What You'll Never Know
DISCLAIMER: I don't own CSI. This is the beginning of a series that won't be up for a while. a preview, if you will. CONTAINS FEMMESLASH AND MATURE SUBJECT MATTER.
They say that time heals all wounds, that all addictions can be overcome, and that your friends will always help you.
I wish that were true.
Unfortunately, I can disprove all of those sayings, shoving whatever semi-logical bullshit they spew back down their 'straight and narrow' throats. I can even remember times where I've thought the same things as these people do, only to have my very world implode around me. After thirty-five years of life, I can say that it's over.
Young, you say? Hardly.
If you think I mean my death, you're mistaken. I died long ago... I believe I choked on my own screams. You see, my family life wasn't like the lives of these people who speak of clichés or happy endings. I was beaten, raped, and oppressed every waking moment of my pathetic excuse for a childhood. Heh, but why should I complain? Many other people suffer the same fate... What makes me different?
My mother murdered my father.
That was the day I died. The blood had gushed from his wounds like a misdirected hose, colouring the yellow, nicotine-stained walls into a deep, speckled red. I think I remember crying out to God... Needless to say, it did nothing for me. The part of the story that you were never supposed to know was when she turned on me. They seem to forget that part. Especially considering that I had died. The officers arrived just in time to watch my eyes roll into the back of my head... That's probably why the young officer threw up so violently... A bloody little girl, eyes wide as saucers with no apparent pupils. Just a grey, hazy mess.
The rest is black.
I remember nothing... Just a blackness that consumed the very depths of my heart, shrouding the corners of my vision and nipping at my heels as I trudged through the next six years of my life. Being nineteen is hard enough. Being nineteen with an incredible I.Q, no social skills, and a terrible secret is worse. But why am I complaining? This happens to many teens. They can't interact with others, so they lash out or withdraw. Everyone has some sort of secret... But the part that you were never supposed to know was the life I truly lead...
I have a son.
No, I've never been pregnant, but I do have a son. During High school, I went through a very amorous phase. I found that I could love, or what I thought was love... I was living with a few of my friends at the time. The best friends of my life, really. That's when I fell in love with her... Her name was Celeste, and I was with her from my seventeenth year to my twenty-fourth year. When I was nineteen, she asked me if I would have a child with her. Using my egg, her brother's sperm, and the method of gestational surrogacy, she became pregnant with my child.
I loved that kid, even before he was born.
Alas, there was a problem. Because she wanted a child, she wouldn't be able to go to university for her chiropractic study. And she was good; she could fix my almost-destroyed back with a few movements of her hand. I knew what I had to do for her, and honestly I think I would do it again. I told her that I didn't have enough money for university, but I would be back soon enough. I would be back to raise our child.
I went to war.
Oh, the horrors of war. I can't even place a name to the area I went to with my squad. I'll never forget what we had to do, what I was forced to do to survive. We lived off of the scraps that we could hunt or get a hold of, praying that the enemy wouldn't find us as we huddled in fox holes or under the cover of the bushes. We killed. I killed.
Only three of us survived.
When I returned home nine months later, I saw my son for the first time. He was so beautiful, serene, and completely innocent. He had dark, curly brown hair with beautiful green eyes and the little gap between the front teeth. He was all of those things, but more importantly, he was ours. I hadn't earned enough money... I was twenty. I was going through university; I was eventually bumped up a few levels in my courses, finishing my courses much earlier than anyone else.
Despite what my love told me, I went back to war.
More horrors awaited me. This time, only I survived. I have scars to remind me of every mistake, every incident that awaited me just outside of my vision. Not to mention the terror I still felt over my father's wretched demise. I broke bones, I tore flesh, I was shot, and I was thrown from a moving vehicle. The feeling of absolute solitude was finally getting to me, for I longed to go home to my family.
After two years of being alone, I finally returned home.
I loved my family with everything I had, making sure that they both would never have to worry about anything again. But even as I tried and tried, the nightmares wouldn't stop, and finally my Celeste caught on. I had never spoken of my family or of what happened. And finally, I had to tell her.
The next morning she was gone, and she took my son, Raphael, with her.
She left a note saying that she would not let that happen to her son and that I should rot in hell with the rest of my family. Years later, I still have that note. I couldn't believe that she left me, that she thought I would be violent.
She teamed up with war to turn me into the monster I am.
I changed. I'm surprised that no one ever turned me in. I guess they thought that they couldn't escape because I was a criminalist. I was heavy into intravenous drugs, hash, anything that could make me forget. And because of it, I became abusive. Nobody at work noticed my habits because of the fact I was smart about the injections. I did it where they would never see... You can use your imaginations on that one. I finally realized that if I hurt, no one would hurt me.
Of course, I was wrong again.
I was called to Vegas. Luckily, because of my lack of social skills, I was able to kick my drug habit very quickly. I even quit smoking, and faked that I already had. I met my team, which I worked with for the next six years of life. I pursued Gil Grissom, a man even more socially inept than myself. That didn't work out well. Luckily, I switched from abusing my partners to simply fucking the most available thing.
Now I know I will pay for my life.
Today, I am going in to work. There's a domestic abuse case that we all need to discuss. I feel strongly about who the murderers are. And no one believes me. I can't even tell them why I know what I do, because they'll just ask more questions. If I kill someone, this will be the final testament as to why. Just remember... You were never supposed to know this.
Sincerely,
Sara Sidle, Murderer.