This is scene four of Part 1. As always please comment. =) Enjoy.
The inayofuata day…
A soft knock interrupted Sarah’s research. Words could not describe how annoyed she was as she looked at her watch. It was 6:41a.m. She didn’t have any patients until 8:00. So who the hell was bothering her? She had a good idea as to who. Part of her did not want to answer the door. Part of her wanted to ignore her best friend, her best friend who had somehow found out about the antidepressants she had been on four years ago, her best friend who had used that knowledge against her. But her best friend would never do such things. Her best friend was dead, shattered into a million tiny pieces never to be repaired. All that was left was the shell that used to contain her and a composition of fear and agony and apparently anger. Sarah had always known that it would ultimately be Cuddy who would destroy Cuddy. That didn’t make it any less upsetting. Cuddy stood outside the door waiting for Sarah to answer, wondering if she would even answer. Cuddy felt terrible about what she had said, she hadn’t intended to say that. She hadn’t intended to be so mean, but everything was spiraling out of control. No one was supposed to know about all of this yet Sarah kept figuring it all out and worse she wanted to involve herself in this. That would not be conducive to her health. “Maybe if I explained that to her…” Cuddy thought, but chances were that she already knew. Even if it was news to her that her life would be in jeopardy it would not deter her. After what seemed like forever the door opened.
“I’m so sorry,” Cuddy started, wasting no time, “I didn’t mean to be such a bitch, kahaba I was just trying to keep this all clandestine and wewe and House keep figuring things out and every time wewe two figure something out I feel like I’m losing control of the situation and I have control issues as wewe undoubtedly know and this whole mess is just screwing me up and ___”
“Simmer down sweetheart,” Sarah interrupted in her usual sarcastic tone.
“Are wewe mad at me cause I really don’t want wewe to be mad at me because __”
“If I say I forgive wewe will wewe shut the hell up?”
“Okay, I forgive you.”
“Are wewe just saying that so I’ll stop talking?”
“No, I’m saying that because I was never mad at wewe to begin with, I mean I was, but then I viewed the problem objectively and realized that wewe were just taking out all of your frustration on me and that wewe brought up a partially valid point. Though one could argue that medication is a form of handling the problem.”
“I insulted wewe and wewe decided to view it objectively?”
“Emotions are stupid and futile.”
“You’re hyper-rationality is admirable if not frightening.”
“Thank you. How did wewe even know about that?”
“When I was over your house that weekend after Novneet died I got a headache from playing your Wii with your mom and step-dad. I found the antidepressants in the medicine cabinet while I was searching for Acetaminophen. Then I looked it up in your drug guide to see what it was for.”
“You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”
“I’d appreciate if wewe didn’t.”
“I won’t Sarah.”
“Good. Get back to work.”
As Cuddy made her way back to her office she felt a little better. At least Sarah had forgiven her. On the other hand, she had still been raped, she had still spent two weeks in jail, she was still being harassed, and she was still pregnant with her rapists baby. Great, no zaidi sleeping pills, no zaidi caffeine. Holy shit, what if she couldn’t take her Anafranil anymore? She hadn’t been off her Anafranil for a year. Considering her current situation that probably would not go well. She would have to ask Sarah. If Sarah alisema she had to go off it she would. Her life would be even zaidi intolerable at the moment if she screwed up her illegitimate childs’ health. Plus, no one would be willing to adopt an unhealthy kid, if that was even what she was going to do with it. Why was she the only one suffering for his crime? Sure it’s my fault as well, Cuddy thought, but isn’t it his as well? She wondered if any of this would ever end and if it did if she would be able to heal. It was remarkable how little time it had taken to destroy her life.
You’re life is not destroyed, her internal voice argued.
Cuddy was glad she reached her office before her internal battle with herself started up again. No wonder House found her annoying at times. Hell, she found herself annoying at times, at least when she was internally arguing with herself.
“Doctor Cuddy, I have your mail,” her assistant said.
Cuddy collected a stack of envelopes and a rather large package thankful for the distraction. The envelopes turned out to be bills. The package, however, was a mystery. There was no return address, only her name written in familiar black scrawl. Her slightly less depressed and fearful vanished, replaced kwa a mood worse than her usual one. How much zaidi of this could she take? Her initial response was to ignore it. Instead she opened it driven kwa a sick curiosity even she couldn’t explain. Bad idea. The box was lined with a garbage bag and filled half-way with a dark red, viscous substance. A slightly metallic and acrid odor filled her nostrils. It was blood. The nausea began to overwhelm her again. Worse the blood was drenching a suspiciously familiar pink blouse and pair of black work pants. Her clothes were ruined. Then she noticed an envelope taped to the inside of the lid. Even though she was sickened kwa her blood soaked clothes she couldn’t help retrieving it and opening it. A single makala fell out into her hand. It was the makala about Elisa McGillicuddys’ death, Cuddy knew that. Only the “E” in Elisa and the “McGilli” in McGillicuddy had been blacked out and her picture had been photo-shopped to look like Cuddy. The words “It ends when wewe die” were written in red ink over the photo.