Disclaimer: Sadly enough, I don't own anything. This is written for pure enjoyment only and no profit to be gained!
CHAPTER: 2 The Point of No Return
Bobby headed home but not before making a quick stop at the liquor store. He stocked up on his favorite choice of alcohol; Glenlivet. He wanted to feel numb and alcohol was the easiest legal way to achieve this sensation.
Or lack there of.
His self destruct phase quickly kicked in the second he walked into his home. Without a second thought, he opened up the bottle and took a big swig. He pulled the bottle back, looked at it, and then started to cry. Everything was falling apart around him. Everyone is his life that seemed to matter was dying. Ross and Bobby weren't the best of friends, but he still considered him a friend. Oddly enough, he felt something was missing now. Slowly, things were starting to disintegrate around him. The thought made him shake.
I keep losing people. Life just isn't fair. There's so much death.
His thoughts then went to Alex.
What if I lost her? What if it was her that died today? I can't handle that. That would be the last straw.
He took another long swig of the Glenlivet before setting it on the table. He tossed his gun, badge, wallet, and cell phone on the table and then reached for the alcohol again. With the bottle of Glenlivet in one hand, Bobby made his was into his bathroom. He quickly turned on the shower and stripped of all his clothes. He scrubbed his skin to get any trace of Ross off him. He scrubbed his skin until it felt raw and then he scrubbed it again. He was still crying; though the anger clouded most of the sadness.
Bobby hated to cry but when he did, he always liked to cry in the shower because his tears were not shown through the water coming out of the shower head. Realistically he knew there was no one there to see his tears, but it still made him feel better. He loved how his tears diminished as the water fell down his face and washed them away. To him it was if he wasn't even crying. He learned this technique and became quite fond of it when he was a child. He cried in the shower as a kid and soon realized that no one knew the wiser. After a while it became second nature to him. It was easier to hide his tears than to reveal them. Sadly, he lived most of his life with that mindset which in turn made him a lonely man.
But tonight he knew that nothing could cover the sadness that he felt; the sadness that covered his face. It wasn't just about tonight, it was everything combined. His eyes were so dull as he scrubbed his hair the same way in which he'd scrubbed his body. He wanted any and all traces of Ross off of him.
And besides those vague and, in his eyes, meaningless thoughts of his childhood, the entire time he kept thinking, Why not me? Life's not fair. This is so fucked up. Why couldn't it have been me? Take my life, god. My life is useless. I have nothing left to give. Why take a good mans life for no reason? Why not end my useless life?
It was then that Bobby realized how tightly clenched his jaw was. It hurt. He opened his mouth slightly to release the tension. His teeth were grinding together so hard that it gave him a headache.
Bobby was angry, but more than that he was scared. He was scared that slowly everything was being taken from him. This was god's sick fucking joke. He didn't want to be alone. As selfish as that sounded, he couldn't live without her. Rationally he knew he was already alone, but at least he had her as apart of his life; even if it was only during working hours.
Bobby rubbed his large paws over his aging face.
His eyes hurt he was crying so much. He was so exhausted, he was so sick of all this. This is not a normal life. He often wondered what a normal life actually was but he knew he would never get to live one. He knew he wasn't one for normal and never would be. It saddened him that he would never know what it was like to be normal, to have a family, to be loved…
He shook his head. He didn't want to feel sorry for himself. It was the last thing he wanted. He had spent too much of his life feeling sorry for himself. He was too old for that crap.
After being in the shower about 10 minutes, he finally got out. He still felt dirty. He still felt as though he was covered in his boss's blood. It was an eerie feeling that shook him down to the core.
As he got out of the shower he numbly looked at himself in the mirror. He snarked at the way he looked and then blinked. He felt sick again but resisted the urge to throw up again.
Before drying himself off, he took another long gulp of the Glenlivet he set on the count in his bathroom. He closed his eyes tightly as he welcomed the burning sensation as it traveled down his esophagus.
Stepping into his bedroom he put on a clean pair of boxers, jeans, and a black t-shirt. He went back out into his living room, bottle of alcohol still in hand, where he plopped down on the couch.
For the first time since it happened, he felt nothing. Bobby stared in front of him at no particular thing as his mind went completely blank. He didn't speak, he didn't blink, he didn't move. He just sat there staring at the same place and after several seconds past, his vision started to blur. His body felt so heavy all of a sudden. In these circumstances, which rarely occurred to him is when he felt most at peace. His mind would stop for a brief second, almost as if he was so heavily sedated that it was impossible to think. That's what it felt like, and most of the time Bobby needed to be thinking; it's who he is after all. It's what defined him as a person, but in these rare times he almost looked at peace with himself. He looked sad as could be, there was no mistake about that, but it was the freedom from it all for just a split second that made it all worth while.
Finally, he blinked. His vision came back and he shook his head to come fully back to reality. He felt again. Everything. And he could do nothing about it.
He looked over to the side table to see his bottle of prescription sleeping pills; Ambien CR. He sleeps so infrequently, but when he does it's usually only for a few hours on his couch.
Bobby has anxiety. He can't stop thinking. He worries often though he's never told Eames any of this. He figures she knows. She's smart. She gets him even when he doesn't want her to. Truth be told, it pisses him off at times, but he smiles later down the road because it's a sign that she cares.
His mind races; his thoughts race. If it's not about one thing it's about another. It gets tiring but he's always managed to deal with it; to carry it with him. It's a heavy burden and by some grace of god he's made it this far, to this point. He's not really sure how but he knows the why. Because of her. Always because of her. He knows it sounds stupid, so fucking cliché, but there's no other explanation for it.
But he can't do it anymore. He can't carry on anymore. Everything hurts so fucking much. He knew one day it would come down to this. He was surprised he lasted this long. But after everything that's happened over the past few years, it finally diminished his ability to feel. It finally diminished his ability to care.
And that's when he made the decision. He had to. He didn't have a choice. Rationally, he knew he did; everyone has a choice in life. But he also knew that he had to do this. It was long overdue. He couldn't carry the burden; he couldn't carry on with his disabled life anymore. It was just too hard to function.
My life's been spiraling out of control for years now. So many things, so much shit, so much death.
Bobby timidly reached over and grabbed the bottle. He looked at it briefly and then popped the top off the bottle and tapped the side of the bottle until thirteen pills appeared in his palm. He tossed the prescription bottle aside not caring where it landed; not even glancing at it once. He stared at them briefly; he examined the little 'A' on them with a little squiggly mark on it. He nodded at the amount. Bobby had always liked the number thirteen. He thought it brought him luck and was always amused by how many people hated the number. Some luck. He thought people were superstitious, and moreover, he liked to be different. Not many people liked the number thirteen. He did.
He tossed them into his mouth and downed them with another gulp of his Glenlivet before he could think twice about it. He then saw his bottle of Xanax sitting next to where the Ambien lied not a minute ago. Without thinking, he opened up that bottle and this time dumped the remaining pills in his hand. There were about 20 pills left from what he guessed without counting them.
Fuck it. No, fuck this!
He took them all. He knew what he was doing. He was ready for it. He was done. He'd made the decision to end it. He wanted to leave before anything else could hurt him. He wanted to leave before he could hurt anyone else. He wanted to kill himself before anything else bad in his life happened. He couldn't take anymore. The past few years of life had been hell; more so than normal.
And as he swallowed down another large gulp of alcohol, he froze. He was scared again. There had always been one major reason for him carrying on through these tough years.
Alex.
But it wasn't the thought of dying that he was fearful of; it was the thought, the reality that not even she could keep him from killing himself any longer. He loved being around her, working with her, and that kept him going. Not anymore, though. Not even the thought of waking up and talking to her could keep him from committing such a sinful act this time. That's when he knew how far gone he truly was.
His head titled downwards as if his head was too heavy for his neck.
What if Alex is the next one to die on me? What if this was the final nail in the coffin for me? What if she decides to leave Major Case because of this? I wouldn't blame her, but I can't. I just can't take that chance. I can't hear those words from her. I can't stand in front of her and listen as she tells me she's leaving. I can't do this anymore. I can't pretend to be happy anymore; and I gave up trying to fake being happy long ago.
And he'd thought about suicide long before this incident. Who wouldn't with the fucked up life he's been living? But he always, always pulled himself out of the 'rock bottom' he always seemed to fall into and got back on his feet. Not this time, though. He didn't want to this time.
And in these temporary lapse's of judgment he's had before, he'd even thought about a suicide note; one final note of farewell. But he never knew what to write. What would be considered too long? What should a letter of such importance entitle? Should it be short, sweet, and to the point? And he never knew what to say to her in that letter anyway. He knew it would be written just for her to read, but there was no way he could express himself in words on a piece of paper. There were no words to express how grateful he was for her sticking by his side all these years.
The thought of him thinking about a note, his previous suicidal thoughts, and her, always her, made his tears fall once again.
Bobby figured he'd better stop drinking before he puked up his plan, but he just couldn't. He couldn't seem to stop his hand from bringing the bottle up to his mouth; it was already half gone. He was surprised by this.
He sat on the couch waiting for the inevitable to happen. He tried not to think about Ross, Alex, his mother, Nicole, Declan, or anyone else. He failed. He thought about all those people. He closed his eyes to try to block them out, but their faces flashed before him. He re-opened his eyes because he knew no matter how hard he tried to block out the people that affected him the most, he never could.
And what made it worse is he kept hearing a voice; just one. He kept hearing her voice.
Eames.
And no matter how much he'd try to shake the sound, the thought of her, the disappointed look in her eyes, he couldn't. But he had to. He had to end it. It had to be this way. If he continued to think about her, he knew he'd feel worse.
Bobby stood up wearily and made his way into the kitchen. He went over to one of the drawers and opened it. He pulled out a single picture and slammed the drawer shut. He stood there and admired it for a few minutes. It actually brought a faint smile to his face. It wasn't a picture of any of his family…it was the picture of him and Alex. It was the snapshot he took of them together during a case years ago. He wasn't smiling in the photo but he almost looked happy in it. He remembered feeling happy in that time. He loved looking at this picture. He often wondered if Alex had thought about it and even speculated as to whether or not he should show her sometime, but dismissed the idea as being ludicrous.
As he stood there staring at the picture, time seemed to standstill. It sounded so cliché but it was true. Everything seemed to be on pause.
God, I'm going to miss her.
In this time he felt like this was his last goodbye to the world he'd been residing, not living, just residing in. Bobby couldn't help but wonder if, where ever he ended up after this life, he'd remember her.
He finally started to become drowsy. He knew the Xanax was working; it's a fast-acting drug. Slow reflexes, confusion, breathing problems, and coordination problems were likely to occur any time. He knew all of this. And he wasn't stupid; he knew what he was doing was life-threatening. It was the point after all. Overdose symptoms are more likely to occur if Xanax is combined with alcohol or other medications; he just hoped he wouldn't throw them up.
I know what to do. I know, I know, I know. He knows it all. And suddenly he feels that he's read too much in his lifetime. It was a ridiculous thought but all he seemed to think about was the things he did wrong in his life. Nothing good came to mind and he frowned because of it.
He decided it was best to go back to the couch. He started to make his way over to it when he heard a knock on his door. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his eyes and his mind, but he was still dizzy. He quickly opened them back up before he keeled over. He wanted to ignore it, but the pounding began. At first he thought it was in his head; he wished it was.
And then he heard her.
"Bobby?"
Oh, god, no. Not her.
He shouldn't have been surprised, but he was. He thought for sure she'd leave him alone after the way he left her last.
And that's when he began to panic. Boy, did he begin to panic; at least as much as his body would allow. His entire frame was slowly starting to shut down and he didn't want her here when it happened. He didn't want her anywhere near him.
"Go away, Eames." He hollered as he tried to sound convincing.
Oh, great, Alex thought. He's already drunk. That didn't take long.
She was prepared to deal with a saddened or perhaps even an angry Robert Goren, but not a drunk one. She wasn't sure if she could handle him; physically anyway.
"I'm not leaving until you let me in." She yelled from the other side of the door.
And his next words were the ones that made her pull out her spare key to his place and let herself in.
"Please." He said. His voice, his tone was way off. He was begging her to comply. "Please, just leave." His voice was so hoarse. It was nothing like she had ever heard before. Even in the saddest of times in his life, he never sounded like this.
And she didn't ask. She didn't wait. She opened the door and let herself in just in time to see him fall hard onto his kitchen floor. He sprawled out, landing with a thud as the bottle of Glenlivet now lied on the floor next to him as some of the contents poured out.
"Bobby!" She shouted and ran over to him.
"I'm sorry, Eames. I'm so sorry." He murmured. And then he said something that sent a chill through her. "Goodbye, Alex."
He closed his eyes the same time as a tear fell from his cheek and onto the floor.
A/N: Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry this has taken me so long to update. I never take this long. I've been busy with school and have been going through some difficult things. I was getting ready to work on it again when I ended up in the emergency room a few nights ago. I'm still trying to work out some things, but here's what I have right now. Once again, I'm sorry. Please enjoy and forgive any errors I may have in here. The medication I'm on makes me very tired so it's hard to concentrate right now. Please leave me a review and let me know if you're still out there.
Also, I know I've used Xanax and Ambien before in a story. What can I say, it's my choice of drug for him. Ha Ha. Anyway, the next chapter should be the last. Thanks.
-Snyder-