The alcohol soaks through her tongue so fast, she barely has to swallow the liquid.
It doesn't work though, what she's trying to do. Her thoughts are still her thoughts and she still cares, enough to be disgusted by herself.
Kate hates when she gets this way, so lost in the maze of her mind and so twisted around that she doesn't know what's what and which way is out.
Drinking, just like your father she thinks and then but I love him, he's not a bad father, he moaned, and then justifying it won't make it go away, face how fucked up your life is, and then I can't let know this and then my life will be this way and then why am I alive, I'm not supposed to be alive, leading to fuck, how do I stop, how do I stop, stop.
There is no safe land for her; no matter in which direction she will turn her wooly thoughts, she looses the grip onto reality - keep it down, Kate, you feel this way because you're damaged, it's okay, you're in therapy, it'll go away, but what if it doesn't, what if this are my true thoughts and the bright side is a lie, a lie my brain makes up as it goes? What does it matter, the truth is what I feel, so this is the truth as well, what is truth in the first place and why do I need it so much, obviously I can't even hold on to that now, I'm a fucking crazy person, and maybe I'll still be like this tomorrow morning, how will I go to the precinct? - and all she does is sit on the floor with whiskey and her gun, cornered and threatened.
They will fucking kill you, she thinks, they will kill you, or they'll take him and she doesn't even know who ,he' is - her father? Castle? - they'll take it all, all away from you, the little you still have, and God, I can't fucking believe this is my life.
She prays when she gets like that. Not exactly to God, but to anything, absolutely anything, let this be over, let me live, and she can't help but think I want my Mom.
She can't keep herself from thinking about the unhealthy things. The things Dr Burke told her to stay away from in a state like this.
Like how she used to lie in her mother's room, putting on her clothes and inhaling the scent of her pillow. How it didn't help at all.
Like the moment she was shot, she was actually shot in her freaking heart, when every viable thought slipped away with her blood and her life and Castle said ,I love you' and she wanted to go to sleep.
She feels carried away by a torrential river, not able to do anything but close her eyes, hold her breath and hope that the world stops spinning before she runs out of air.
What if I'm not meant to have anything and he'd never have me seeing this morbid mess that I am and I can't, I can't I can'tis what goes around in her head.
It's not like she's giving up. She wants to help herself. She wants to patch herself up and get up to do something about it - it's just so hard with her mind all hounded and fucked up, barely more than a frantic what am I gonna do, what shall I do, what do I need, but she's trying. To find something. Anything. A cure. A medicine.
And there is one stupid, ridiculous thing that helps sometimes. Kate doesn't like to do it, she feels embarrassed and she would never admit it, which is why she only makes use of it when she's too far gone to care, when she'll be able to defend herself (against only herself) the next morning with ,I had no choice'.
And right now, she doesn't think she has one.
»Okay Kate okay keep it together«, she says loudly and her voice sounds like she is surging up to get fresh air.
Her phone flashes when she slides to unlock. This is what she does to remind her of everyday, of not being tense and tormented: she goes through her text memory.
Rick Castle, 8:34 am.
I'll be there in a minute, with coffee and a danish.
Or, as they say in Limerick:
Good morning, Detective, I will
be shortly in place of the kill
in case this chase will be rough
there will be fuel enough
to keep you from getting too still.
He does that, texting her. As in, texting her when there's really no point in doing so. She rarely replies, but she likes it. Especially the ones where he brings in something poetic, because it reminds her of how she is best friends and partners with Rick Castle, whose books she read like she was paid for it.
Rick Castle, 11:23 pm.
May I recite a haiku about this case of ours.
Don't be so stubborn
CIA is in on this
believe me, Beckett.
She can feel it, the calmness that's coming on, intensified by the alcohol. Her muscles relaxing. But no, no, she musn't think about it, or this won't work.
She actually replied to the last text.
Reply to: Rick Castle, 11: 25 pm.
May I recite a haiku about this text of yours.
You are annoying
I'm trying to concentrate
will you please shut up.
Rick Castle, 11:30 pm.
May I recite a haiku about this this answer of yours.
That was a nice one
I think I might be impressed
well done, Detective
Reply to: Rick Castle, 11:31 pm:
May I recite a haiku about this time of mine.
I need to do the damn
paper work which you ignore
don't ask for trouble.
Rick Castle, 11:32 pm:
May I recite a haiku about this honesty of yours.
If you're so busy
why do you keep answering
you're enjoying this.
Reply to: Rick Castle 11:35 pm.
May I recite a haiku about this work of yours.
Why do you have time
last time I checked you had to
write a damn novel.
Kate remembers how she actually thought about asking him why he wasn't in bed yet - but found herself hesitating mentioning the word ,bed'. And feeling ridiculous about it.
Rick Castle, 11:37 pm
May I recite a haiku about this concern of yours.
No sweat, Detective
I can text you and write a
book at the same time.
Reply to Rick Castle, 11:40 pm
May I recite a haiku about this multitasking of yours.
Oh, and here I thought
that persistent texting was
a teenage girl thing.
It's creeping over her now, the numbness of her limbs. Her heart contracts in steady beats, and something inside her clenches as she thinks about Castle, she says it out loud, »Castle«, and although she doesn't want to, she misses him. The way he makes her feel safe, not because she needs protection (as if he could offer some, she is the one with the gun, after all), but because he's so... there and solid and constant and fuck, if this wasn't so freaking complicated, it'd be the easiest thing in the entire world. Sometimes it is.
If only I wasn't so completely ruined, and there is she goes, back again to sobbing and pathetic and ashamed because she actually just wondered ,if only', and because she's embarrassed for feeling so sorry for herself.
»God, I want to make progress«, she says it out loud. Oh yeah, because I want to be good, life's just not letting me. Kate hates the excuses she makes, because that's what this is to her, making excuses why she isn't good enough, fast enough, whole enough.
And all those messy, dismal, recurring thoughts somehow end up leading to
so if you really want to make some progress, just freaking do it, damn it, do it and fuck it if you can't.
There are tears on her face and her mouth tastes like vomit. But she's very still all of a sudden. Because hey, this is it, isn't it, this is what she was looking for. Progress.
She's not a helpless victim of fate and destiny. She's Det. Kate Beckett. She's fucking Nikki Heat. She's badass and kickass and smartass and 'tass. There's no way in hell she's giving up on everything she built up (or took down) these past months.
»Okay«, Kate tries to convince herself, »you can do this.«
Because what she found is this: There is a choice. There is always a choice. And right now, she may choose whatever she wants, whatever she sees herself able to do.
His phone vibrates loudly against his metal nightstand. Castle rubs his eyes as he slides to unlock, sleepy and expecting murder.
Kate Beckett, 3:49 am.
I'm not doing overly well
actually I'm kind of in hell
maybe you could just call
and help tear down the wall
by having a story to tell?
Eleven, twelve, thirteen seconds pass as he just sits there, staring in disbelief.
Is Kate Beckett really asking for help? For help with something real? By asking for a bedtime story? Him? Him, his heart cries, him, finally him.
Reply to: Kate Beckett, 3:51 am.
I do have a story to share
and because I really do care
I will just put on some pants
and with some food on my hands
I will be right over there.