Chapter 48
She brought him leftover pizza.
They sat quietly at his kitchen table while he ate. Sara watched his profile as he chewed silently, and Grissom stared straight ahead at the wall, never once turning to his right to address her. She could see from the bandage on his left forefinger that he hadn't bothered to go to the hospital. The dressings she had applied in her bathroom were still covering his wound, but luckily the blood seepage seemed to be at a minimum.
She wanted to call him on it, but neither seemed up for the fight.
He stood up and took his empty plate to the sink. Sara could hear the clatter of the ceramic against steel before it was drowned out by the gush of running water. Grissom stood with his back to her, hands braced on either side of the sink.
She cleared her throat. "Should we talk about what happened before?"
He didn't make a move. "It would probably be best if we didn't."
Her hands were folded on the table and she inspected them closely for a long moment before looking back up at his form. "What if I want to?"
"I think you should go…Sara."
Grissom's head seemed to hang lower, as if his entire body was kept up only by the two hands planted on the edges of the sink. He said nothing else. That was all she needed. She was done. In under a minute, Sara was back in her car and, for the first time in six months, wishing she hadn't sworn off alcohol. She passed two liquor stores on her way home before pulling into a gas station and picking up a six-pack of Heineken. Brenda wasn't home. She could drink a beer or two and be alright to go to work in the morning.
Sara didn't even bother to lock her car. She just parked it in her driveway and grabbed the beer out of the passenger's seat without a second glance. Because no alcohol was kept in the house, they didn't own a bottle opener. Sara had to root around Brenda's room for the Swiss Army knife Norah's father had given her on their fishing trip during the summer. Once located, she ran back down the stairs and grabbed the six-pack of glass bottles by its paper handle, and walked briskly through the screen door onto the back patio.
The moon wasn't out, making the Nevada sky seem more ominous than usual. She felt ominous. She felt dark.
The cool glass neck of the green beer bottle seemed to sizzle against the burn of her hot skin. It felt good. She popped off the cap and almost quivered at the sound, that lovely, lovely hum and hiss of the beer hitting the night air, a sound that had soothed her on many such nights.
Sara raised the rim to her lips and took a giant, rebellious swig that filled her mouth with the once familiar bitterness that proceeded every numbing session.
And she coughed it up, sputtering and spitting the contents of her mouth onto the terracotta floor.
Tears. There were tears running down her face and Sara wiped them with the back of her hand, half annoyed and half surprised. With all her might, she hurled the open bottle onto the patio, watching the green glass that looked so black in the night shatter on the tile.
More tears fell as, one by one, Sara smashed the bottles onto the floor. Beer splattered onto her jeans and shoes as she doubled over, weeping into her hands, disgusted with herself. Her stomach began to seize and she tripped, landing on her knees near the edge of the pool. Sara leaned forward and threw up into the water before her arms collapsed under her weight. She rolled to her side, managing to avoid the broken glass, and stared into oblivion.
So many of the crappy cards in her poker hand had been dealt to her before birth. Her parents, the cause of so much pain and confusion and self-loathing, had been unavoidable forces in her life. For good or bad -- and mostly bad -- they had shaped the outcome of so much. And without Sara's input involved.
But this…with this she had a choice. She could lay on the ground amongst the broken glass. Or she could go on.
Like so many times before, Sara picked herself up and dusted herself off. She'd clean the broken bottles in the morning. All she wanted was a shower and eight solid hours of sleep to get her head on straight before she had to face work and her child again. She pulled off her clothes and climbed into the shower, the tepid water lulling her into a dreamy state, so much on the cusp of sleep that the knocking seemed more fantasy than reality.
"Sara?"
Through the frosted glass, she could see the outline of his body.
"Sara?"
She shut off the water.
"Sara, I…I…don't know." He sighed.
She pushed open the shower door and he lifted his head in surprise. Their eyes met for a brief moment before he turned away. "I'm sorry."
Sara stepped out of the shower and lifted her bathrobe from a nearby hook. She slowly slipped into it, belting it tightly before clearing her throat, signaling to Grissom that she was covered. She wasn't cool with him, but she wasn't warm either.
He faced her once again, looking absolutely defeated. He stared at his hands.
Sara looked up at the ceiling briefly and shook her head. "You know, when I left your place I went to the nearest gas station and bought a six-pack of beer."
Grissom's eyes widened and in them she saw a mixture of guilt and fear, but not anger. At least, not anger towards her.
"I tried to drink it," she continued, "but I couldn't."
"Where is the beer now?"
"Evaporating, probably. I broke the bottles on the back patio."
"Is the broken glass still there?"
"Yes. I'll clean it up in the morning."
"I can clean it up now."
She shook her head. "It's my mess. I'll clean it up."
"But I can --"
"Why are you here?"
Grissom raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"
"Why are you here?" Sara repeated. "What are you doing here, Grissom?" She shook her head again. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm your friend."
"No, you're not. We're not friends. Friends don't…friends don't do this," she said. "Friends…I can't be your friend. And you are not my friend."
"Tell me what you want me to be and I'll be it," he said emphatically.
"Grissom…no. No. That's not…that's not what I want," Sara told him, her throat painful with emotion. "I'm not going to give you instructions on what to do with me. What I want isn't going to work because it's not what you want."
He seemed to concentrate on whatever was behind her as he stood silently. Sara was calculating a great escape, a way to end their relationship with minimal pain, all the while knowing that breaking ties with Grissom would be nothing less than excruciating.
Still, it was her choice, a choice she could make on her own now.
"I want to clean up that glass."
She shook her head. "What?"
"What I want is to clean up the broken glass on your patio. And you'll want it cleaned up before Brenda gets home from school tomorrow."
"Grissom, I--"
His hand moved up to slip into the belt of her robe. He closed his fist around the terrycloth knot and gently pulled her closer. "I don't know what you want. I have no idea. But I want you." He let go of the knot. "I'm going to go clean up the glass now."
TBC…
