"This Isn't Grey's Anatomy" - A Short Snippet

MC cheats on Jean with Eli as per this ficlet. Based on a request for Jean's POV. 

You're a sucker for drama. 

Midnight confessions, arguments in the rain - you eat it up like candy, your eyes glued to your phone screen long past when you should be asleep, re-reading your favorite fanfics on AO3. All these big feelings, anguished declarations of love and hot, open-mouthed kisses against walls - really, is there anything better after a long, stressful day at work?

Of course, you don't really want that - not for yourself, not in real life. You've had messy situationships before and messy relationships before, and the last thing you need as an intern is all the bullshit you've already been through. And, the MC's made it so easy for you that of course you wouldn't see this coming. 

Namely: the MC's hand down Eli's pants in a supply closet. 

Your first thought is that there's no way this is real. Things like this don't happen to people outside of movies, and TV shows, and salacious Tumblr what ifs. Your second thought is - a fucking supply closet? This isn't Grey's Anatomy. 

"Jean - " Eli starts, and you watch, almost as if in slow motion, MC's hand withdraw from Eli's scrubs. 

You take a small breath in. 

And out. 

And walk out the door. 

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To MC's credit (the smallest, barest shred of credit), they don't find you during work. You have three dying patients, and two close to dying, and you really don't have time for whatever kind of explanation MC has for you about how their hand accidentally found their way into Eli's underwear. The rest of the work day passes in a blur, and somehow you find yourself at four finished with all your notes, your patients tucked in, and your senior resident telling you to go home. 

You walk back to Danton Towers in a fog. You don't remember the walk to be honest, or the ride up the elevator, or unlocking your own front door. You, instead, find yourself suddenly sitting on your bed, your phone in your hand, mindlessly scrolling through Reddit. You know, logically, that you should text your friends, seek out emotional support, all the strategies your therapist has taught you. Instead, you lay down, stare at the ceiling, and try to think about absolutely nothing. 

You get a text from them around seven. A simple, "Can we talk?" You consider the full range of colorful responses you could possibly give them, settle on "ok." You will not give them the satisfaction of drama. You are as cold as stone. 

They knock on your door, and you let them in. You both take a seat on the couch (the couch the two of you have cuddled on, the couch the two of you have had sex on), and it strikes you that you've never sat so far apart from them before after the two of you started dating - the two feet of distance between you as yawning as an abyss. 

You listen to them explain calmly, like you're a patient, how they've always had feelings for Eli. And how they thought that, maybe with you, those feelings would go away. That they really did care about you, but then - you know how things happen. And, isn't it so fucking fabulous that that wasn't MC and Eli's first go around, but they've actually been hooking up for weeks?

The instinct to immediately raze everything to the ground is overwhelming. You look at MC's face and suppress the urge to throttle them until they turn purple. It would be immensely satisfying, but then you'd be arrested. And, that would really be embarrassing - to be paraded out of Danton Towers in handcuffs. 

Instead, you cross your legs. You fold your hands. 

"Fuck you," you say. 

And you tell them to get out.