First of all I should warn those who are offended this will be femmslash... so if that bothers you for some bizarre reason don't continue to read.
When we decided to come together for this story there was a lot of choices we had to make. One of them was how we were going to write this so we have decided that Maggsiewould be writing from Catherine's POV and (I) Cathandsaraforever55would be writing from Sara's POV.
Disclaimer -Characters belong to CBS. If either of us owned them Jorja fox would be back on the show and Sara would definitely not be in a relationship with Grissom.
Rated M- for many reasons that will become more obvious as you read the story
A/N about title-Maggsie was kind enough to agree to naming the story Shy Girl. Shy Girl is actually the title of my favorite book by Elizabeth Stark. So I felt I should credit the author and book.
Enough of my rambling and the necessities! We hope you enjoy the first chapter!
Sara's POV
I believed I had escaped; escaped the blackness that plagues my soul. How I could have been so foolish to allow myself hope I do not know. The darkness has never released its grasp on me. It has permitted me to wander at an arm's length away where it could still grab me. Abuse me in its hunger filled state; haunted with the ghosts of my past that strike me when I am down, that cling to me, hold me back, and remind me. Remind me of who I really am; No one. There is only one way to escape the clutches of this blackness.
One option that I am willing to use.
Crossing my apartment I turn on the stereo. All energy I had is gone and I sink to the floor next to the bookshelf. Sitting I stare into my apartment. No lights on. No one else here. Only me and my demons.
A harsh, bitter chuckle escapes my lips. In the end it all comes down to the one thing I can never lose; my past.
Pictures are becoming clearer in my mind. Words are sharper more direct with more of a sting. I am not worth the caring words. People mumble them my way every so often half heartedly. Quick to move on and ignore the quiet girl who's life is her work. Those I don't even deserve.
When the pain started I have no clue, but it has morphed into more. My whole body aches with a lethal concoction of emotions. Curling into myself I let my tears fall.
The tears burn trails down my pale skin. My heart aches even more. I'm empty but not empty. An empty that comes from being filled with so many feelings at once that my body is overwhelmed; leaving me in a state of aching emptiness.
A strange numbness that does not dull the physical pain yet increases it.
I can hear their words clearly. Worthless. Lazy. Invisible. Stupid. Ungrateful. The terms ring clearly in my mind. Reminding me of where I came from; that I will never be able to change enough to keep them away. My body gives an extra throb of embarrassment. My tears fall harder, shaking my whole body. I remain where I am; powerless. Stuck in the hands of my demons. I must come face to face with them tonight. I can't avoid their hold on me any longer.
Clearly I can see her face. An apparition in the room with me. The insanity it held. The helplessness and exhaustion clearly written in her features. I remember her screams. So loud and so happy I knew she had gone over the edge.
I remember every scar, every place where she laid her hands on me and every injury I sustained from her. Each spot briefly burns in recognition of her; my mother.
The rank of cheep alcohol mixed with stale cigarettes and BO invades my senses and bile begins to rise in my throat. That sent all too familiar, still too fresh in my mind. He was supposed to love me, and in the beginning I think he did. I was his only child he had to love me in the beginning right? I can feel his hands roaming me. Touching me in places a father should never touch his daughter. Forcefully penetrating me in a place that would leave scars far worse than the physical ones he left on me. They both left their marks on me. Easily they created a fear that will never heal. A pain that no hospital can cure.
From this though I learned how physical pain could take away the feelings inside and all by the age of nine.
Gleaming knife. The light at the end of the dark tunnel you would have thought. Warm blood drenching me, but it wasn't my blood. No it was all over the walls. It couldn't be. The knife sinking into his body with each stab. I can hear my weak pleas. Begging her to stop. I was so confused. I was frozen in place as I watched my mother kill my father.
Foster home to foster home. The problem child was unwanted. The beatings continued but I was used to it. I knew how to handle the physical pain. There were more men who were supposed to protect me, and love me, who took me into their homes. I can feel their hands on me too. I can feel their rough lips on mine. I can hear their deep, harsh voices telling me to shut up; asking me if I liked it.
Even into college there were men that took advantage of my body. Not only men but a few women. People don't think about that. But it happens between two women too. Rape. It does. I know.
I had sex with the people I loved. I didn't want to but it's what two people do in a relationship. I was overwhelmed with guilt. Whenever they kissed me I would feel someone else's lips. When they touched me I felt foreign hands wandering my skin. When they were in me I felt the unwanted presence of another. Not my lover's. The manifestations of all those who had tried to destroy what was left of me; the ones that raped me.
I came to Vegas hoping for a new start. When Gil called me it was the perfect opportunity for me to run. My past however caught up. In every case I felt sympathy. I saw a piece of myself in the victims. I saw parts of my life in their stories.
For the first time though I had a family.
A very weird family, but a family, and I fit in for the first time in my life. Well almost. There was the alcohol to numb the pain. If I didn't drink too much I would be fine; I wouldn't become addicted. I'm not an addict. I don't have a problem.
As the cases became tougher the more I searched for a distraction. I never flinched away from the thought of self harm. So I burned myself, and I cut myself. Giving myself a new form of numbness; a temporary relief. My body already looked like a battle field. Covered from head to toe in scars. Why not add a few more? Nobody would notice.
I can't stand the pity, and the concern I see in people's eyes and I never had been able to. I don't want to be babied. I don't want people walking on eggshells around me when it comes to certain topics.
I've been trying my hardest not to become my parents when in reality I am turning into them more and more by the day. I have increased my drinking and there is also my temper.
My temper becomes harder to control every day. I can feel the molten fire flowing through my veins; pushing me further and further until I snap. I am disgusted with my lack of self control. My father had a temper. It got worse when he drank. I want to learn to be patient. I don't want to let people get to me. Unfortunately I do.
It happens when they constantly ask me about the rumors circling the lab. Apparently I am in a relationship with Grissom. I hadn't realized I was and I cannot bring myself to be in a relationship with a man. In college I stopped dating men altogether. They were too rough, and not sensitive enough.
Gil Grissom is my mentor. I look up to him as a father. He is one of the only men I can let my guard down with. He is also a friend; the first real friend I had.
Nick, Warrick, and Greg float into my mind. They would do anything for me. They see themselves as overprotective brothers. The thought of them brings a small smile to my face, but the emotion is soon extinguished. The darkness doesn't allow happiness. Or love. Or any good feeling. It takes my darkest thoughts and the horrors of my past and makes them into my reality. Again.
Fighting my restrains that keep me locked in my mind I manage to find my way back into my apartment. Music pumping through my body. I am curled up on the floor. The tears have stopped for now. I know better than to believe that they have gone for good. That they have dried up which never happens to me.
I'm so tired. I'm so tired of the emotions. Tired of life. I feel older than my years. I've experienced three lifetimes worth of events, but I am trapped in this body that is unwilling to die. Not aging quickly enough for my liking; not bringing the end fast enough for me. Holding me back from the relief that comes with age. Death.
Slowly I have been dying little by little. My soul fades, and my heart ices over even more as time goes by.
How then do I have so many emotions if my heart is freezing? I think it is because the ice has not yet reached the interior. It has killed the exterior because I am heartless to everyone else. I show no emotion and no sympathy for other people's emotions anymore. People have made it clear that I am a heartless bitch.
There is no hope for change. There is no hope period. Does hope exist? Once I had an inkling of hope. It vanished in a heartbeat, and I haven't seen it since. Maybe it exists for others; for those who haven't seen, felt, or heard what I have.
People who are not damaged beyond repair.
There was a time where I would have fought. Fought for myself and fought for every victim. Not anymore. I cannot even summon the energy to fight for myself.
I've learned to keep to myself. If I don't allow anyone in I can't get hurt. If I'm quiet people will leave me alone. My actions leave me lonely, but at least I am safe from further anguish. My defenses are automatically up now. They are almost permanent.
Shaking I pick myself up off the floor. I begin to wander around my apartment aimlessly. The emptiness begins to scream louder; making itself known. I can feel the tears again. My parents always said that I was weak. It turns out they were right.
Stumbling to the kitchen I retrieve the remaining beer from my fridge. How ironic, turning to the exact method my parents did. They are the last people on this earth I want to act like. I don't do the drugs though. My mom would smoke, snort, ingest, and inject anything she could get her hands on.
I had broken bones which caused trips to the hospital. My mom's favorite. She would take my pain killers which meant I didn't see a single one. She tried to get as many hospital trips as she could without looking suspicious.
I don't go to hospitals. I avoid the temptation of more numbness. I wouldn't hesitate to take the pills if I had them.
I make my way to my bed and collapse on it. I open the first beer and take a swig. The bitter taste is a small price to pay for all it will bring me. Turning my head I stare at the picture frame on my nightstand. It contains a picture of the whole team. We are all smiling and laughing. That was at one of the Willows' annual Christmas parties a few years back. In the corner of the frame is another picture.
One of Catherine Willows.
I have never had to worry about her seeing it. She would never come over here. She is too good to hang out with someone like me but when I look at the picture all I feel is anger.
Our fights in the lab are legendary. The goal for both of us it seems is to get in the last word. Deliver the final blow. To bring as much pain to the other as possible. We have gotten along for small periods of time. We are an amazing team when paired, but we constantly bicker. Time and time again we have come dangerously close to starting World War Three.
Last shift was one of those days. It was different though. There is always something mixed with the anger I see in those crystal blue pools, but not today. Today all her eyes held was unadulterated anger. A fury like no other I have seen.
People assume I hate her. I don't. I can clearly remember the day I realized that Catherine was different. It was the first time I saw her in the lab with her daughter. She was so loving towards Lindsay. The exact opposite of the cold, bitchy exterior she uses around me.
She is defiantly different to anyone else. She is the only one who can infuriate me the way she does. She gets under my skin without having to use more than two words. Yet I cannot bring myself to hate the woman, stupid I know.
We are exact opposites. She is everything I'm not. If I got to know her maybe we wouldn't be such polar opposites, but there is no chance of that happening. She has made that clear. I will never get the chance to know the enigma that is Catherine Willows. Not after tonight.
I can't help the hollow laugh that escapes me. "Catherine wouldn't care if I died. I'd be doing her a favor," I whisper to nobody.
I will be doing her a favor.
The ache of my body increases with an emotion like one I've never felt. Catherine gets to me. I can't control my responses to her.
I look down at the four discarded beer bottles. I don't remember drinking three of them. But it doesn't matter because the more the better.
My life so far has been full of chances and choices and I have fucked them all up. I am no happier in Vegas than I was back in San Francisco.
After a while all of the faces become the same. The emotions are on repeat. The death never stops. The crime never stops. How people do what they do I can never figure out. I have been fighting off the ghosts in forms of different victims. Seeking a justice that can never be found; an insatiable desire that can never be filled.
Even when all of this is true, every victim is different. I can see every face. I seek justice for each and every one and almost always obtain it.
The only thing that remains is my insatiable desire that can never be fulfilled.
I draw up the images of my family at the lab. Trying to ward away the blackness, but my attempts are useless. The darkness always wins.
There is a monster that lives inside of me and I can feel it crawling beneath my skin. Born from the most morbid feelings I have. It tortures me. Reopens my wounds and reminds me of all of the horrors that I have seen.
Tears again blur my vision. Standing I know what I have to do. I am determined. I've tried before but failed. This time though is different.
Making my way to the kitchen I open the drawer. I examine each knife closely. I finally choose one. One that I have used before to leave marks on myself. Sharp and precise; it will do.
I go back to my bedroom and sit on the bed. This is it. All of my pain will be gone. I will have finally escaped the blackness that follows me. I take another swig of my beer, and stare at my reflection in the blade.
I look tired. I'm not myself anymore. I have bags under my bloodshot eyes and I'm too pale. I resemble my mother before she killed my father. This is the last resort.
Taking a deep breath I know how this works. I have scars from my previous attempts. I can hide them well and I have no hesitation.
Bringing the cold steel down to sting my flesh I pierce the skin. I cut deeply into one wrist and then move to the other.
Setting the knife down beside me I watch as the foul poison leaves my wrists. My red, tainted blood begins to stain the blankets. I've wanted this for so long. I close my eyes and wait and with only one thought in my mind.
The end is finally here.
TBC...