DISCLAIMER: I still own nothing.
Sometimes, when I'm asleep, I dream that I'm bleeding, and Meredith and Mom are looking at me, with this horrified expression on their faces, only Meredith doesn't look like Meredith, and my mom doesn't look like my mom. And I'm standing there, bleeding like crazy (no idea why), and instead of going into doctory mode and stitching me up without so much as batting an eye, the two of them just start saying my name over and over again, and mom calls me "baby," even though she's never called me that in real life.
When I'm asleep, the dream feels weird and bad, and I want to cry and scream and possibly burn things, but when I wake up, right before I forget about the dream until the next time I have it, something about it feels good. Familiar. True. And how crazy is that? I've only seen my mom twice since I was ten years old. The first time, she didn't know who I was, and the second time, she told me I wasn't real. Meredith's lucky. Mom remembers her. Sometimes. She never remembers me. Then again, maybe I'm the lucky one. Maybe it's better that she doesn't even remember that I exist, because then she can't suckify me the way she did my sister.
When I was really, really little, Meredith was the most awesome person in the world. Unfortunately, our mother doesn't believe in awesomeness. She believes in medicine, so Meredith went away- first to college and then to med school- and began the suckfest that she has since become. Did she ever write? Noooooooo. Did she call? Nooooooo. Did she even bother coming to visit me at Great Aunt Paige's? Well, a couple of times, but you know what? Those times SUCKED.
It's like she's not even Mere any more. And when she looks at me, it's like I'm some kind of freak alien, just because I'm not still five years old. Excuse me for growing up! Besides, Meredith is too busy saving the world, one surgery at a time, to pay much attention to me. Not that I want her attention. Or anybody's, really.
Uh-oh. That's Izzie. She bakes. A lot. And she doesn't appreciate it when people add maple syrup to the top of her brownies, or salsa to just about everything else. A couple of months before I moved in here, her boyfriend died, and Izzie quit working at the hospital, so for most of the summer, it was just me and her. Sometimes, I think there are only two things that make Izzie forget about Denny: baking and taking care of me.
At least somebody wants to do it. Meredith's too busy with Dr. McBroody and her world of pain to deal with the little people, but whatever. I'm used to it. She's been ignoring me since I was six years old. Again, I say whatever.
Izzie pops her head into my bedroom. "You up yet?" she asks me.
Considering I'm still lying in bed, the answer to that should be pretty obvious.
"You deposited your nine million dollars yet?" I ask her.
She gives me a look. "Brat."
I stick my tongue out at her, and she smiles.
"Dawn, are you..." Meredith trails off when she sees that Izzie has already come to get me up for school.
"Oh. Okay. Well, if you need a ride to school, I-"
"Izzie'll take me," I say, not even looking at her.
"Oh. Okay. Well, if you need anything else, I-"
"I don't." I cut Meredith off, and she nods and leaves the room. If she'd really wanted anything to do with me, she would have stayed, but I'm her responsibility, not her special person, or even her sister. She takes care of me because she has to. If she'd really wanted me, she would have come to get me before
Great Aunt Paige kicked the bucket.
"You should take it easy on her," Izzie tells me, but she's only saying that because it's the right thing to say. Deep down, I think Izzie wants me to like her best. She wants to take care of me, because otherwise, she'd just be sitting around the house all day, and because when she's taking care of me, she doesn't have to worry about taking care of herself.
Could be worse, I tell myself. At least she's not trying to end the world.
"No idea where that
came from," I mumble. Izzie raises an eyebrow, but I tell her not to worry about it. I'm always a spaz in the morning. It's like it takes me a few minutes to remember who I am, and after that, I'm fine.
Reluctantly, I drag myself out of bed and to the bathroom. I knock on the door, because one time I didn't, and George's girlfriend, who doesn't know how to operate a lock, was in there, and she was nekkid. Could have been worse, though.
The nekkid person could have been George.