully potted plant that sat beside her front door was nowhere to be seen; it was all another warning crying out inside my head.
I jumped out of my car and hurried to her front door, gasping in surprise when I found it unlocked. As I let myself in and moved down her hallway and into her living room, I was surprised to find the space empty; she was really gone from my life. The voice of the realtor broke through my numbness and I left Erica’s house as quickly as I came, knowing for certain that missing those warning signs was already my life’s biggest regret.
Within days my hurt and disbelief turned to a pathetic attempt at anger; it was a defence tactic, I was frantically trying to explain Erica’s sudden disappearance with excuses of my behaviour, coming up with ludicrous justifications as to why I didn’t see all of the obvious warnings. I even tried to blame it on her, knowing in my heart the whole time just how untrue that was.
I tried for a whole month to forget that she ever came into my life; that her presence, her friendship, her love, ever affected me in the way I knew it had. I wanted to believe that she hadn’t changed me, but I think everyone, including myself knew that she had.
I’d fallen in love with her and tried to mask it with inexcusable behaviour. I knew she loved me, I could see it in her eyes every time she looked at me, feel it in her touch every time her skin brushed against mine. All of that was a warning that my heart had healed and was beginning to love again. It should have been okay, I should have been happy, but instead I took it as my cue to panic, to pretend it was all wrong and ignore it.
She haunted me every second of every day after she left. I could feel her presence around me while I was at work, when I went to Joe’s for a drink, or when I was in my apartment. I’d get these flashes, these repeats of memories I’d never given much thought to. She was stunning, and I’d chosen not to see it.
I had the chance to have it all with her, she offered herself willingly to me, if I asked her for something she’d give it to me without a second thought because she cared about me that much, she’d given me her heart and I had taken it for granted.
Love was not something I had experienced very much in my life. George had been the first person I’d ever fallen in love with and look how badly that turned out. It made me more reluctant, like I told Erica at Joe’s that night, “I can’t give pieces of myself away again.” I felt like I had to hold back, be more cautious. I should have taken a risk, my heart and my head were telling me to jump and let Erica catch me, but this unknown part of me was whispering into my ear that she’d side step at the last minute and I’d hit the ground with an almighty thud, causing further damage to my already unstable heart.
Ignoring all of the warning signs as our friendship moved into something more, something deeper, something that made my heart beat a little quicker than I was comfortable with made me scurry away and miss out on the chance to explore what a real relationship could be like. If I had just opened my eyes I could have discovered that everything I’ve ever wanted to find in someone was right there, standing in front of me, open for me to take, to love.
It was Cristina who told me where Erica was. She didn’t really mean to, we were eating lunch together in the cafeteria and she was bitching about a surgery she’d had with Dixon when she accidentally blabbed that she’d much rather be at New York Presbyterian working with Hahn again.
My eyes had widened at her words, at just the sound of Erica’s name, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Suddenly there it was again, those red lights, flashing brightly behind my eyes, warning me to get off my ass and actually do something. I had the story out of Cristina within minutes and by the end of my shift I’d demanded the Chief give me two weeks off or he’d be losing another surgeon. He hadn’t been happy by my demands but I didn’t care, I knew where she was and everything inside of me was screaming for me to go to her.
When I got to New York, I went straight to the hospital, headed up to the surgical wing and asked if Dr Erica Hahn was working today; the kind nurse confirmed that she was and I thanked her before heading back outside to try and formulate some kind of plan.
I found her car in the hospital car park, tucked neatly in the corner away from everyone else’s, just like she used to park in Seattle; it gave me a little bit of comfort, a little bit of hope to know that not everything had changed in her life, that maybe she was holding on to these familiar habits in an attempt not to let go of her past... to maybe not let go of me.
I settled against her car, leaning on it for support, wishing that this simple connection between me and just something of hers was enough to repair some of the damage.
It was the sound of footsteps that drew my attention from the floor, within seconds my eyes were sliding over her body and landing on her face; her ever intense blue eyes glaring right back at me. She stopped dead in her tracks, just staring back at me in disbelief, as if she couldn’t actually believe that I was there.
I had prepared myself for anger, to suffer the fatal attack of her vicious tongue and striking words but they never came. She simply let out a deep breath, hiked her bag higher on her shoulder and stalked towards me.
“What are you doing here Callie?”
My eyes felt hazy, as if her being was actually some kind of cruel illusion that my mind had thought up. Her gorgeous blonde hair was as curly as ever; her blue eyes still held that captivating twinkle and her delicious mouth still expressed all that she didn’t say.
“I’m sorry.”
She shook her head and pursed her lips together in a tight line, “That doesn’t tell me why you’re here.”
I took a step closer to her, daring to invade her personal space a little and hold her eyes intensely; hoping she can still read me as well as she once could, and see all of my regrets, “I’m sorry.”
A look of recognition, of understanding flashes through her eyes and she shakes her head, “It’s not enough.”
Her words cut me just as painfully as I knew they would and yet I refuse to look away, knowing full well that I deserve to suffer a bile taste of what I put her through, “I know.”
She holds my gaze for a few seconds longer before walking around me and climbing into her car and driving away without looking back.
I spend the next few days waiting for her at her car when her shift ends, each time telling her that I’m sorry and that I’m not going anywhere. She seems sceptical of my words and I can hardly blame her, to her my words must seem like empty promises, promises that she’s sure I’ll break just like I have before.
I follow her home on the Friday night, driving a few cars behind her so that she won’t see me. Her neighbourhood is surprisingly quiet considering how buzzing New York City is; her house is large, unusual but beautiful to look at. It’s situated at the end of her street, slightly away from the other houses just like her car is from her colleagues’ vehicles at the hospital. It’s a reminder of how she doesn’t like people, of how she broke down her walls and let me in only to have me let her down and prove her theories about people not being worth the hassle right.
I park my car and walk up the little path that leads me to her porch. I take a deep breath to steady my nerves and lift my hand to knock against her door. The door opens before I have a chance to rattle my knuckles against it and I’m greeted by her beautiful vision.
There’s a glimmer of concern on the surface of her eyes as she looks me over from head to foot, her gaze settling on my own. I know she can see the exhaustion on my face, in my eyes, and even in my normally confident posture.
I feel a lump burning in my throat as I search for the right words to say and I know my eyes are brimming with tears that easily manage to slide down my cheeks when my voice finally escapes my mouth, “I miss you.”
I know those three simple words aren’t enough to convey all of the words I should say, and they’re definitely nowhere near enough to repair the destruction I’ve caused... but they’re all I have. I wanted to be strong, to not become this weepy, pathetic form of the person I used to be, but as my stray tears turn into chest clenching sobs I know that I must look like a weak, good-for-nothing intern in her eyes.
I gasp when she reaches out and cups my cheeks with her ever gentle hands, brushing my tears away with the pads of her thumbs. Her eyes have softened significantly by the time I get the courage to look back at her, and I choke out my surprise when she opens her arms to me.
I burry into her body, breathing in a deep lungful of her heavenly scent; her smell, her embrace, it all feels like coming home and the realisation makes me grasp her tighter, makes me sob a little harder.
“I shouldn’t have let you go,” I blubber against her ear, my breath catching as another round of sobs rake through my body.
Her hands rub soothingly over my back as she pulls me closer to her; her lips brushing lingering kisses onto the top of my head, “You’re here now,” she murmurs against my crown, “That’s all that matters. That’s all that’s ever mattered.”
My mother was right when she said “Signs are there for a reason,” and right now, with my heart hammering inside of my chest, Erica’s arms wrapped around my body and holding me close to her own, I know that life’s sending my one last warning sign; Erica Hahn is the love of my life and I better hold firmly onto her with both hands.
For once, I see the flashing lights, I hear the warning, and I tighten my hold around her; this is one warning I won’t ignore.
Warning Signs
Why is it that the things that are the most obvious in life are often the things that we miss?
It’s like suddenly our twenty-twenty vision has been clouded with a dark oblivion that we’re too stupid to even think about removing.
It’s the not thinking about it that’s the worst.
Why is it that we’re more than comfortable to ignore what’s really going on if it makes our lives just that little bit easier?
There’s children starving all around the world, and I know it, there’s information about it all over the news, we all know, and yet in my normal day to day life the thought of them doesn’t cross my mind. And what about the homeless, there’s hundreds of people living on the streets of Seattle, stuck outside in the cold wind and icy showers, but unless I see them with my very eyes, thoughts of them don’t crop up while I’m all snuggled up in my warm apartment.
If I let myself think about these things I’d go crazy, I’d be so upset, so distressed that I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on my job, on my day to day life. It’s full out selfish, there’s no other way to describe it and yet we all do it, we put ourselves first and everyone else comes in second.
It’s terrible really, how much lack of thought we all have about some issues, especially if there’s a sign that we could be doing more.
Not thinking about issues is appalling, I’ve realised this now, but when there’s a clear sign, screaming out for me to notice, for me to actually do something about it, and I still choose to ignore what it’s trying to tell me, I know It’ll end up being one of my biggest regrets.
“Signs are there for a reason,” that’s what my mother always used to say.
I used to roll my eyes at her when she said it to me throughout my childhood, my immature mind responding with a “Well no shit mother! Of course a sign is there for a reason. If there’s a road sign telling you to slow down because children might run out, then you slow down.” It really was quite simple, right?
Wrong!
Life has signs for everything. Road safety, the human body, animals, religion, children, other people, what to do, what not to do, it’s all there for us to see.
Some of them are simple and easier to understand. If your stomach growls, it’s normally your body’s way of telling you you’re hungry. If you’re driving in your car and the lights turn red it means stop. If you see a child fall down and cry, you go over, pick them up and make sure they’re okay.
All of these things are warnings, and like I said, as a child I really thought “Oh how simple,” but it took years for me to realise that it’s not the warning the sign is giving you that matters, it’s the way you interpret what that warning means and how you react that counts.
I never knew that sometimes the warning signs in life were more complicated than “What you see is what you get.” Sometimes you have to look a little harder, listen a little more carefully to really hear what they’re trying to warn you about.
So far, I’ve missed a couple of these more complicated warning signs that life has tried to caution me with. My marriage to George being the main one I blatantly missed. There were no lit up neon signs with “Don’t do it Callie!” flashing at me to try and get me to stop the madness I was about to delve into (Which is slightly ironic considering I eloped in Vegas where the whole city is lit up with these ridiculous displays of lights) and no one ever grabbed me by the arm and said straight out “Callie, marrying George is a bad move for you, slow down and just see where it goes, don’t rush into it.”
When my marriage fell apart, I spent days crying, wondering where I’d gone wrong, wanting to know why life hadn’t thrown me a damn bone and showed me how wrong it all was from the very start. It wasn’t until a week later when I was in the shower after a particularly brutal day at work that it all became clear to me. Life had thrown me a sign at the earliest possible moment, but I had stupidly chosen to not think about it, to ignore it.
My warning sign for my relationship with George? Izzie Stevens.
It all clicked into place in that moment; how had I been so blind to it. She was right there, in front of my very eyes, yelling into my ears that I would never be as important to George as his friendship with the other interns, but I ignored it all. It’s like my brain had the information but decided to put it into a filing cabinet to process later, only deciding to go through it and yell, “Hell no Torres, this is the worst idea you’ve ever had!” once the whole thing had already fallen apart.
You think I’d learn from something like that, right? Me too. I really thought that that mistake was firmly etched into my brain along with the knowledge to never experience something like that again during my lifetime.
Apparently though, I’m a lot slower than I thought, because not only did I not learn from my own stupidity, I acted the whole damn thing out and refused to let myself read all of the blazing warning signs telling me to stop, take a breath and just think about my actions and the effects they would have.
The warnings signs that life was offering me this time were so big, so important that I’m actually ashamed that I didn’t see them. I feel angry with myself, and I feel guiltier than I ever have in my entire life.
Last time I missed warning signs that could have saved me from getting hurt. This time I missed warning signs that could have saved me from hurting her.
It makes my stomach knot so tightly that I feel physically sick, my throat’s so dry that I feel like I’ve got a permanent lump stuck there to stop me from talking anymore empty words and my eyes are so red, so sore, that I actually welcome the pain they bring me, if only to punish myself that little bit more for my major slipup.
I, Callie Torres hurt Erica Hahn.
I hurt my best friend.
I crushed my lover.
I done all of it with reckless abandon, ignoring every obvious and not so obvious sign that life hurled at me... that Erica hurled at me, just so that I wouldn’t have to deal with all of the scary, new, and confusing emotions that came along with having a relationship with her, a woman. I didn’t want to think about what it all meant, didn’t want the word ‘gay’ to ever flash through my mind.
The signs were so obvious, so, so obvious that I want to go back in time and slap myself and yell, “Hey Torres! Stop being a selfish little bitch and open up your damn eyes!”
I should have know when Erica stuttered and walked away after our first kiss outside of the hospital that she was just as confused by it all as I was.
I should have known that when she panicked about Mark knowing about our relationship that she wasn’t just worried about people talking about her, but instead that she was scared he’d freak me out, or maybe even her.
I should have known that when she found the courage to ask me out on our first date that her heart was nervously pounding ten times faster than my own.
I should have known during our first time together that when she stopped to brush a strand of hair out of my face and whispered, “Are you sure?” she wasn’t just asking about the sex, she was asking about so much more, she wanted confirmation that I really wanted to be with her, that I would willingly fall and trust her enough to catch me. I should have looked into her gorgeous blue eyes and whispered all of the words I knew were lingering in my heart, but instead I pulled her lips back down to mine; covering up all of the discussions I knew we needed to have.
I should have known that when I left her the morning after she made her beautiful speech about leaves, gushing happily with her wonderful epiphany that she was gay, that sleeping with Mark wasn’t right. I should have known that when I told her about it and she said “Okay,” with a broken look in her normally strong blue eyes that it was anything but okay.
It wasn’t until she walked away from me after our argument, leaving me standing alone, that the bubble burst and I was finally overwhelmed by the amount of screeching warning signs there were all around me.
I stood rooted to that spot for ten minutes in utter disbelief with myself and my actions; I couldn’t believe how completely messed up I had allowed the situation to get. It was like my brain suddenly released all of these moments, these crystal clear signs, into my mind and allowed me to see what it was that I’d ignored; how deep the damage I’d committed already went.
I went straight to Erica’s house, standing for hours outside of her door, pounding my fists against it and begging for her to let me in and listen to my pathetic excuses. I yelled until my voice went horse, and then I sunk down against the door and cried. I’d royally fucked up something great. I’d ignored all of the good parts, channelling my vision to only see the bad.
I stayed there all night, but she never relented to my pleas and let me in. When my shift came around the next morning, I went in desperate search of her only to find every last trace of her removed from the walls of Seattle Grace Hospital.
“She’s gone, left, not coming back.” These were the painful words that fell from the Chief’s mouth when I asked him why Erica hadn’t been into work for two days. I cried in an on-call room for an hour with Mark rocking me, holding me in his arms to comfort what I allowed him to help break.
I spent the next week calling her cell nonstop, emailing her every day, I even went to her house every time I’d finished my shift just to see if this time she’d give in and hear me out. I had a Saturday off and without a doubt; I knew I would spend it at Erica’s house, continuing with my quest for her to forgive me.
When I pulled up in my car and glanced at her house, I knew immediately that something was wrong. The blinds that used to be drawn across the windows were gone, the beautifully potted plant that sat beside her front door was nowhere to be seen; it was all another warning crying out inside my head.
I jumped out of my car and hurried to her front door, gasping in surprise when I found it unlocked. As I let myself in and moved down her hallway and into her living room, I was surprised to find the space empty; she was really gone from my life. The voice of the realtor broke through my numbness and I left Erica’s house as quickly as I came, knowing for certain that missing those warning signs was already my life’s biggest regret.
Within days my hurt and disbelief turned to a pathetic attempt at anger; it was a defence tactic, I was frantically trying to explain Erica’s sudden disappearance with excuses of my behaviour, coming up with ludicrous justifications as to why I didn’t see all of the obvious warnings. I even tried to blame it on her, knowing in my heart the whole time just how untrue that was.
I tried for a whole month to forget that she ever came into my life; that her presence, her friendship, her love, ever affected me in the way I knew it had. I wanted to believe that she hadn’t changed me, but I think everyone, including myself knew that she had.
I’d fallen in love with her and tried to mask it with inexcusable behaviour. I knew she loved me, I could see it in her eyes every time she looked at me, feel it in her touch every time her skin brushed against mine. All of that was a warning that my heart had healed and was beginning to love again. It should have been okay, I should have been happy, but instead I took it as my cue to panic, to pretend it was all wrong and ignore it.
She haunted me every second of every day after she left. I could feel her presence around me while I was at work, when I went to Joe’s for a drink, or when I was in my apartment. I’d get these flashes, these repeats of memories I’d never given much thought to. She was stunning, and I’d chosen not to see it.
I had the chance to have it all with her, she offered herself willingly to me, if I asked her for something she’d give it to me without a second thought because she cared about me that much, she’d given me her heart and I had taken it for granted.
Love was not something I had experienced very much in my life. George had been the first person I’d ever fallen in love with and look how badly that turned out. It made me more reluctant, like I told Erica at Joe’s that night, “I can’t give pieces of myself away again.” I felt like I had to hold back, be more cautious. I should have taken a risk, my heart and my head were telling me to jump and let Erica catch me, but this unknown part of me was whispering into my ear that she’d side step at the last minute and I’d hit the ground with an almighty thud, causing further damage to my already unstable heart.
Ignoring all of the warning signs as our friendship moved into something more, something deeper, something that made my heart beat a little quicker than I was comfortable with made me scurry away and miss out on the chance to explore what a real relationship could be like. If I had just opened my eyes I could have discovered that everything I’ve ever wanted to find in someone was right there, standing in front of me, open for me to take, to love.
It was Cristina who told me where Erica was. She didn’t really mean to, we were eating lunch together in the cafeteria and she was bitching about a surgery she’d had with Dixon when she accidentally blabbed that she’d much rather be at New York Presbyterian working with Hahn again.
My eyes had widened at her words, at just the sound of Erica’s name, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Suddenly there it was again, those red lights, flashing brightly behind my eyes, warning me to get off my ass and actually do something. I had the story out of Cristina within minutes and by the end of my shift I’d demanded the Chief give me two weeks off or he’d be losing another surgeon. He hadn’t been happy by my demands but I didn’t care, I knew where she was and everything inside of me was screaming for me to go to her.
When I got to New York, I went straight to the hospital, headed up to the surgical wing and asked if Dr Erica Hahn was working today; the kind nurse confirmed that she was and I thanked her before heading back outside to try and formulate some kind of plan.
I found her car in the hospital car park, tucked neatly in the corner away from everyone else’s, just like she used to park in Seattle; it gave me a little bit of comfort, a little bit of hope to know that not everything had changed in her life, that maybe she was holding on to these familiar habits in an attempt not to let go of her past... to maybe not let go of me.
I settled against her car, leaning on it for support, wishing that this simple connection between me and just something of hers was enough to repair some of the damage.
It was the sound of footsteps that drew my attention from the floor, within seconds my eyes were sliding over her body and landing on her face; her ever intense blue eyes glaring right back at me. She stopped dead in her tracks, just staring back at me in disbelief, as if she couldn’t actually believe that I was there.
I had prepared myself for anger, to suffer the fatal attack of her vicious tongue and striking words but they never came. She simply let out a deep breath, hiked her bag higher on her shoulder and stalked towards me.
“What are you doing here Callie?”
My eyes felt hazy, as if her being was actually some kind of cruel illusion that my mind had thought up. Her gorgeous blonde hair was as curly as ever; her blue eyes still held that captivating twinkle and her delicious mouth still expressed all that she didn’t say.
“I’m sorry.”
She shook her head and pursed her lips together in a tight line, “That doesn’t tell me why you’re here.”
I took a step closer to her, daring to invade her personal space a little and hold her eyes intensely; hoping she can still read me as well as she once could, and see all of my regrets, “I’m sorry.”
A look of recognition, of understanding flashes through her eyes and she shakes her head, “It’s not enough.”
Her words cut me just as painfully as I knew they would and yet I refuse to look away, knowing full well that I deserve to suffer a bile taste of what I put her through, “I know.”
She holds my gaze for a few seconds longer before walking around me and climbing into her car and driving away without looking back.
I spend the next few days waiting for her at her car when her shift ends, each time telling her that I’m sorry and that I’m not going anywhere. She seems sceptical of my words and I can hardly blame her, to her my words must seem like empty promises, promises that she’s sure I’ll break just like I have before.
I follow her home on the Friday night, driving a few cars behind her so that she won’t see me. Her neighbourhood is surprisingly quiet considering how buzzing New York City is; her house is large, unusual but beautiful to look at. It’s situated at the end of her street, slightly away from the other houses just like her car is from her colleagues’ vehicles at the hospital. It’s a reminder of how she doesn’t like people, of how she broke down her walls and let me in only to have me let her down and prove her theories about people not being worth the hassle right.
I park my car and walk up the little path that leads me to her porch. I take a deep breath to steady my nerves and lift my hand to knock against her door. The door opens before I have a chance to rattle my knuckles against it and I’m greeted by her beautiful vision.
There’s a glimmer of concern on the surface of her eyes as she looks me over from head to foot, her gaze settling on my own. I know she can see the exhaustion on my face, in my eyes, and even in my normally confident posture.
I feel a lump burning in my throat as I search for the right words to say and I know my eyes are brimming with tears that easily manage to slide down my cheeks when my voice finally escapes my mouth, “I miss you.”
I know those three simple words aren’t enough to convey all of the words I should say, and they’re definitely nowhere near enough to repair the destruction I’ve caused... but they’re all I have. I wanted to be strong, to not become this weepy, pathetic form of the person I used to be, but as my stray tears turn into chest clenching sobs I know that I must look like a weak, good-for-nothing intern in her eyes.
I gasp when she reaches out and cups my cheeks with her ever gentle hands, brushing my tears away with the pads of her thumbs. Her eyes have softened significantly by the time I get the courage to look back at her, and I choke out my surprise when she opens her arms to me.
I burry into her body, breathing in a deep lungful of her heavenly scent; her smell, her embrace, it all feels like coming home and the realisation makes me grasp her tighter, makes me sob a little harder.
“I shouldn’t have let you go,” I blubber against her ear, my breath catching as another round of sobs rake through my body.
Her hands rub soothingly over my back as she pulls me closer to her; her lips brushing lingering kisses onto the top of my head, “You’re here now,” she murmurs against my crown, “That’s all that matters. That’s all that’s ever mattered.”
My mother was right when she said “Signs are there for a reason,” and right now, with my heart hammering inside of my chest, Erica’s arms wrapped around my body and holding me close to her own, I know that life’s sending my one last warning sign; Erica Hahn is the love of my life and I better hold firmly onto her with both hands.
For once, I see the flashing lights, I hear the warning, and I tighten my hold around her; this is one warning I won’t ignore.