Chapter Ten
She went straight to the nearest supermarket and bought the cheapest bottle of rot gut vodka she could find. She left the supermarket in the light of day, just as the sun was at it's highest and went straight home to her apartment, shut all the windows and sat alone in the dark.
Well, the almost dark – because even with all the doors and windows shut and drapes and blinds drawn light seeped in. She laughed at her inability to shut it out, shut him out. Her own voice sounded strange to her – alone in the almost dark.
How very like Crews…light was…impossible to shut out. Damn him...this was never supposed to happen, she was never supposed to care about him, or his damned private agenda - but mostly she'd tried to avoid becoming attached to him. He, of the light and bright smiles and Zen. She wasn't light; she was darkness - and determinedly so.
Before her on the table sat the fifth of vodka with some sort of red fire breathing bird on the label, maybe it was a dragon she wondered and looked closely, but it was too dark for clarity. Just like her life… There was enough light to see by, but not enough to make out the specifics. She could see things in broad strokes, but not the finer details.
She twisted the top of the bottle and it made a satisfying grating noise, as the cap broke free. Like ripping off a band-aid it revealed a fresh wound. Then the smell hit her; one part kerosene, one part astringent and wholly unappetizing. But then she didn't drink for the taste; she drank for the effect…for the ability of liquor to erase worry from her mind, to erase everything from her mind.
She poured the clear liquid into the waiting vessel; a short juice glass and again Crews sprang unbidden to her mind. Crews would never have used the glass for anything but it's intended beverage – orange juice, perhaps apple or grape, but juice and only juice, not this…never this.
Maybe that was what she needed she thought; something to cut the harshness, a blend to make it more palatable. Like their partnering, mild acceptance, neither fruit nor alcohol; neither light nor dark - something in-between. She walked to her fridge, knowing full well there was nothing resembling fruit juice inside, but walking away from temptation nonetheless.
She opened the door, looked inside and found no orange juice or truth lurking therein. She shut the door and leaned against the smooth coolness of the white enamel fridge. A shuddered sigh was released as she slid down the surface and sat on the floor.
Less than 24 hours earlier, she'd made what she thought was a clean break from a pleasant mistake. She hadn't left Tidwell for Crews…or had she? Tidwell thought she had and he'd said so. The harsh accusation that should have stayed on his tongue was hurled at her as she left.
"It's because of him isn't it?" She didn't have to ask who the "him" was – she knew.
She told herself it wasn't because of Crews.
But after what Crews had just said, after what he'd just done, now she was no longer sure.
How could she be his "one?" She'd only just cracked the door and peeked at the possibility of Crews being something more than her partner, when he walked right past all her carefully constructed defenses and laid himself bare.
And what had she done? Run…
She sighed in frustration and anger. She picked herself up off the floor and walked back to the table. She stood examining her options. The bottle and her service pistol sat side by side on her kitchen table. It had to be one or the other, but not both. She could be a cop or a drunk and the choice was hers.
Her phone buzzed insistently in her pocket. She wondered if it was him and then just as suddenly knew it wasn't. He wouldn't pursue her. He'd give her space, he give her time and enough rope to hang herself. He knew she'd come to him because he'd wait forever. Damn him.
She pulled the phone and answered it without looking with absolute certainty it had to be work. "Reese," she said a little more shakily than she wanted to.
"Dani...Detective," Tidwell corrected himself. "You and your partner planning on making an appearance at work today?"
She thought about what people would think when Crews showed up wearing the battle scars she'd put on him. It weighed on her.
"Reese?" Tidwell questioned the empty air, "are you there?"
"Uh – yeah," she sighed and then stammered back to reality, "I'm…I'm on my way."
"Dani? Are you okay?" Tidwell asked and his concern bled through the officiousness of the call. She smiled. Despite all they'd been through and what she'd just done, he still cared. He probably always would.
"Yeah," she said softly, "I'm okay." She was no longer sure of this fact, but it sounded reassuring and seemed to be what she should say, should feel, how she should be. Only she wasn't. She wasn't okay at all.