Who I Am.
Disclaimer: I don't own CSI: Miami, Eric Delko or Calleigh Desquene.
Warning: Do not read if you don't like angst. Or cutting.
Author's Note: Hope you enjoy! I know it's not entirely angsty but this is my first CSI: Miami fic so I tried. Please review, I'd like to know if you think it was good or just plain awful.. But I thought we needed some more angsty, non-romance fics, so here you go.
The cold blade slipped from his fingers, tumbling through the air for what felt like a lifetime. A small cut in the floor that wouldn't go away grabbed his attention, just inches from the hilt of the knife, nothing more than a thin line engraved in the wood. A thin line that appeared huge to him, like it was the most visible thing within the entire kitchen. Nevermind the splattered blood on the floor, the countertops, the appliances, nevermind the dirt smudges over the walls or the mud that had been tracked through the door. Nevermind the smell that came off him, indicating that he hadn't showered in days, even weeks. No. A slice in the wood mattered most, surrounded by dirt and blood. But he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it.
He couldn't move. His arms wouldn't listen to his mind, they wouldn't reach out, and his legs wouldn't bend down. He was glued to the spot, silent, still; the only sound coming from his breathing, barely audible, the only movement coming from his shaking body and the blood that still poured, slowly, from the gash in his arm. His shaking breaths did nothing to calm his nerves, and the bright sun from the outside world was shining annoyingly in his eyes, distorting his vision. But he couldn't move, couldn't bring himself to bend down or to grab a towel to place on his wound. He couldn't, and he didn't know why, couldn't figure out why he didn't move, why he couldn't move. He wanted to, he wanted to be able to fix this, fix what he had become, but he couldn't. He couldn't do it, because he didn't know. He didn't know why he was like this, why he was acting this way. All he knew was that he was, and that something had to be awful enough for him to be this way, no matter what it was.
It wasn't until he heard the car in his driveway that he was able to move. His head turned slowly as he heard the car come up, the driver going slowly and yet he knew that he didn't have much time. He knew that whoever it was would be up before he knew it, but he didn't know what to do; hide like a coward, hide in his own home, from some unknown enemy? Stand where he was, and let whoever it was either turn away or barge in, see the mess his house was and the mess he was and insist he got help? He didn't know, his mind didn't work fast enough anymore. Every movement was slow, it had to be. And so he swallowed, thinking as quickly as his mind would allow, as he heard the car door slam and the sound of feet on the pavement, slowly becoming louder.
There was no time to think, no time to decide what would be best. The only thing he could do was follow the small instinct he had left, and of course that one said to run. And so without thinking he moved slowly out of the kitchen, down the hall, and up the stairs, just as he heard the door rattle, then open. A gasp came from whoever stood there, and tentative footsteps followed. Whoever it was was acting careful, surprised. He couldn't hold back the scoff that came from his mouth as he locked the bathroom door behind him.
What were they so surprised about? This was who he was now, this was him. He couldn't change, not now, he was too far gone. He was who he was, and this downward spiral let him know who he truly was inside. It was a learning experience, it turned out. He knew now who he really was, he knew the person that he had been holding back inside of him for so many years. This... This was the true Eric Delko, the person on the inside. The person that had been slowly forming, slowly getting stronger until he could show his face. Or, rather, hide behind the walls of his house, somehow finding ways to avoid work, avoid his friends.
"Eric?"
The quiet, soft voice he had once loved almost made him sick. Didn't she know? Caring only led to pain. She should know that by now. She knew Speed, too, she had to go through his death. Why didn't she know yet? Could she just not tell? She was there when Marisol died. Maybe she didn't know his sister, but she was there. And her dad, he was a drunk. Did that not hurt her, couldn't she tell? She was there, too, when he got shot. She was there when he, Eric Delko, almost died. Would she not have cared about that, either?
He wanted to scream at her, tell her to open her eyes, to realize that life isn't that great, that it isn't all it's cracked up to be. Tell her that she needs to realize that this is all awful, this life that everyone is forced to live, forced to endure. And all they get from it is pain.
"Eric?"
She was here, now, knocking on his bathroom door. He was glad he locked it, glad he was able to think about that. He didn't need her back in his life, back to just destroy him again. He was doing so well without anyone, doing so well on his own. He didn't need anyone, he knew that now, and he was just starting to thrive. She couldn't ruin that for him, not now.
The doorknob twisted, and the door opened slowly. "I told you to get that lock fixed," Calleigh whispered softly, walking in and lowering herself beside him on the floor. "Eric, look at me." His head twisted slowly, slightly, just enough to let her know he was paying attention. And that worked for her, for now at least. She'd take it. "What's... What's going on?"
"Nothing." It's supposed to be emotionless, cold, quick and get her to shake her head and walk away, but it comes out slowly and in more of a croak. He hadn't used his voice in so long, it hurt. It actually, physically hurt to talk.
"Don't lie to me." Calleigh cringed when she thought about those words; they came out too sharply. She was supposed to be helpful, caring, not demanding, no matter how unwanted she was.
And she was unwanted.
The glare she received told her that much, and if that weren't enough the way he pushed himself up, slowly but surely, from the bathroom floor and made his way to the open door just confirmed that. He didn't say anything to her, not a word, but even so she knew -- or thought she knew -- exactly what was going through his mind. But she knew, just like everyone back at work, that he had changed. This wasn't their Eric, the one everybody loved and fell in love with. This was some shell, some twisted person who looked like him but other than that, shared nothing with him. This wasn't Eric.
"Eric..."
"Don't."
She let out a small sigh, eyes travelling to his bleeding arm. "Why?" she asked, quieter than anything before that, more concerned now than she had been. She'd seen the knife, but the sight of the blood still pouring from his arm still scared her. "Why, Eric?"
It took a moment, but soon Eric was sure of what she was talking about. Why was he like this, why did he cut himself, why was he doing this to himself? A small piece of himself wanted to tell her, but he knew she would never understand -- it was too simple, but too complicated, for anyone to ever understand. The seperation from his friends, from the life he knew so long, so well, hurt him but it saved him. The pain when he sliced his skin hurt so bad, it made him cringe and hold his breath and tense his muscles, almost want to cry, but it kept him sane. It let him know he was still alive, that he wasn't dead. Not yet. And he needed every confirmation he could get, he had to know that he really was alive. He had to. He needed it.
But she'd think he was crazy. She would say he was wrong, would tell him that this was something he could change. That this was something that didn't have to be this way. And he couldn't have that, he couldn't deal with it, couldn't stand it. He distanced himself from them for a reason. He didn't need her to push her way back into his life, to ruin everything he had slowly gotten together.
So he chose the easy answer. The simple answer that held so many lies, yet so many truths.
"This is who I am."
And as she looked at him with tears springing to her eyes, shaking her head, seeming on the verge of words yet no sounds coming from her mouth, his heart almost broke one more time. She didn't believe him, didn't think he was really like this, and he knew she didn't. She didn't undertstand. She didn't get where he was coming from, and he knew it. He couldn't deal with it. Couldn't deal with not being understood; it was better not to be heard, better not to speak. She was beginning to shake, and he couldn't stand it. It was hurting him. He distanced himself from her and yet she still found a way to him. Eric couldn't take it right now, not now. He turned his back, walking slowly from the bathroom as tears finally came from Calleigh's eyes, repeating his words in a soft whisper.
"This is who I am."