I do not own these characters. So don't come suing me...I'm just a sophomore in high
school, for cryin' out loud. And I also do not own the song used in here... "Do You Like
It" belongs to Our Lady Peace. If you have this song, go listen to it. If you don't,
go get it... =)
Waiting to Exist
...I crawled out from the pain of yesterday / I crawled to you and...
That had to be the longest day I've ever had, period. My head throbs persistently now as I
unlock the door to the house, and stumble inside absentmindedly. The thick, heavy smell
of liquor lingering in the air tells me immediately that Eddie is home. I curse under my
breath. The last thing I need right now is trouble with Eddie. Especially a intoxicated Eddie
which made it seventy eight point two times worse. Yeah, seventy eight point two. Grissom
made some absurd calculation for me on one of the slower nights. He was bored. I shake my head
at his inane idea.
Well, thank God, Lindsay was away at my sister's for a little while. In case anything were
to happen tonight, which I can almost guarantee, she'd be safe.
Oh well, here he comes. His eyes are bloodshot, and his hair stands up in a sweaty mass. And
for a flickering moment, I ask myself why I married him. I shake the thought out as quickly
as it came. Married women aren't supposed to think like that. He straggles over to me
drunkenly. He's dressed in a tank top, the sleeves ruggedly torn on all ends, and dark
khakis. God, he's a huge disorderly mess.
...I said all the things that you said to say / Have I said enough...
"You're late, Catherine." He mumbles, slurring his words.
"Yeah, I had a lot of work to finish up."
"With Grissom, huh?"
"What?"
"You know, Grissom."
"What about him?"
"He was there." He is standing right up to me that I can smell the scent of smoke from a
club in his clothes.
"Uh, yeah. We all were." I clean up the plates in the kitchen, nervously afraid of what
he was ensuing.
"So what took so long?"
"I told you we had a lot of loose ends to tie up."
"But if you were all there as you say you were, then it shouldn't have taken so long." He
says roughly.
"What are you getting at, Eddie?" I don't want to look at him.
"You know what I'm getting at."
...Do you like it, yeah / Do you like it, yeah...
"No, I'm afraid I don't, Eddie."
"Grissom, you bitch."
"What about him?" I ask again.
"Don't play me for a fool, Catherine. I know you slept with him."
I turn and face him. What the hell is he talking about?
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"You slept with Grissom."
"No, I didn't." I am telling the honest to God truth. I really did not sleep with Grissom.
"Stop denying it. I know you did, so stop treating me like an idiot. You don't think I know?!"
He's getting angry.
"How did you get to that conclusion?"
"Some people down at the bar told me."
"Who's some people?"
"Screw that. What does it matter?"
"It matters the hell of a lot if they're spreading rumors that aren't true."
...I know why you're playin' these dirty games / They're killing me and...
And the next thing I know, I feel this burning pain on my left cheek. He slapped me. Hard too.
He pulls me out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Crashing me into the wall, he gets up to
my face. His eyes stare into mine so gravely I grow afraid though I don't show it. I can't show
it. I can't let him get to me because then he wins. And that can't happen. I won't let it.
He keeps staring. I stare back. And for a second, I think he's intimidated.
He grabs my arm with such brute strength that I can't wrench away, and shoves me into the living
room and onto the couch. He takes off his shirt. Chucking it across the room, he pins me into
the sofa, and kisses me with such violence I let my guard down.
"If you didn't sleep with him, prove it to me." His whole body weight is on top of me. He usually
isn't that heavy, but now it feels like I could drown in him.
He presses his lips against mine again. I keep my mouth closed tightly, but within a few seconds,
my defenses are useless. He manages to pry my mouth open, and force his tongue in. It tastes
badly of bitter whiskey. His kisses are savagely driving into my mouth in an angry rage. I try
to push him away, but he's too strong. God, I feel so violated despite the fact that he is my
husband. His furious hands are all over me, bruising me like hell. He tears my shirt half open.
I can't breathe. I can't breathe.
He breaks the kiss. "Prove it to me you didn't sleep with him." His eyes are fiery again.
I slap him as hard as I can. "I'm not proving you anything."
"Just as I thought." He sneers dangerously.
...I know how you love to watch me beg / Well, here I am...
In a second, he's off of me, and I find myself lying on the wooden floor. Tears obscure my vision.
I can't see a single goddamned thing. It's all blurry. I blink back the tears, and sit up. I
look around. Eddie's gone to the kitchen. I can hear his footsteps coming back. He looks at me
with a Jack Daniel's bottle in his hand, holding it by the neck. He sets himself down on the
couch, still watching me. He takes a long gulp of liquor, his eyes never leaving me.
"So, how was he?" He finally says.
I ignore his question.
"Answer me, bitch. How was he? Was he good?"
"I wouldn't know."
"You don't have to lie anymore, Cath. I know you did already, so let's move on to a more
interesting subject."
"You believe anything anybody tells you?" I challenge.
He's taken aback for a moment, but finds himself again.
"Nope. I believe with my own eyes."
"What, you saw Grissom and I together?"
"Nope."
"Then, what evidence do you have of the apparent affair?"
...Do you like it, yeah / And do you like it, yeah
And do you like it yeah, yeah, yeah...
"I see the way you are when you're around him. And that's good enough for me."
"That's bull. Then I could say you're sleeping with every single woman at the bar."
He's too fast for me. He's on top of me already. My shoulder blades crush against the
hardwood. I lift my head from the floor, and fight to get up. He straddles my abdomen, and
holds my mouth open, pouring warm whiskey down my throat. I swallow one gulp, but cough
it up as it stings my palette. One would think after draining bottle after bottle of Jacks in
my lifetime I would've gotten used to it. But it is too strong for me. I keep choking as he
drains the rest of the bottle into me. He finally lets up, and I spit it out. Liquor pools
into a golden yellow puddle on the floor, and soaks my hair. I can feel it creep closer to my
scalp. Capillary action and all that crap Grissom's always telling me about. Capillary action.
That's the way liquid travels around. Jeez, the things you learn from work and biology 101.
...I don't wanna be a puppet for you...
He gets off me, and collapses into the couch again. His eyes watch me.
"So when did you sleep with him?"
"I didn't." I muttered, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
"Like hell you didn't."
I don't answer. I ease away slowly, leaning my back against the wall.
"Then why in God's name would you spend all your time at work?"
"It's my goddamned job."
He's so stubborn. Why the hell is he so stubborn? Shouldn't he believe me more than those
people at the bar? Figures. He's closer to the bartenders there than with his own wife
and daughter. I could hate him if I really tried. But I can't. As much as I sometimes want to.
I can't. He's my daughter's father. I can't do it.
...Don't wanna bite the hand that's feeding...
I look down at my arms. They are bruised, and I can taste a mixture of blood and Jack on my
tongue. It won't go away. That taste is forever in my mouth. There's no way to get rid of it
even if I drank holy water the rest of my hell stricken life. I was born inflicted with drugs,
alcohol, and violence. I've learned at an early age.
It's too late. No matter how many criminals I put away at the lab, it won't change who I am.
No, my mistake. Not who I am. What I am. I can't possibly consider myself a person anymore.
After all the things I've done in my life, I probably deserved a life like this.
Hey, don't get me wrong. I'm not feeling sorry for myself and all that. I'm just stating it as
fact of life. Fish love to swim, and the wind's not alive. That kind of thing. Yeah, and I can't
do a damn thing about me.
"So are you gonna answer me or what?"
My throat is still burning from the whiskey. I can't find my voice after that shock. I swallow,
and nearly choke on my own saliva.
"Eddie, you have to believe me. I didn't sleep with Grissom."
...I don't wanna be a sucker for you, oh yes you...
Oh, screw. I shouldn't have said that. Too late. I send him into a flying rage. He sails the
empty bottle toward me. I hit the floor on instinct. The bottle smashes against the wall, and
shatters into pieces, falling on me. They cut into me like a hot knife through butter, like
they say. But I actually mean it.
The glass tears my skin easily. I lie here bleeding. I wish I could just lie here for the rest
of the night, but apparently Eddie has other plans for me.
He reaches me in a matter of two long strides, and pulls me up from the floor. He twists my
arm so hard, I almost let out a yelp. Almost. But I manage to contain myself. I draw in
a sharp breath.
He pushes me into the couch again, holding me down fast so I can barely even lift my head. And
he's going to do it this time. I know these things.
I wish I didn't though.
...I hate myself for begging...
He kisses me brusquely, even harder than before, and ten times the force of that. I can't fight
him. I'm almost tired of fighting. I close my eyes, and welcome the darkness. I can hear his
hoarse, pungent breath against my face. His hands claw at my body, removing my clothes. I can't
fight him. He's too strong for me.
I can do nothing but lie here on the sofa, drenched in whiskey, blood, and sweat. He grows hard
against my thigh.
Son of a bitch.
I can't escape. He tightens his grip around my wrists. He needs only one hand to hold my two.
It seems like he only grows stronger as I slowly diminish. He draws all his strength from me,
taking pleasure in seeing me weak.
...I hate myself for staying...
But, no. I have to fight. I can't let this be easy for him.
I open my eyes. Above me on a shelf sits a clock. I stare at it. It's been only one minute.
Again, I try to squirm away from him, but he grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me back on
the couch.
In the process, he tears the rest of my shirt open. I'm not even sure how he does it, but he
manages to take my shirt off of me without my full, complete knowledge. He goes around to my
back and unhooks my bra, pulling it off. He takes hold of my wrists again.
I try to yank away, but I can't. He slaps me hard across the face. My vision blocks out for
a second, but I recover quickly, and keep pulling away. He knocks me on the side of the head.
"Stop your damn fighting!" He yells at me.
...I hate myself for listening to...you...
He puts an arm across my shoulders, pinning them down so that all I can lift is my head. He
undoes the zipper of my pants. I can't move. I try to kick him away, but his knees are pinning
my legs down against the sofa.
I look up at the clock. Three minutes. It's been three tormenting minutes. Eddie's gone mad. No,
actually this is normal. I keep staring at the hands of the clock.
By five minutes, I'm completely undressed, and I lie naked beneath his heaving, angry body.
By six, his own pants are down too.
All I can do now is pray that it will be quick as hell. I'm tired from fighting him, not to
mention from work also.
Tears well up in my eyes.
...It's too little, too late / Well, I can't escape...
I keep my legs together, but within another minute, he forces them apart. I close my eyes.
I don't want to see.
He thrusts blindly into me. I'm not sure for how long, but I will when I open my eyes to look at
the clock.
God, I wish someone could just walk into the house right now. He'd stop no matter who it was.
Lindsay could come in and stop everything. She has more power over him than I do. He'd do
anything. I swear he would. If Lindsay said anything, he'd do it. That's his weakness. Not for
the love of her, but for the fear that she'd tell someone something. He knew I wouldn't. But
she would. My daughter is more gutsy than I am. If she knew what her daddy was doing to her
mommy, she would most definitely tell someone. And Eddie couldn't risk that. I don't know if he
loves her or not. I honestly don't know. Maybe he just spends time with her to keep her quiet.
Or just plain prove to her that he's not as bad as he seems to be when he's around his wife. But
he is that bad. I hope to God Lindsay doesn't believe him.
Maybe. All these meaningless, empty maybes.
...So, I'm begging you please...
Maybe. Maybe Grissom would show up at the door. God, Eddie would blow his stack. It's better
if Grissom doesn't show up. He'd stop Eddie, but it's a sure thing that this situation will happen
all over again some other night. Round Two is sure to come, with or without Grissom's intrusion.
At least without Grissom, I can have some peace and quiet for a night or two if I'm lucky.
He's still driving into me. Wildly too.
But even though I know both those people, Lindsay and Grissom, would be able to get Eddie off
of me, I don't want them to come. I don't want them to walk in on this horrific sight. They're
innocent. Despite the fact that Grissom deals with dead people, and gruesome carnage every
single goddamned day, he's innocent from all of this. So is Lindsay. I can't drag them into
this problem now. They don't need the extra burden.
...I changed all the things that you told me to change / I'm on my knees...
I couldn't possibly ask either of them to help me out with this crap. I can't. They don't need
more problems.
This is my problem, and I can deal with it on my own. I always have.
I refuse to get them involved in this.
Lindsay is my daughter. I have to protect her from the bull I have to put up with for Eddie. I
need her to stay oblivious to this. It's her blamelessness that gets me through all my days of
Eddie's tirades. I just have to think of her and this is all worth it, as long as I can protect
her. She's my life. I can't expose her to this. Eddie is the build up of all the things I've ever
done in my life. The violence, the drugs, the alcohol, the stripping, the defiance, everything
in my whole damn life has built up into Eddie. The repercussions have come. And they come
through Eddie. I can't pass it on to Lindsay. I refuse to do that to my daughter. I can't.
I can't do that to her.
She's my baby girl.
...Do you like it, yeah / And do you like it, yeah
And do you like it, yeah, yeah, yeah...
Grissom. The name comes to me like music. He's the one I go to when chaos erupts. It's mutual.
When things fall apart, we go to each other. That's the way it works our relationship. But not
with this. I can't go to him about this. I've seen him twice or thrice before, but that was
random. It wasn't about him. This time, it's him. His image is the source of fuel for Eddie's
resentment and strength. I can't let Grissom get involved. Especially since it's about
him this time.
I love him too much to see him get hurt.
He has his own things to deal with anyhow. My added burden won't do him any good.
...I don't wanna be a puppet for you...
Eddie finally withdraws from me.
I open my eyes. I look at the clock again. It's been fourteen minutes all together. Fourteen
goddamned minutes.
He gets off me at last. And a huge weight is lifted off me, figuratively and literally. He
pulls on his clothes. As a final warning of some sort, he knocks me down on the floor. With
that taken care of, the door slams loudly with force, and he leaves me naked and twisting in
pain on the living room floor.
He's gone.
Doubt taints my euphoria.
I lie here for a few minutes on my side, my cheek against the hardwood. I'm tired. I don't
want to move. But yet I can't stand the thought of him all over me.
I pick myself up with winces here and there, and put on my clothes, struggling to make my
way to the bathroom.
...Don't wanna bite the hand that's feeding...
I swear at my mirror's image. The reflection is pathetic.
Son of a bitch.
I look like...never mind. I taste of it, smell of it, and look like it. A toxic combination
of Jack's finest, blood, sweat, smoke, and Eddie.
I grasp the cold, biting metal attached to the sink and twist the knobs that make a high
pitched squeak. Water hissed from the faucet. I put the stopper in place, and watch the sink
fill slow as hell. The sound of gushing water echoed the small, otherwise quiet room, filling
its white walls with a subtle hush.
I exhale loudly, and carelessly let a tear escape from my eye. I brush it away as it slides
down my cheek. At contact, I wince in agony, as if I forgot my face was all marred up.
...I don't wanna be a sucker for you, ah yes you...
I look up at the mirror again, waiting for the sink to fill up. Black and purple covers my face
along with cuts that had torn into my skin. I look hideous. Lindsay would be scared to hell
right about now.
I turn off the faucet, and stare into the pooled water. It was crystal clear, absolutely
transparent like glass. A drop of blood falls from one of my many cuts, and splashes calmly into
the sink. It swirls into a thin, red ribbon. I keep staring as it slowly fades away, leaving a
slight, barely noticeable tint in the water.
I cupping my hands, I collect some water and bring it up to my face, flinching terribly at
every touch. Then, making a decision, I remove my clothing.
...I hate myself for begging...
I dim the light, just enough to make out everything, but still dark. I climb into the tub, and get
the shower going. The water pours down on my broken body. I close my eyes in agony as it seeps
through to every gash on me. Leaning against the cold, wet tiles, I allow myself to slide to
the floor. I sit here. I can't remember for how long. But it was long. I let my head tip back,
and the water falls on my face, running through my liquor-doused hair. I can smell it. I can
always and forever smell it. It lives within me.
The demon within.
The demon within.
The demon within.
I grab the bar of soap, and rub it against the raw skin of my arm. It the suds cling to my
wounds, crawling into my cuts. Sometimes I think it burns more than fire because it's self
inflicting. Fire you don't touch on purpose, but the soap, now that's a different story.
I bite my upper lip to keep from crying out in pain.
...I hate myself for staying...
Having finished cleaning up the best I can, I switch off the shower and stumble out of the tub.
I grab a towel hanging on a hook, and wrap myself into it.
It's a white towel.
It's white like untouched snow.
I pull away from it, and hold it out in front of me to inspect it. It's now stained with spots
of watered down blood. In pure irritation and disgust, I throw it down on the floor, and storm
out of the bathroom.
Changing into fresh, clean clothes, I return to the living room. The crime scene. Yeah, I wish.
I pick up a cushion, and set it on the couch. Then a few books. Some of Lindsay's markers. A
case file I am still working on. My cell phone.
...I hate myself for listening to you...
I cross the room to the wall where the whiskey bottle had exploded into smithereens just above
my head. I get down on my hands and knees to pick up the broken pieces of dark brown glass.
I gather them one by one.
Having collected the larger pieces, I hold them in the center of my hand. I close my fingers
around them.
...I just wanna get out / Stuck inside of this...
Tears fall from my eyes, splashing quietly on the hardwood floor. And soon a small pool emerges.
I hang my head. My hair tumbles in front of me, the tips sweeping across the floorboards.
In sheer anguish, I squeeze the bits of glass I still have clenched in my right hand. I close
my hand around them. Tight. Hoping that I would crush the glass instead of the other way around.
I hear the slight squeaky sound of glass rubbing against each other. Tighter. Tighter until
the sharp points of the glass breaks my skin, piercing it. Tighter until blood draws. It seeps
through my fingers from my firmly grasped fist, and slowly runs down my forearm, leaving a
long trail of dark red behind. It could stain my skin, I bet.
It stings so much it doesn't even hurt now. Similar to the rest of me. I've grown numb to
Eddie's beatings. I've gotten so used to being beat up that it doesn't even hurt anymore.
...Waiting for something else...
I loosen my grip, and open my hand. Blood drips profusely. Standing up, I put the glass into my
other hand. I make my way to the kitchen and drop the bits into the trash. I look at my hands,
they're both dyed in dark red.
I wipe away the tears in my eyes and turn on the faucet at the sink. I rinse my hands. The blood
disappears immediately, emptying into the drain, gone forever. I stare at my right hand. The cuts
are visible. Obviously.
Then, suddenly, the phone rings and I snap out of whatever was going through my mind. I pick up
the phone with my left hand, and clear my throat from the crying.
"Hello?"
"Mommy?"
"Oh, hey, Lindsay."
"Mommy, are you all right?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Are you? Did you have fun today?" My voice is tinged with a short whimper
when I absently switched the phone to my right hand.
"Yes. I just wanted to call to say good night. I'm going to bed now."
"All right."
"I'll see you tomorrow after school, right?"
"Right."
"Okay. Good night, Mommy."
"Good night, Lindsay."
"Bye."
"Bye." I hang up with a flicker of hope in me.
I walk to the living room to take care of the rest of the shattered bottle, when the phone
rings again.
...Waiting to exist...
"Hello?"
"Hey, Cath."
Grissom.
"Hi." I say.
"I was wondering if you had the case file for tonight's - "
"Yeah, I have it." I answer blankly.
We don't speak for a few moments.
"Cath?"
"Yeah."
"Is everything all right?"
"Why do you ask?"
"You sound...I don't know..."
"It's nothing."
"Hey, I know something's wrong, Cath."
"I'm all right."
"Okay, I'm coming over."
No!
"No! Grissom, don't!"
"Why not?" His voice is filled with concern.
If he comes over, in Eddie's point of view, his suspicions are correct. They'll be confirmed
if Grissom's over here.
"Just don't. Please."
"Catherine, what's wrong?"
...Can you offer me help / Help from what I missed, I missed...
I can't answer. I don't know what to say. He sees through my lies. I can't lie nor tell
the truth.
"Okay, that's it. I'll be there in - "
"Grissom, don't!"
"Why?"
"Promise me you won't come over!" I'm nearly begging him now.
He's silent.
"Grissom, promise me!"
"I can't promise you that." He answers quietly.
"No, you have to! Swear to me you won't come over! Not now, not tonight."
...Do you like it, yeah / Do you like it, yeah
Do you like it, yeah, yeah, yeah...
"Catherine, tell me what's wrong."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can. You can tell me anything. You know that."
"Just swear to me you won't come!"
"Catherine..."
"Grissom, promise me!"
Pause.
"Swear you won't come!"
After another moment of silence, he answers.
"All right. I promise, Cath. I won't come over tonight."
"Okay." I let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks."
"Well, what do you want me to do?"
"Nothing. Just stay on the phone with me."
"Okay."
"That's enough."
...I don't wanna be a puppet for you...
...Don't wanna bite the hand that's feeding...
...I don't wanna be a sucker for you, ah yes you...
...I hate myself for begging...
...I hate myself for staying...
...I hate myself for listening to you...
...For listening to you...
...For listening to you...
...For listening to you...
The End
school, for cryin' out loud. And I also do not own the song used in here... "Do You Like
It" belongs to Our Lady Peace. If you have this song, go listen to it. If you don't,
go get it... =)
Waiting to Exist
...I crawled out from the pain of yesterday / I crawled to you and...
That had to be the longest day I've ever had, period. My head throbs persistently now as I
unlock the door to the house, and stumble inside absentmindedly. The thick, heavy smell
of liquor lingering in the air tells me immediately that Eddie is home. I curse under my
breath. The last thing I need right now is trouble with Eddie. Especially a intoxicated Eddie
which made it seventy eight point two times worse. Yeah, seventy eight point two. Grissom
made some absurd calculation for me on one of the slower nights. He was bored. I shake my head
at his inane idea.
Well, thank God, Lindsay was away at my sister's for a little while. In case anything were
to happen tonight, which I can almost guarantee, she'd be safe.
Oh well, here he comes. His eyes are bloodshot, and his hair stands up in a sweaty mass. And
for a flickering moment, I ask myself why I married him. I shake the thought out as quickly
as it came. Married women aren't supposed to think like that. He straggles over to me
drunkenly. He's dressed in a tank top, the sleeves ruggedly torn on all ends, and dark
khakis. God, he's a huge disorderly mess.
...I said all the things that you said to say / Have I said enough...
"You're late, Catherine." He mumbles, slurring his words.
"Yeah, I had a lot of work to finish up."
"With Grissom, huh?"
"What?"
"You know, Grissom."
"What about him?"
"He was there." He is standing right up to me that I can smell the scent of smoke from a
club in his clothes.
"Uh, yeah. We all were." I clean up the plates in the kitchen, nervously afraid of what
he was ensuing.
"So what took so long?"
"I told you we had a lot of loose ends to tie up."
"But if you were all there as you say you were, then it shouldn't have taken so long." He
says roughly.
"What are you getting at, Eddie?" I don't want to look at him.
"You know what I'm getting at."
...Do you like it, yeah / Do you like it, yeah...
"No, I'm afraid I don't, Eddie."
"Grissom, you bitch."
"What about him?" I ask again.
"Don't play me for a fool, Catherine. I know you slept with him."
I turn and face him. What the hell is he talking about?
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"You slept with Grissom."
"No, I didn't." I am telling the honest to God truth. I really did not sleep with Grissom.
"Stop denying it. I know you did, so stop treating me like an idiot. You don't think I know?!"
He's getting angry.
"How did you get to that conclusion?"
"Some people down at the bar told me."
"Who's some people?"
"Screw that. What does it matter?"
"It matters the hell of a lot if they're spreading rumors that aren't true."
...I know why you're playin' these dirty games / They're killing me and...
And the next thing I know, I feel this burning pain on my left cheek. He slapped me. Hard too.
He pulls me out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Crashing me into the wall, he gets up to
my face. His eyes stare into mine so gravely I grow afraid though I don't show it. I can't show
it. I can't let him get to me because then he wins. And that can't happen. I won't let it.
He keeps staring. I stare back. And for a second, I think he's intimidated.
He grabs my arm with such brute strength that I can't wrench away, and shoves me into the living
room and onto the couch. He takes off his shirt. Chucking it across the room, he pins me into
the sofa, and kisses me with such violence I let my guard down.
"If you didn't sleep with him, prove it to me." His whole body weight is on top of me. He usually
isn't that heavy, but now it feels like I could drown in him.
He presses his lips against mine again. I keep my mouth closed tightly, but within a few seconds,
my defenses are useless. He manages to pry my mouth open, and force his tongue in. It tastes
badly of bitter whiskey. His kisses are savagely driving into my mouth in an angry rage. I try
to push him away, but he's too strong. God, I feel so violated despite the fact that he is my
husband. His furious hands are all over me, bruising me like hell. He tears my shirt half open.
I can't breathe. I can't breathe.
He breaks the kiss. "Prove it to me you didn't sleep with him." His eyes are fiery again.
I slap him as hard as I can. "I'm not proving you anything."
"Just as I thought." He sneers dangerously.
...I know how you love to watch me beg / Well, here I am...
In a second, he's off of me, and I find myself lying on the wooden floor. Tears obscure my vision.
I can't see a single goddamned thing. It's all blurry. I blink back the tears, and sit up. I
look around. Eddie's gone to the kitchen. I can hear his footsteps coming back. He looks at me
with a Jack Daniel's bottle in his hand, holding it by the neck. He sets himself down on the
couch, still watching me. He takes a long gulp of liquor, his eyes never leaving me.
"So, how was he?" He finally says.
I ignore his question.
"Answer me, bitch. How was he? Was he good?"
"I wouldn't know."
"You don't have to lie anymore, Cath. I know you did already, so let's move on to a more
interesting subject."
"You believe anything anybody tells you?" I challenge.
He's taken aback for a moment, but finds himself again.
"Nope. I believe with my own eyes."
"What, you saw Grissom and I together?"
"Nope."
"Then, what evidence do you have of the apparent affair?"
...Do you like it, yeah / And do you like it, yeah
And do you like it yeah, yeah, yeah...
"I see the way you are when you're around him. And that's good enough for me."
"That's bull. Then I could say you're sleeping with every single woman at the bar."
He's too fast for me. He's on top of me already. My shoulder blades crush against the
hardwood. I lift my head from the floor, and fight to get up. He straddles my abdomen, and
holds my mouth open, pouring warm whiskey down my throat. I swallow one gulp, but cough
it up as it stings my palette. One would think after draining bottle after bottle of Jacks in
my lifetime I would've gotten used to it. But it is too strong for me. I keep choking as he
drains the rest of the bottle into me. He finally lets up, and I spit it out. Liquor pools
into a golden yellow puddle on the floor, and soaks my hair. I can feel it creep closer to my
scalp. Capillary action and all that crap Grissom's always telling me about. Capillary action.
That's the way liquid travels around. Jeez, the things you learn from work and biology 101.
...I don't wanna be a puppet for you...
He gets off me, and collapses into the couch again. His eyes watch me.
"So when did you sleep with him?"
"I didn't." I muttered, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
"Like hell you didn't."
I don't answer. I ease away slowly, leaning my back against the wall.
"Then why in God's name would you spend all your time at work?"
"It's my goddamned job."
He's so stubborn. Why the hell is he so stubborn? Shouldn't he believe me more than those
people at the bar? Figures. He's closer to the bartenders there than with his own wife
and daughter. I could hate him if I really tried. But I can't. As much as I sometimes want to.
I can't. He's my daughter's father. I can't do it.
...Don't wanna bite the hand that's feeding...
I look down at my arms. They are bruised, and I can taste a mixture of blood and Jack on my
tongue. It won't go away. That taste is forever in my mouth. There's no way to get rid of it
even if I drank holy water the rest of my hell stricken life. I was born inflicted with drugs,
alcohol, and violence. I've learned at an early age.
It's too late. No matter how many criminals I put away at the lab, it won't change who I am.
No, my mistake. Not who I am. What I am. I can't possibly consider myself a person anymore.
After all the things I've done in my life, I probably deserved a life like this.
Hey, don't get me wrong. I'm not feeling sorry for myself and all that. I'm just stating it as
fact of life. Fish love to swim, and the wind's not alive. That kind of thing. Yeah, and I can't
do a damn thing about me.
"So are you gonna answer me or what?"
My throat is still burning from the whiskey. I can't find my voice after that shock. I swallow,
and nearly choke on my own saliva.
"Eddie, you have to believe me. I didn't sleep with Grissom."
...I don't wanna be a sucker for you, oh yes you...
Oh, screw. I shouldn't have said that. Too late. I send him into a flying rage. He sails the
empty bottle toward me. I hit the floor on instinct. The bottle smashes against the wall, and
shatters into pieces, falling on me. They cut into me like a hot knife through butter, like
they say. But I actually mean it.
The glass tears my skin easily. I lie here bleeding. I wish I could just lie here for the rest
of the night, but apparently Eddie has other plans for me.
He reaches me in a matter of two long strides, and pulls me up from the floor. He twists my
arm so hard, I almost let out a yelp. Almost. But I manage to contain myself. I draw in
a sharp breath.
He pushes me into the couch again, holding me down fast so I can barely even lift my head. And
he's going to do it this time. I know these things.
I wish I didn't though.
...I hate myself for begging...
He kisses me brusquely, even harder than before, and ten times the force of that. I can't fight
him. I'm almost tired of fighting. I close my eyes, and welcome the darkness. I can hear his
hoarse, pungent breath against my face. His hands claw at my body, removing my clothes. I can't
fight him. He's too strong for me.
I can do nothing but lie here on the sofa, drenched in whiskey, blood, and sweat. He grows hard
against my thigh.
Son of a bitch.
I can't escape. He tightens his grip around my wrists. He needs only one hand to hold my two.
It seems like he only grows stronger as I slowly diminish. He draws all his strength from me,
taking pleasure in seeing me weak.
...I hate myself for staying...
But, no. I have to fight. I can't let this be easy for him.
I open my eyes. Above me on a shelf sits a clock. I stare at it. It's been only one minute.
Again, I try to squirm away from him, but he grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me back on
the couch.
In the process, he tears the rest of my shirt open. I'm not even sure how he does it, but he
manages to take my shirt off of me without my full, complete knowledge. He goes around to my
back and unhooks my bra, pulling it off. He takes hold of my wrists again.
I try to yank away, but I can't. He slaps me hard across the face. My vision blocks out for
a second, but I recover quickly, and keep pulling away. He knocks me on the side of the head.
"Stop your damn fighting!" He yells at me.
...I hate myself for listening to...you...
He puts an arm across my shoulders, pinning them down so that all I can lift is my head. He
undoes the zipper of my pants. I can't move. I try to kick him away, but his knees are pinning
my legs down against the sofa.
I look up at the clock. Three minutes. It's been three tormenting minutes. Eddie's gone mad. No,
actually this is normal. I keep staring at the hands of the clock.
By five minutes, I'm completely undressed, and I lie naked beneath his heaving, angry body.
By six, his own pants are down too.
All I can do now is pray that it will be quick as hell. I'm tired from fighting him, not to
mention from work also.
Tears well up in my eyes.
...It's too little, too late / Well, I can't escape...
I keep my legs together, but within another minute, he forces them apart. I close my eyes.
I don't want to see.
He thrusts blindly into me. I'm not sure for how long, but I will when I open my eyes to look at
the clock.
God, I wish someone could just walk into the house right now. He'd stop no matter who it was.
Lindsay could come in and stop everything. She has more power over him than I do. He'd do
anything. I swear he would. If Lindsay said anything, he'd do it. That's his weakness. Not for
the love of her, but for the fear that she'd tell someone something. He knew I wouldn't. But
she would. My daughter is more gutsy than I am. If she knew what her daddy was doing to her
mommy, she would most definitely tell someone. And Eddie couldn't risk that. I don't know if he
loves her or not. I honestly don't know. Maybe he just spends time with her to keep her quiet.
Or just plain prove to her that he's not as bad as he seems to be when he's around his wife. But
he is that bad. I hope to God Lindsay doesn't believe him.
Maybe. All these meaningless, empty maybes.
...So, I'm begging you please...
Maybe. Maybe Grissom would show up at the door. God, Eddie would blow his stack. It's better
if Grissom doesn't show up. He'd stop Eddie, but it's a sure thing that this situation will happen
all over again some other night. Round Two is sure to come, with or without Grissom's intrusion.
At least without Grissom, I can have some peace and quiet for a night or two if I'm lucky.
He's still driving into me. Wildly too.
But even though I know both those people, Lindsay and Grissom, would be able to get Eddie off
of me, I don't want them to come. I don't want them to walk in on this horrific sight. They're
innocent. Despite the fact that Grissom deals with dead people, and gruesome carnage every
single goddamned day, he's innocent from all of this. So is Lindsay. I can't drag them into
this problem now. They don't need the extra burden.
...I changed all the things that you told me to change / I'm on my knees...
I couldn't possibly ask either of them to help me out with this crap. I can't. They don't need
more problems.
This is my problem, and I can deal with it on my own. I always have.
I refuse to get them involved in this.
Lindsay is my daughter. I have to protect her from the bull I have to put up with for Eddie. I
need her to stay oblivious to this. It's her blamelessness that gets me through all my days of
Eddie's tirades. I just have to think of her and this is all worth it, as long as I can protect
her. She's my life. I can't expose her to this. Eddie is the build up of all the things I've ever
done in my life. The violence, the drugs, the alcohol, the stripping, the defiance, everything
in my whole damn life has built up into Eddie. The repercussions have come. And they come
through Eddie. I can't pass it on to Lindsay. I refuse to do that to my daughter. I can't.
I can't do that to her.
She's my baby girl.
...Do you like it, yeah / And do you like it, yeah
And do you like it, yeah, yeah, yeah...
Grissom. The name comes to me like music. He's the one I go to when chaos erupts. It's mutual.
When things fall apart, we go to each other. That's the way it works our relationship. But not
with this. I can't go to him about this. I've seen him twice or thrice before, but that was
random. It wasn't about him. This time, it's him. His image is the source of fuel for Eddie's
resentment and strength. I can't let Grissom get involved. Especially since it's about
him this time.
I love him too much to see him get hurt.
He has his own things to deal with anyhow. My added burden won't do him any good.
...I don't wanna be a puppet for you...
Eddie finally withdraws from me.
I open my eyes. I look at the clock again. It's been fourteen minutes all together. Fourteen
goddamned minutes.
He gets off me at last. And a huge weight is lifted off me, figuratively and literally. He
pulls on his clothes. As a final warning of some sort, he knocks me down on the floor. With
that taken care of, the door slams loudly with force, and he leaves me naked and twisting in
pain on the living room floor.
He's gone.
Doubt taints my euphoria.
I lie here for a few minutes on my side, my cheek against the hardwood. I'm tired. I don't
want to move. But yet I can't stand the thought of him all over me.
I pick myself up with winces here and there, and put on my clothes, struggling to make my
way to the bathroom.
...Don't wanna bite the hand that's feeding...
I swear at my mirror's image. The reflection is pathetic.
Son of a bitch.
I look like...never mind. I taste of it, smell of it, and look like it. A toxic combination
of Jack's finest, blood, sweat, smoke, and Eddie.
I grasp the cold, biting metal attached to the sink and twist the knobs that make a high
pitched squeak. Water hissed from the faucet. I put the stopper in place, and watch the sink
fill slow as hell. The sound of gushing water echoed the small, otherwise quiet room, filling
its white walls with a subtle hush.
I exhale loudly, and carelessly let a tear escape from my eye. I brush it away as it slides
down my cheek. At contact, I wince in agony, as if I forgot my face was all marred up.
...I don't wanna be a sucker for you, ah yes you...
I look up at the mirror again, waiting for the sink to fill up. Black and purple covers my face
along with cuts that had torn into my skin. I look hideous. Lindsay would be scared to hell
right about now.
I turn off the faucet, and stare into the pooled water. It was crystal clear, absolutely
transparent like glass. A drop of blood falls from one of my many cuts, and splashes calmly into
the sink. It swirls into a thin, red ribbon. I keep staring as it slowly fades away, leaving a
slight, barely noticeable tint in the water.
I cupping my hands, I collect some water and bring it up to my face, flinching terribly at
every touch. Then, making a decision, I remove my clothing.
...I hate myself for begging...
I dim the light, just enough to make out everything, but still dark. I climb into the tub, and get
the shower going. The water pours down on my broken body. I close my eyes in agony as it seeps
through to every gash on me. Leaning against the cold, wet tiles, I allow myself to slide to
the floor. I sit here. I can't remember for how long. But it was long. I let my head tip back,
and the water falls on my face, running through my liquor-doused hair. I can smell it. I can
always and forever smell it. It lives within me.
The demon within.
The demon within.
The demon within.
I grab the bar of soap, and rub it against the raw skin of my arm. It the suds cling to my
wounds, crawling into my cuts. Sometimes I think it burns more than fire because it's self
inflicting. Fire you don't touch on purpose, but the soap, now that's a different story.
I bite my upper lip to keep from crying out in pain.
...I hate myself for staying...
Having finished cleaning up the best I can, I switch off the shower and stumble out of the tub.
I grab a towel hanging on a hook, and wrap myself into it.
It's a white towel.
It's white like untouched snow.
I pull away from it, and hold it out in front of me to inspect it. It's now stained with spots
of watered down blood. In pure irritation and disgust, I throw it down on the floor, and storm
out of the bathroom.
Changing into fresh, clean clothes, I return to the living room. The crime scene. Yeah, I wish.
I pick up a cushion, and set it on the couch. Then a few books. Some of Lindsay's markers. A
case file I am still working on. My cell phone.
...I hate myself for listening to you...
I cross the room to the wall where the whiskey bottle had exploded into smithereens just above
my head. I get down on my hands and knees to pick up the broken pieces of dark brown glass.
I gather them one by one.
Having collected the larger pieces, I hold them in the center of my hand. I close my fingers
around them.
...I just wanna get out / Stuck inside of this...
Tears fall from my eyes, splashing quietly on the hardwood floor. And soon a small pool emerges.
I hang my head. My hair tumbles in front of me, the tips sweeping across the floorboards.
In sheer anguish, I squeeze the bits of glass I still have clenched in my right hand. I close
my hand around them. Tight. Hoping that I would crush the glass instead of the other way around.
I hear the slight squeaky sound of glass rubbing against each other. Tighter. Tighter until
the sharp points of the glass breaks my skin, piercing it. Tighter until blood draws. It seeps
through my fingers from my firmly grasped fist, and slowly runs down my forearm, leaving a
long trail of dark red behind. It could stain my skin, I bet.
It stings so much it doesn't even hurt now. Similar to the rest of me. I've grown numb to
Eddie's beatings. I've gotten so used to being beat up that it doesn't even hurt anymore.
...Waiting for something else...
I loosen my grip, and open my hand. Blood drips profusely. Standing up, I put the glass into my
other hand. I make my way to the kitchen and drop the bits into the trash. I look at my hands,
they're both dyed in dark red.
I wipe away the tears in my eyes and turn on the faucet at the sink. I rinse my hands. The blood
disappears immediately, emptying into the drain, gone forever. I stare at my right hand. The cuts
are visible. Obviously.
Then, suddenly, the phone rings and I snap out of whatever was going through my mind. I pick up
the phone with my left hand, and clear my throat from the crying.
"Hello?"
"Mommy?"
"Oh, hey, Lindsay."
"Mommy, are you all right?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Are you? Did you have fun today?" My voice is tinged with a short whimper
when I absently switched the phone to my right hand.
"Yes. I just wanted to call to say good night. I'm going to bed now."
"All right."
"I'll see you tomorrow after school, right?"
"Right."
"Okay. Good night, Mommy."
"Good night, Lindsay."
"Bye."
"Bye." I hang up with a flicker of hope in me.
I walk to the living room to take care of the rest of the shattered bottle, when the phone
rings again.
...Waiting to exist...
"Hello?"
"Hey, Cath."
Grissom.
"Hi." I say.
"I was wondering if you had the case file for tonight's - "
"Yeah, I have it." I answer blankly.
We don't speak for a few moments.
"Cath?"
"Yeah."
"Is everything all right?"
"Why do you ask?"
"You sound...I don't know..."
"It's nothing."
"Hey, I know something's wrong, Cath."
"I'm all right."
"Okay, I'm coming over."
No!
"No! Grissom, don't!"
"Why not?" His voice is filled with concern.
If he comes over, in Eddie's point of view, his suspicions are correct. They'll be confirmed
if Grissom's over here.
"Just don't. Please."
"Catherine, what's wrong?"
...Can you offer me help / Help from what I missed, I missed...
I can't answer. I don't know what to say. He sees through my lies. I can't lie nor tell
the truth.
"Okay, that's it. I'll be there in - "
"Grissom, don't!"
"Why?"
"Promise me you won't come over!" I'm nearly begging him now.
He's silent.
"Grissom, promise me!"
"I can't promise you that." He answers quietly.
"No, you have to! Swear to me you won't come over! Not now, not tonight."
...Do you like it, yeah / Do you like it, yeah
Do you like it, yeah, yeah, yeah...
"Catherine, tell me what's wrong."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can. You can tell me anything. You know that."
"Just swear to me you won't come!"
"Catherine..."
"Grissom, promise me!"
Pause.
"Swear you won't come!"
After another moment of silence, he answers.
"All right. I promise, Cath. I won't come over tonight."
"Okay." I let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks."
"Well, what do you want me to do?"
"Nothing. Just stay on the phone with me."
"Okay."
"That's enough."
...I don't wanna be a puppet for you...
...Don't wanna bite the hand that's feeding...
...I don't wanna be a sucker for you, ah yes you...
...I hate myself for begging...
...I hate myself for staying...
...I hate myself for listening to you...
...For listening to you...
...For listening to you...
...For listening to you...
The End