She'd always thought that this moment would have come with a strong gust of wind, one that would lick her cheeks and muss her hair.
She had thought that this moment would have come after he'd done something particularly unforgivable or asinine. She'd thought the moment would have come with tears and a sad story, or perhaps end with her gazing over a cliff or up into the endless sky, but no; the moment came and went with relative anonymity, it was what happened after that was really momentous.
But momentous in a sullen way, like a very dry wit…
She'd cheated herself so very many times in order to attempt to appeal to him. What she didn't know was that she appealed to him nonetheless. But in her coffin of want she strived and pushed and pressed forward, pretending not to care when he was with women, when he ignored her. Six feet under... well, you couldn't see very well.
Dirt and grime and soot covered the lovely face of her, she was deep and nearly gone with wanting him, with loving him so very completely. It was nearly sickening, it was close to insanity the way she wanted him entirely. But she was down, so far done… she needed to unearth herself from all the years of silent longing.
Sara had cheated the imminent pull of destiny so very many times, striving to break the mold that held her in. It seemed that she couldn't get past that one stronghold and make her way through to him, to nestle in his heart.
So one day, when she asked him for a pen, looking across the evidence table at him... she snapped. It wasn't because he didn't hear her the first time she asked or because of the little huff of irritation he uttered… it was the fact that had he thrust it out to her so easily, so fluidly.
Her calm resolve had helped her to keep her head down. She reached out for the pen and her hand brushed his and in that moment, that moment, she decided that she didn't care. Not anymore; she was beyond hanging her life out to dry waiting for a man who in all likelihood was too much of a hermit to open up to her, even if he did want her. Desire, want, lust, love… none of it was enough apparently.
When she left that day she didn't linger that extra second in his doorway; she simply said goodbye and saw realization pass over his eyes. With a weak, sad smile she left and emerged into the dry Vegas morning a new woman. Some of that extra grief she carried about herself had flaked off and she walked briskly, with ardor for what was next.
The sunglasses over her eyes were slightly crooked and she laughed at the irony of it; if she stopped loving him her world would lose balance. And right now, looking through the windshield, her world was skewed but only slightly.
Nine years, or was it ten? It didn't really matter, she was going to stop counting as soon as she stepped into her apartment. Counting down, that's how she felt now; she didn't feel like she had been waiting all of those years, she felt as if she were counting down, giving him time to come to terms, but no.
At times she had felt like he was pushing her buttons on purpose, holding out simply because he could. Sara needed to wake up, wake up all over, just be coherent and sharp and not notice him anymore. It was taking up too much of her energy, processing every glance and touch he gave her. That was over, she felt relieved about that aspect of it. She felt relieved when she realized that she didn't need to think of him all the time.
Sara entered her apartment, grabbed a bottle of water and rid herself of her shoes. Damn, this was really easier than she had thought it was going to be. She collapsed on her couch and flicked on the small television in the corner of the room.
He was making a mess of her life whether he knew it or not, and she was doing nothing to stop it. That was the problem. But problems could be overcome and damned if her heart wasn't set of ridding that man right out of it.
He didn't show up on her doorstep or meet her in a place that held significance to the both of them… no. He called. He called and said, "I'm sorry." Not 'I love you,' certainly not 'I need you,' or 'I want you'... But even if he'd told her he loved her she doubted it would have been reason enough to stay in the holding pattern she was in.
Four, three, two, one, "You're too late, Grissom."
She hung up the phone delicately and turned back to the television.
She could only bleed so much before she was gone.