CHAPTER ONE

Arizona came to a sudden stop as the door slammed behind her, finding herself in a torrential downpour. She squeezed her eyes shut and muttered a barely audible "shit" under her breath. "Figures," she thought to herself. While her purple polka dot umbrella was only a handful of stairs and a quick elevator ride away, there was really no point in going back, rain or not. She was already soaked anyway. Not that she could go back, even if she wanted to. Not after that.

She pulled the keys from her pocket and punched the button to disable the alarm, probably a few more times than was actually necessary. She needed to escape, she needed to get out of there, and the fact that her car's safety features were getting in the way of that, only led her to push it harder. Finally opening to door she quickly and unceremoniously flopped herself onto the seat, letting out a frustrated huff of air in the process. She closed her door and shut her eyes tight, sighing deeply, as her fingers blindly searched for the button to lock the doors, pressing it and effectively locking out the outside world, the argument, Callie, everything, with a simple flick of her finger.

If only life actually worked like that.

She leaned back, pressing her head back into the headrest, trying to relieve some of the pent up stress of the evening, brushing aside the wet, clingy curls that fell into her eyes. She slowly opened them once again and reached up, pulling the visor down, tracing her fingers along the leather, as she flipped to reveal the mirror. She studied the face that stared back at her like it was some stranger she'd never met. Her face was flush from the yelling. She had yelled. A lot. Too much. Both of them had. Her usually piercing blue eyes were dull, puffy and red from the tears that welled beneath them, the ones she absolutely refused to cry. Choking them back, even now, caused the lump in her throat to become so large it was almost unbearable. She wasn't going to cry. She promised herself she wouldn't cry.

She was disgusted with herself. The terrible things she said just because she couldn't help herself, the digs that came far too easily. She aggressively slammed the door over the mirror and shoved the visor back into place. She shifted up in the seat, locked herself into driver mode, and pulled the seat belt, buckling herself in. She violently twisted the key in the ignition and the car roared to life. A smirk crossed her face, she'd always loved having a nice car for that very reason. She felt powerful behind the wheel, she felt in control. Just what she needed right now.

The stereo clicked on, shuffling her iPod, suddenly blaring that song. Their song. "Of fucking course." She quickly jammed her finger into the knob, silencing it once and for all. She flipped open the armrest and disconnected the offending item, scrolling through the playlist Callie had made for and loaded onto her iPod in secret, one night a few weeks ago when Arizona had been stuck at the hospital. She rolled her eyes and scrunched her brow as she read the title: "Badass Meets Hardcore". She swiped her index finger across the name, the red "delete" button appearing as she contemplated what to do next. Shaking her head and turning it off, she tossed the device onto the passenger seat. She closed her eyes and felt a small smile tug at her lips, remembering the next morning when she had discovered Callie's little surprise. But it quickly disappeared as the image of Callie's face from minutes ago entered her mind.

It wasn't the shocked expression that had taken her by surprise; even she was stunned at the words that easily, too easily, rolled off her tongue. It was more the look of pure pain in Callie's eyes that made her wince.

The lump in her throat was beginning to burn, as she tried to swallow a few times, hoping it would dissipate. The tears she had so valiantly tried to fight back finally began to fall. She shook her head once again and furiously wiped away the tears with both hands, fixing her hair and putting a few stray strands behind her ears.

She sat there, car humming, remembering that that's exactly what Callie would have done for her. Tuck the strands of hair behind her ear as she cried, softly shushing her, comforting her, pulling her into a tight embrace. She shook the warm memories violently from her mind. "No crying," she audibly reminded herself. She took a deep breath, swiping her cheeks one last time before placing her hands on the steering wheel, gripping it tightly. Dropping her right to quickly shift into gear, she pulled away from the apartment without so much as looking back.

Arizona twisted the key in the lock and flipped the light switch, blindly tossing her bag and keys onto the table near the front door. She heard her bag drop, probably scattering the contents all over her living room floor. She didn't care, and she didn't even turn back to look. It could wait.

She bee lined it to the kitchen, grabbing a beer, slamming the refrigerator door as she popped the cap and took a long swig, shuffling her way to the bathroom. As she reached her destination, she took another large gulp, slid it onto the counter, and peeled off her soaking wet clothes, letting them fall to the floor with a dull plop in a large, wet pile. She turned the shower knobs, allowing an extra turn of the hot one, the water reaching a temperature just past comfort. She stepped in and flinched at the sudden exposure to the heat. Gradually, she adjusted to the new temperature as her muscles began to relax under the steady stream of water. She needed this, desperately – to wash away all the tension, all the emotions, all the thoughts racing through her head. Her heart still felt exceptionally heavy; that would take more than water to fix.

After showering, Arizona wrapped herself in a pink towel from the shelf and rubbed her hair with another to rid the excess water, wrapping it tightly around her scalp. She walked into the bedroom, beer in hand, bringing it to her lips once more as she dug through her dresser. She chose a purple cami and its matching purple and white striped shorts. She shuffled back into the bathroom, dropping the towel that wrapped her hair onto the floor. As she stared at her reflection, her mind, once again, began to race.

It had begun as a typical evening. There was a movie, one that Arizona had been dying to see, and popcorn, and chocolate, and cuddling. And then there was fighting. Flaws were angrily spouted. Names were thrown at one another. Accusations were made, and became more and more cruel as the minutes passed. They both knew what they were saying, but neither cared enough to stop.

Arizona rubbed deep circles into her temples, hoping that some of the frustration would subside. She wished she could figure out how the fight had even begun, let alone escalate to this point. The point that led her to the apartment she hadn't stepped foot in in over a month. Callie had began ranting in broken English, pacing back and forth with her hands thrown into the air with force to emphasize, her feet drudging holes into the hardwood floor of the living room. As Arizona followed her with her eyes, she became dizzy, the added pressure it created in her skull did little but egg her on even more, clouding her judgment just that tiny bit more, enough to completely throw all her sense out the window.

Beads of sweat began forming on her brow as her hands trembled. She formed her hands tightly into fists so as not to show any weakness, any resolve, any hint of backing down. Her head was spinning; they weren't even arguing about anything specific. It had turned into nothing more than vicious nitpicking jabs. Callie ranted on about Arizona not trusting her. For Arizona thinking she didn't give a damn about her. That she fell in love too easily. That Callie flirted too much, too often. That she wasn't allowed to spend time with Mark without Arizona getting jealous and picking a fight. On and on and on.

There were reasons, of course, that she couldn't trust Callie. Solid, understandable reasons. Reasons that anyone would agree were valid. She could have talked to Callie about them long before the argument began to brew, but that in and of itself required a level of trust she just wasn't completely willing to submit herself to. She was starting to feel sick to her stomach, the dull ache of anger had turned into a tumbling and twisting of rage, a feeling she absolutely hated. There was obviously no end in sight; she needed to say something to end this, to win this already. Anything.

"You let people break you."