Hi there!
Now I know why I said I would update every week or so; I got so much busier than I thought I would. I still feel an apology is due! I hate leaving a story for so long without updates. So, sorry! Hopefully this update makes up for my week hiatus.
I like how this turned out. It kind of explores the "Why didn't you call?" aspect of the show that was never really explored.
Also, I didn't want to do this, but I did delete this and repost it. The server wouldn't load newly updated stories, and I didn't think many people got to see the update; so here it is a second time. If you already saw it, thanks for reading. If not, here it is!
So enough of my rambling.
Enjoy!
Castle,
I feel like I haven't stopped crying in three days. I guess it hit me all at once; and it hit me hard. I'm not in denial. I know what happened, and I'm coming to terms. I'm letting it sink in, become a part of me. There's no sugar coating it anymore. Just rip the band aid off. It happened, it's real, and it's not going away. But sometimes you just need to cry. And I can't seem to stop.
It's this unbelievable sadness, and for no apparent reason. I'm just sad. I'm sad that I'm out here alone, I'm sad that I'm not working. I'm sad about Montgomery. I'm sad about what happened to me. I'm sad that I'll never look the same, that I'll forever bear these damn scars as a constant reminder of my past. As if my brain didn't do a good enough job at that itself.
But I think most of all, I'm sad that I can't find the courage to call you. I want to so badly, but I can't. I just feel like if I called you, I would open up a whole new can of worms; one can too many at this point. I keep thinking if I just wait and let myself work all this out, slowly but surely, I'll be able to come back in a couple of weeks and we can pick up where we left off. Maybe, if I keep that line silent, we'll somehow come back stronger. Maybe by not calling you, I'll finally find the courage to say everything that I've had bottled up inside me for all this time. I don't know, Rick, there's so much I could say, but I don't know how to say it. And I don't know how my brain is justifying not contacting you. But every time I pick up the phone, something stops me. Something tells me to just wait, like always.
It could be fear; telling me that it won't work, telling me that whatever it is that we were getting to was all in my head. That I'm jumping to conclusions about you and me. I'm not afraid to admit that that scares me now. It could be guilt; it's been so long now, I don't know if you even want to hear from me. What if you've moved on? What if I waited too long? Kept you waiting too long? I don't know if I can do that again. Watch you walk away with another woman. It could be that I'm so unbelievably selfish; putting my feelings and emotions before yours. That's so wrong of me.
But the more I think about it, I think I'm just tired. Tired of doing this dance with you, not knowing where I stand. I'm denying these feelings, I have been for a while. I'm tired of having mental debates about whether or not I should say something to you, or give you a certain look, or reach over and fix your hair when it falls out of place. I over-analyze everything between us and it's too much. Maybe that's why I haven't called. I'll over-analyze our conversation and we'll be right back to where we started. Hell, I'm over-analyzing a phone call I haven't even made, that I probably won't make because I'm too scared and too tired. I'm tired of these damn walls holding me back.
So I'll pace back and forth, phone in hand. I'll dial your number, I know it by heart. I'll bite my lip and let my finger hover over the call button, until I finally chicken out and lock my phone, letting all my thoughts tell me that it's a bad idea. That I should just wait and wait and see what happens next. I'm sick of waiting.
It doesn't help that I'm constantly paranoid. If I'm not crying, it's silent. And when it's silent, I can hear everything. A creak in the floor boards or a branch tapping on the window sends me into absolute panic mode. My hands start shaking, and my senses go insane; listen closer, look sooner, react faster. I'm so jumpy that I'm paranoid about being jumpy.
I thought it would only last a little while, but just yesterday, I was standing in the kitchen, trying to find something that wouldn't upset my stomach, and I heard something in the back bedroom. I was frozen, my feet glued to the floor. But my brain was going a million miles a minute. What do I do? Where do I go? What's back there? Who's back there? I instinctively reached for my side, but my gun had been unattached to my hip for three weeks now; it made me feel naked. So I grabbed a kitchen knife and slid down the cabinets. It felt so pathetic, hiding like a child, when just before all this, I was a detective; entering at point and chasing suspects. Not only was it pathetic, it was absolutely humiliating.
Somehow, I managed to make my way down the hall and to the bedroom. I may or may not have crawled. I couldn't quite grasp reality, the blood rushing to my ears. I kept tricking myself into thinking I heard footsteps in the opposite direction, or laughter coming from under the bed. It was maddening. So I reached for the closet door, every nerve ending in my hand twitched. I swung it open, the freaking kitchen knife flailing all over the place. Then, after spazzing and stabbing a coat, I realized it had been a shoe box that had fallen from the top shelf. It was mortifying. Not only that, but utterly exhausting. You'd think being a cop would accustom me to things like that. Not after you've been shot and the bastard was never caught. Constantly being on edge left no time to just sit, close my eyes, and collect my thoughts. It was a continuous battle between reason and absurdity.
I feel like I'm cracking; piece by piece, until I'm nothing but a shell of who I once was. I'm not meant to be like this, crying and scared sitting on the kitchen floor with a fucking kitchen knife in my hand. I've always been so proud of how strong I am, or once was. I want to get back to that place. I need to know that I can take on the world and still manage to run in my heels. I need to be able to break a suspect with one arch of my eyebrow. I need to be able to walk into work with my chin held high, knowing that I survived and I'm still here, and I'm back. I can do this, I want to do this. But first, I need to stop wallowing in my own self-pity and sadness. Stop thinking everyone and thing is out to get me. Crying for three days is long enough, too long in my opinion. But nothing is irreversible. If you screw up, fix it. If you're screwed up, fix yourself. I'm trying. I'm going to stop crying. I'm going to start using reason again. I just wish I had the courage to call; maybe soon.
Beckett
Please review!
xoxo
