Title: Catharsis
Author: Indian Summer
Rating: PG-13 for violence and sexual references
Summary: Kate and Sawyer open up to one another following their game of "I've Never."
Date Published: 18.02.2005
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She'd awoken to find blood all over his side of their queen-sized bed, scarlet and bright against their white comforter. She'd stared at the splotches for a minute, uncomprehending. Slowly it had come back to her, and she'd begun shaking, unable to control her tremors or the tears that traced the contours of her face, propelled forward by the others sloshing from her eyes.
She'd sat there for hours, arms wrapped around her legs and rocking herself back and forth, unable to think.
It was nine in the morning when Alex got there, proudly donning a new Moschino collar coat, calling cheerfully for her best friend as she entered.
She froze when she reached the bedroom, her eyes traveling from the bed to the floor and to Kate, pausing just a bit too long before she approached her friend.
Alex seized control, as she always had, leading Kate by the hand to the shower. She'd helped her undress and told her to take a long, hot shower, and that everything would be okay when she got out.
And it was; Alex had a way like that. When Kate reentered her bedroom, the sheets had been changed, the floor and walls had been cleaned, and all signs of a struggle were gone.
Kate was never sure what Alex had done with his body.
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Life had gone on as if it had never happened, Alex expertly applying makeup over Kate's bruises and scratches, and lending her a pair of Missoni sunglasses, whisking her away to a private party. "Your alibi," Alex had told her later that day, "Just in case anyone finds out."
Alex had inherited more than her mother's money, and Kate was glad for Alex's perfect makeup and conniving ways.
After the party, they'd gone back to the apartment Kate had shared with Billy, Alex informing her of how suspicious it would look if she took off, and talked all night.
When Kate told her of the struggle the previous night, Alex had sworn under her breath and apologized for not killing Billy the last time he'd put Kate in the hospital.
Kate told Alex of all the times Billy, arriving home in a drunken rage, had attacked her, and told Alex of all the wounds he'd inflicted.
She told Alex of the phone call she'd received the previous night from her ex, and of Billy intercepting it, and of the way his eyes had become inflamed by jealousy. She told Alex of how Billy had held her against the wall and claimed her as his own, how he'd ripped off her clothes and forced himself upon her. She told her of how she'd tried to fight back, and how Billy had apologized and left the room, only to return ten minutes later with the knife.
She told Alex of the way Billy had held the blade menacingly in front of her, of how he'd grabbed her arm and slashed the skin along the crease of her palm.
"This is your love line," he'd said, "And you don't deserve love."
Kate hadn't had the courage to tell him that her love line was higher than the one he'd cut, and he was little more than a blip on it.
Ironically, though, he severed her life line, and although she'd never been one for palmistry, she wondered if she should've paid more attention to that psychic at Alex's parties.
She told Alex of how she'd flown into a panic and adrenaline had overwhelmed her system, of how she'd lashed out and managed to seize the knife.
She told Alex of how her tears mixed with Billy's blood as she stabbed him over and over again until his chest stopped rising and falling.
She didn't tell Alex, though, that it was the best night's sleep she'd gotten in a long time.
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Somehow, though, Kate found herself retelling the entire story to a man she barely knew, a man she worried would later use it against her.
Somehow, though, Kate found comfort in Sawyer's steady gaze, in the way he frowned as she related that period of her life to him, in the way he didn't say anything when she'd finished.
Instead, he sat there in silence for a minute, letting her collect her thoughts and giving her the space she needed.
When he began the story of his own murder, the softness and hesitancy in his voice grabbed her attention even before his words registered.
"Well, Sassafras," he'd murmured, pulling a small bottle of vodka out of his pocket and taking a swig. "It's damn strong," he warned, handing it to Kate. "You aren't the only one to kill a man, y'know. And mine was just a few weeks ago."
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Sawyer found himself telling Kate of his parents' murder-suicide, and of the real Sawyer, of Hibbs, and of Frank. He told her how Frank's last words haunted him at night, and of how he could've sworn he'd heard them in the jungle.
He would've loved to blame the alcohol, written it all off as a drink-induced haze, as temporary insanity, as a shock to his system due to the sudden warmness of alcohol coursing through his system.
It wasn't, though, and he knew it. In Kate, he felt he had a confidante, and for the first time in a long time, he wanted to trust someone.
And with a few simple words and an open-minded stare, it was as if the floodgates had opened.
The last time Sawyer had cried was at his mother's funeral almost thirty years ago, and it was an odd sensation. He felt powerless to stop it, however, and he wasn't sure he wanted to.
By the time he was done, Kate had begun to cry as well, and he was only a little surprised when he felt her nestle into his side and her arms around his torso. He was more surprised, though, when he felt her lips against his jaw line and her tears mixing with his own.
"I guess we have more in common than we thought," Kate murmured against his ear, dropping her head to rest on his shoulder.
Sawyer gulped, suddenly very aware of Kate's presence. "Yeah," he murmured, wrapping an arm loosely over her shoulders. "I guess we do."
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