Making Beds
By: Manda and Allison
Chapter 4: Running Away
Catherine slowly moved the food around her plate, pushing her mashed potatoes into small mountains. Her mother's gaze remained fixed upon her throughout the meal. Just a glance could send Catherine's heart into a nervous frenzy; Kay's intense stare was enough to make her want to run and hide.
"Catherine, aren't you going to eat your supper?" Kay asked pointedly.
"I ate on the plane," she lied, averting her gaze back to her food. "I'm not really all that hungry."
"A home cooked meal would do you some good, I hear airplane food is horrible. Look at you; you're nothing but skin and bones. Eat, your pork chops are getting cold."
She fought the urge to respond with an obedient 'Yes, Mom', instead choosing to slice into a skimpy pork chop with the knife that rested by her right hand. A trickle of watery
Crimson fluid began to leak forth, and Catherine stared at it impassively, as Kay began to
chatter, flustered, and reached to whisk the plate away.
"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry...I thought I'd cooked that one all the way through."
"It's all right...I'm fine. I've never been much for pork, anyway, Mom. Thank you." The mashed potatoes she had somehow managed to ingest were lodged within her stomach; hardening into a lump with each passing moment she sat at the dining table. As Kay hustled into the kitchen, murmuring apologies and intent on fetching another plate of food, Catherine cast a pleading glance at her father, who nodded gently and pushed back as Catherine hastily left the table.
Entering the living room, she scanned around until she found the cordless phone sitting among a stack of old newspapers. Grabbing it, she violently punched in a number she knew by heart. All she got was a busy signal.
"Damnit, pick up."
"You'll not talk like that in this house Catherine."
"I'm not a child mom, you can't push me around."
There it was again. That stare. Sometimes she wondered how her mother could look so cold. It was making her stomach churn and Catherine fought the urge to run into the bathroom and empty the contents of her stomach.
"This is my home, and you will respect it." Came her mother's stern reply.
"Respect it? Like you respect me? Hell, you've been nothing but domineering since I walked in the door! Face it, your little girl's grown up and doing well. And you had nothing to do with it. You aren't mad because I left, because I ran off with Rick and waitressed. No, you're angry because you can't and never could control me."
"Catherine Marie Burke! Don't you dare tell me how I feel. Do you even know what you put your father and I through? Wondering everyday where you were? Not knowing if you were ok. You could have been lying dead in a ditch somewhere or worse!"
"Damnit! You turned me away Mom. I came back and you turned me away! If you were so worried why didn't you take me back, huh?" Catherine's face was red, tears threatening to spill over her hot cheeks. Clenching her fists tightly, she let her fingernails dig into the skin of her palms.
"Come on you two, this is no time to argue. Let's all just settle down for a sec," she saw her father leaning against the doorframe between the living room and kitchen.
Balling up the hem of her shirt, Catherine turned away from her parents, the portable phone still clutched in her hands, knuckles whitening at the effort. The coolness of the plastic, the feel of the rubber buttons beneath the fingertips...was odd, and she felt infused by the connection the phone provided to Grissom.
She turned again, facing them both and holding the phone up as she spoke. "I think it's the perfect time to discuss it, Mom. To discuss how, even though I can't reach him, I know that my best friend will be here for me when I need him...here for me in a way that you weren't, when I came home and needed my mother and father the most."
"Catherine, sweetheart...we did what we thought was best at the time."
"Well, if that's what you thought was best, Mom...then I hope to god that I'm not going to become that kind of parent. For Christ's sake- I had a drug problem...no money, no place to call home...and you left me on the streets to fend for myself. Daddy..." She turned her face to her father, who had chosen to remain silent for the time being, his warmth evident in his wide stormy eyes. "Daddy wanted to try, didn't he? But you didn't let him...and god...he couldn't stand up for himself."
Kay inhaled, unsure of what exactly she should say next. Quickly she glanced over at her husband, who immediately raised his hands in defeat. "You didn't want to be here, Catherine." She finally got out, her words sticking on her tongue. "You were running away from us before you could even learn how to walk. Your father and I...we...we made a mutual decision. We did what we thought was best. What other choice did we have?"
"You had a choice, Mommy...you always had a choice." The pressure had gotten to her, the lack of cocaine doing what it always did in tough situations, and Catherine pressed a hand to her stomach to quell the nausea as she continued to press on. "If you could have just talked to me..."
"You always wanted attention, Velvet...you have since you were born...and we couldn't give you what you wanted...so we assumed that, when you left, the world had what you wanted...what we never could provide." Her father looked old, then, Hugh Burke suddenly aging before her very eyes, the years she'd spent away taking a toll on his features...and her mother, as well, began to shrink and shrivel, shadows forming beneath her eyes.
"But I'm not back for that, now...don't you know that?" Catherine's hands fell to her sides, and she let the phone dangle, holding it by the antenna. "I'm all grown up...I've got a job, and friends...and my baby...and I don't want your attention now...I just want you to love me." The pain in her stomach and the pain of her throat constricting afforded little time, and without further word, Catherine pushed her way past the silent Burkes, and up the stairs.
By the time she had reached the top of the steps her parents had regained enough of their senses to try to call her back down. They were met with the sound of the bathroom door slamming; so loud, in fact, that they were sure the neighbors could have heard it. But Catherine could have cared less. Setting the phone on the bathroom floor beside her, she gripped the sides of the toilet and threw up what little dinner she had in her stomach.
It hurt, really it did, like the time when she was ten, and her favorite pony, Gilbert, had become restless, kicking her in the stomach. It hurt so much, and she could still remember crouching on the ground, vomiting for what seemed like hours before her could get her to stand up; ushering her inside and upstairs to the bed. There hadn't been any sort of activity for the young Catherine for the remainder of the week, and she could remember sitting by the window, elbows on the sill as she sat in her thin cotton nightgown with the paisley print, watching her dad and Gilbert haul Gilbert into a horse trailer.
He hadn't gone to the glue farm, but to a farm nearby where there were no 'little girls' he had later told her.
"Bullshit," she muttered and threw up again, wiping her mouth with a nearby washcloth, and picking up the phone to dial. If Grissom were there...he'd talk, reassure her that despite everything, coming home had been the right thing to do all along.
She wasn't sure if she'd believe him...but just hearing his voice would be enough.
TBC.
By: Manda and Allison
Chapter 4: Running Away
Catherine slowly moved the food around her plate, pushing her mashed potatoes into small mountains. Her mother's gaze remained fixed upon her throughout the meal. Just a glance could send Catherine's heart into a nervous frenzy; Kay's intense stare was enough to make her want to run and hide.
"Catherine, aren't you going to eat your supper?" Kay asked pointedly.
"I ate on the plane," she lied, averting her gaze back to her food. "I'm not really all that hungry."
"A home cooked meal would do you some good, I hear airplane food is horrible. Look at you; you're nothing but skin and bones. Eat, your pork chops are getting cold."
She fought the urge to respond with an obedient 'Yes, Mom', instead choosing to slice into a skimpy pork chop with the knife that rested by her right hand. A trickle of watery
Crimson fluid began to leak forth, and Catherine stared at it impassively, as Kay began to
chatter, flustered, and reached to whisk the plate away.
"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry...I thought I'd cooked that one all the way through."
"It's all right...I'm fine. I've never been much for pork, anyway, Mom. Thank you." The mashed potatoes she had somehow managed to ingest were lodged within her stomach; hardening into a lump with each passing moment she sat at the dining table. As Kay hustled into the kitchen, murmuring apologies and intent on fetching another plate of food, Catherine cast a pleading glance at her father, who nodded gently and pushed back as Catherine hastily left the table.
Entering the living room, she scanned around until she found the cordless phone sitting among a stack of old newspapers. Grabbing it, she violently punched in a number she knew by heart. All she got was a busy signal.
"Damnit, pick up."
"You'll not talk like that in this house Catherine."
"I'm not a child mom, you can't push me around."
There it was again. That stare. Sometimes she wondered how her mother could look so cold. It was making her stomach churn and Catherine fought the urge to run into the bathroom and empty the contents of her stomach.
"This is my home, and you will respect it." Came her mother's stern reply.
"Respect it? Like you respect me? Hell, you've been nothing but domineering since I walked in the door! Face it, your little girl's grown up and doing well. And you had nothing to do with it. You aren't mad because I left, because I ran off with Rick and waitressed. No, you're angry because you can't and never could control me."
"Catherine Marie Burke! Don't you dare tell me how I feel. Do you even know what you put your father and I through? Wondering everyday where you were? Not knowing if you were ok. You could have been lying dead in a ditch somewhere or worse!"
"Damnit! You turned me away Mom. I came back and you turned me away! If you were so worried why didn't you take me back, huh?" Catherine's face was red, tears threatening to spill over her hot cheeks. Clenching her fists tightly, she let her fingernails dig into the skin of her palms.
"Come on you two, this is no time to argue. Let's all just settle down for a sec," she saw her father leaning against the doorframe between the living room and kitchen.
Balling up the hem of her shirt, Catherine turned away from her parents, the portable phone still clutched in her hands, knuckles whitening at the effort. The coolness of the plastic, the feel of the rubber buttons beneath the fingertips...was odd, and she felt infused by the connection the phone provided to Grissom.
She turned again, facing them both and holding the phone up as she spoke. "I think it's the perfect time to discuss it, Mom. To discuss how, even though I can't reach him, I know that my best friend will be here for me when I need him...here for me in a way that you weren't, when I came home and needed my mother and father the most."
"Catherine, sweetheart...we did what we thought was best at the time."
"Well, if that's what you thought was best, Mom...then I hope to god that I'm not going to become that kind of parent. For Christ's sake- I had a drug problem...no money, no place to call home...and you left me on the streets to fend for myself. Daddy..." She turned her face to her father, who had chosen to remain silent for the time being, his warmth evident in his wide stormy eyes. "Daddy wanted to try, didn't he? But you didn't let him...and god...he couldn't stand up for himself."
Kay inhaled, unsure of what exactly she should say next. Quickly she glanced over at her husband, who immediately raised his hands in defeat. "You didn't want to be here, Catherine." She finally got out, her words sticking on her tongue. "You were running away from us before you could even learn how to walk. Your father and I...we...we made a mutual decision. We did what we thought was best. What other choice did we have?"
"You had a choice, Mommy...you always had a choice." The pressure had gotten to her, the lack of cocaine doing what it always did in tough situations, and Catherine pressed a hand to her stomach to quell the nausea as she continued to press on. "If you could have just talked to me..."
"You always wanted attention, Velvet...you have since you were born...and we couldn't give you what you wanted...so we assumed that, when you left, the world had what you wanted...what we never could provide." Her father looked old, then, Hugh Burke suddenly aging before her very eyes, the years she'd spent away taking a toll on his features...and her mother, as well, began to shrink and shrivel, shadows forming beneath her eyes.
"But I'm not back for that, now...don't you know that?" Catherine's hands fell to her sides, and she let the phone dangle, holding it by the antenna. "I'm all grown up...I've got a job, and friends...and my baby...and I don't want your attention now...I just want you to love me." The pain in her stomach and the pain of her throat constricting afforded little time, and without further word, Catherine pushed her way past the silent Burkes, and up the stairs.
By the time she had reached the top of the steps her parents had regained enough of their senses to try to call her back down. They were met with the sound of the bathroom door slamming; so loud, in fact, that they were sure the neighbors could have heard it. But Catherine could have cared less. Setting the phone on the bathroom floor beside her, she gripped the sides of the toilet and threw up what little dinner she had in her stomach.
It hurt, really it did, like the time when she was ten, and her favorite pony, Gilbert, had become restless, kicking her in the stomach. It hurt so much, and she could still remember crouching on the ground, vomiting for what seemed like hours before her could get her to stand up; ushering her inside and upstairs to the bed. There hadn't been any sort of activity for the young Catherine for the remainder of the week, and she could remember sitting by the window, elbows on the sill as she sat in her thin cotton nightgown with the paisley print, watching her dad and Gilbert haul Gilbert into a horse trailer.
He hadn't gone to the glue farm, but to a farm nearby where there were no 'little girls' he had later told her.
"Bullshit," she muttered and threw up again, wiping her mouth with a nearby washcloth, and picking up the phone to dial. If Grissom were there...he'd talk, reassure her that despite everything, coming home had been the right thing to do all along.
She wasn't sure if she'd believe him...but just hearing his voice would be enough.
TBC.