I went back to work the day after. I can remember walking up to the building, taking a deep breath before I faced my colleges. I saw Greg first. I walked into the break room and he was there making his coffee. I cracked a joke about how he should lay off it, forcing a smile that I'm sure didn't meet my eyes. He looked at me as if I was a ticking bomb that may explode, and he smiled uneasily, not sure if he should play along and act like nothing had happened or not. I was glad he did.
As the rest of the week went by I felt like the only reason I got out of bed in the morning to go to work, was because I was afraid what would happen if I didn't. Work gave me something to focus on, something that wasn't him. I still spoke the same, walked the same, made the same lame jokes, but inside I felt empty. Eventually people stopped feeling guarded around me, and treated me like nothing was wrong, maybe because they thought it was true.
Was I that good at hiding it? They had to know the pain I was feeling inside, the way my throat would burn as I constantly tried to hold back tears, and the way I would drift off, lost in thought, mostly memories. Memories of what I'd never get back.
Maybe no one knew. We had never gone public about our relationship. And when it ended, the secret died with it. We hadn't really talked since the break up, the past three years until his death. He eventually became busy with a new wife, and I was busy with work and Lindsey. Even after Tina and after we were done with excuses our conversation was limited and not like it had been before.
I can remember the last time we spoke. I was sitting in the break room, eating lunch and focusing on casework. He had walked in and sat down next to me, taking out his lunch as well. Although we were together it was as if we didn't even see each other. We didn't talk, he just focused on his work too. God, I regret that. To go back now and just speak to him, all those opportunities left unused. Unanswered questions… Did he love me as much as I loved him? We had gone our separate ways, but I still loved him, more than anyone with the exception of Lindsey.
I wished someone, anyone knew how badly I was hurting. How much I kept burying my emotions in an act of self-protection. My vanity is my downfall when it comes to comfort. I had no one to comfort me. No one to put an arm around me and talk me through this time. It's my own fault, I rarely allow anyone to see what I'm truly feeling, or how deeply I'm affected by things.
It wasn't until a week ago that I finally decided to get help. I had been working a scene off Blue Diamond Road, one that greatly resembled Warrick's death. It was all I could do not to lose it right there. I knew my energy wasn't going to the case, but to just holding myself together. Going to a psychiatrist was the last thing I wanted to do, reopen the wounds that had been ignored for so long.
Writing this down is my first step. Only time will tell.
A/N: I had written this story about, maybe 4 months ago. I had suffered a significant loss in my life and was suppressing my emotions, which made my family worried. So I decided to use writing as an outlet and kinda an indirect way to get closer to coming to terms with my grief. I'm not sure why I didn't post this story, probably because I didn't want to re-read it (and I still haven't, so sorry if there are typos). But after watching CSI yesterday I was super shocked that Catherine's conversation with Nick so closely mirrored this, so I figured it was a sign that I should post it, and really made me wish I had when I first wrote it. Anyway, drop me a line and let me know what you think. I've never really written a YoBling fic before.