Disclaimer: I don't own Third Watch...blah, blah, blah. I have no money. Plus, I do not own the song entitled "Dragging On". It belongs to Blue Rodeo and Jim Cuddy and Greg Keelor. In my opinion, there is no other song writing team who can sum up in words, like those two can. On to the story.
Dragging On
In all my life, I had never experienced such pain. I had never suffered the kind of emotional collapse that was mine since the minute Faith told me that I was not the father of her child.
I felt betrayed in a way that seemed to me, at the time, inexcusable and permanent. The only other person in my life that I could count on was Faith. She had seen me at my worst; she saw me at my best and the one thing I always knew to be true was our friendship. Even when I was a kid, I couldn't count on my parents. I only had me. And in turn, I was all that Mikey had to count on. Dad was always drunk and abusive; my ma was always making up for it and trying to shelter us from it. It never worked and in the end, we always felt betrayed and angry. Angry at him for being the way he was and angry at her for letting it happen.
Eventually, the anger that I had directed toward her for being weak, took on a new understanding. I learned to forgive her for her weakness, or what I thought was weakness, and realized that she did the best she could under the circumstances that surrounded her.
As time went on, I felt myself deepening my anger towards my father, until there was nothing left but hatred. I know now that it was a defense mechanism, but it hardened me nonetheless. I always had something to say and I never was one to mince words or not say how I felt, but this new way of coping always assured me that I would never let myself get into a position like that ever again. I would live my life without letting anyone get that piece of me that could be hurt or vulnerable. I did good, too, until I met Faith.
My first day at the Academy, we were standing in line to get our uniforms and she was standing behind me. I made some comment under my breath about how long the line was and she piped up and told me to stop whining like a little girl. I was shocked to see such a fine female actually have the guts to put me in my place and I knew from then on that she was special. We became good friends from that moment on, each drawing strength from the other. I helped her and she helped me. Even though she didn't want to admit it, we were good for each other.
That's how we ended up being partners when we got on the job. No one wanted to pair up with me accept her. She knew me better than anyone else and I respected her in a way that was almost holy. Even though we had never talked about it, I knew she wasn't respected at home. I knew that she was with the wrong man, but that she appreciated the way that I thought of her and the fact that I'd lay down my life for her.
The truth was that I was in love with her from the day I told her about my family and the way I grew up. She had a way of bringing out the most private thoughts in my head and letting me know that it was ok to be upset years later. She once told me that she admired me for sticking it out with a father who treated us so bad. She let me realize why I joined the Academy. I wanted to help people and I knew I could make a difference. A lot of times I made crass jokes and complained about the people we were helping, but inside, I was always a mess. It killed me to go on a domestic call when I had to see a wife or mother beat up or worse, a child. It made me angry. Angry at him. Angry that I was too little to stop his abuse. Too little to end the violence and the emotional drain that went along with it.
Faith let me see why I did the things I did and she made me believe that I was good person in spite of the way I carried on. No one else had ever taken the time to know me or why I worked the way I did.
Now, it was over and I had no idea how to live my life without her.
The night she told me, was the night she ripped out my heart and replaced it with another kind of anger; the kind born out of emotional betrayal. The kind that stays with you until your dying days and eats away at your very soul, reminding you that you were hurt in the worst kind of way.
I couldn't breath without thinking of her. I couldn't eat or sleep without seeing her face behind my eyelids. She was in my soul, tormenting me, reminding me that she took the one thing away from me that I never had before. Real love.
That night, I had taken all of her things and threw them out into the hallway. I cried the whole time I did it, too. Tears spilling down my cheeks and curses rolling off of my tongue, as I packed up my life, my love, and threw her out.
She had cried the whole time, too, begging me to reconsider. Begging me to listen. But listen, I could not. For if I did, I was afraid that I would forgive her. I was afraid that I would have to give her another chance, and that if I did, I would have to face up to the emotional pain that I was feeling.
I was feeling pain, yes. But this was an angry pain and in staying angry, I had the option to not deal with my true feelings. I had never been great at dealing with the things that had hurt me the most.
I didn't even know where she went that first night, but I know that I didn't get any sleep because I was still worrying about her. I tossed and turned, hoping that she was ok, hoping that she had found a place to go, even though I was angry enough to almost throttle her. I couldn't help but feel guilty for the anger I had displayed to her and the hurtful words I had said. I was poisonous when I was angry and truthfully, I had just wanted her to hurt the way that she had hurt me. I wanted her to feel as badly as I did and I knew I had succeeded when she threw herself down on the floor and held on to my leg, begging for me to give her another chance. There was no question as to whether or not she was feeling an awful pain herself. This was the third child she was lost in a matter of weeks and I knew I should have taken that into consideration, but I couldn't. She had made me believe that she was carrying my child.
I had listened to one of my favorite songs that next day. I played it over and over until my throat was dry and my very existence was numb. It was no secret that my favorite band was Blue Rodeo and I found it ironic that they could always put into words the very things I felt and in listening to them, I found an outlet that I hadn't known existed.
Wouldn't it be just like me
to come undone
Get mad and lose my head.
Leave with the bitter taste
Of poison on my tongue
from the things I said
Things I said.
You left a hole in me
and the rain comes pouring in
sometimes I'm swept away.
All of our memories
Are burned into my skin.
They never fade.
They never fade.
It's cold out
Nobody wants to be the one
who gets thrown out,
Left in the rain
Like the lonely one
When it all comes down
to whose been right or wrong
Keep dragging on.
Could it be someone else's life we're looking for
I know we wait in vain.
We leave a mess behind us
Laid out on the floor
We try, but we don't change
We never change.
It's cold here.
Too scared to wake up and face the day.
It seems so clear
As we run out of things to say.
And it all comes down to whose been getting strong
We keep dragging on.
Keep dragging on.
Hours and hours
I have laid here on this bed.
I know I"m sinking through.
Waiting to wake up
From this vision in my head.
But I never do.
I never do.
Oh, I think I'm done.
Oh, I think I'm done.
Oh, I think I'm done.
I had been riding with a new guy for the last two weeks. His name was Ray Affleck. He was from Boston and had been transferred to our precinct because he had been undercover working on some mob cases and something had gone wrong. As a result, he was sent to us to get him out of Boston.
Personally, I thought the guy should have stayed there. He was arrogant and selfish, not to mention, he was always complaining about our accents. He was the one who talked funny. When he said 'car' it sounded like he was saying 'kaaaaa'. He thought he was the king and the rest of us were here to do his bidding. He was my height, with dark hair and eyes, but had a really prissy look about him. Nothin' was ever right with him. The city we lived in, the people, the accents, the coffee. Nothin was as good as Boston. Why the hell didn't he just stay there? How was I supposed to work with someone who was no better than a two year old?
Even though I wouldn't ever admit it, I missed Faith. I missed riding with her and spending the whole day with her. She was great to work with, although, she did have her moments. She hated listening to me complain about something or talk about all the girls I'd been with. But I guess that was just a female thing. I missed eating supper with her and talking about stuff. With Ray, all I ever seemed to do was argue about how great I thought living in New York was, and what a hole he thought it was. I didn't know how long I could keep partnering with him.
Faith, on the other had, or so I had been told, was having a great time working with Gussler. They had a lot in common and he really looked up to her. On occasion, I would hear them coming into the locker room laughing about something one or the other had done and it made me so jealous, I thought my head would blow off. He was riding with her. He got to spend his whole day with her and I wondered how long it would be before he was spending his nights with her as well.
She seemed to be getting back to normal. She was coming to work every day with Sasha, whom she had become close to and I learned later that Faith had been staying with her at her new apartment. Sasha had gone through with the abortion, as she had planned, and her and Ty were through. It seemed that we were all breaking up and trying to move on. I don't know how I looked to everyone else, but I knew that Ty was taking it pretty hard. A couple of nights we had gone to Haggerty's for beers after work and talked about it. We were both pretty emotionally drained, after both thinking we were about to be father's and then having it yanked out from under us without a warning. Ty and I had found that we did have a lot in common and we were becoming really good friends. I was glad that I had someone to talk it out with who understood.
Faith's first week back had been really hard on her, I could tell. As far as I knew, no one at the house knew about her pregnancy so no one asked her about it. She had struggled though the first few days, only breaking down and crying once, or so I heard from Gussler. On the sly, I was still asking how she was doing, only after threatening Gussler that if he told her I would break his legs.
I still loved her with everything I had, but I couldn't forgive her or even attempt to. When we were in the same room together we ignored each other. When we passed by in the hallway or in the locker room, we wouldn't even make eye contact.
It hurt so much to act that way, but I didn't know what else I could do. I knew that I should have talked to her but my stubbornness and pride stopped me every time. I was lost without her and yet, I could never live with her again. I was a mess inside and it was killing me.
Every night I came home from work tired and angry. I still couldn't stand Affleck and was sure that someday soon I would have to kill him myself, or quit my job altogether. I walked into my livingroom and sat down on my couch with a six pack. I had been drinking myself to sleep for two weeks and it was starting to show.
I rubbed the back of my neck, wishing I could work out the tension that had permanently settled there. It had never been a problem for me to sleep until after she left. I didn't even want to go to sleep sober because if I did I knew I'd dream about her.
So every night I went to sleep drunk and angry, and every morning I woke up with tear stains wetting my pillow. I was crying over her in my sleep and I hated myself for it. Hated the weakness I was displaying, even if only to myself. Hated that she had done this to me.
I watched the clock on the wall. I listened to the 'tick, tick, tick,'of it's hand, and with every movement it told me 'It's over. It's over. It's over.' She was killing me, one tick at a time.
On this particular evening, I had come home and drunk my six beer and then gone out and got six more. It didn't seem that I could numb the pain or make it go away. The drunker I got, the more emotional I felt. I missed her. I wanted to hold her. I needed her and I was on the verge of a mental breakdown because of it.
I went to my bedroom that was now so empty without her things, and went to the closet. Inside, I took out a small box that I had tucked away and opened it. It had three pictures of Faith in it. Ones that I didn't have the heart to throw away. I sat down on my bed and stared at the eyes that would haunt me forever and started to cry. I don't know how long I sat there just staring at her face before I realized that I needed closure if I was ever going to move on. The only question was if I wanted to move on. Did I really want someone new or could I find it within myself to forgiver her?
At any rate, I needed to see her and get the weight off of my chest before it all became too much and I suffocated. I had to tell her how I felt. I needed to close the fatal wound she had inflicted and I knew the only way to do that was to get up off my butt and give her a call.
In my drunken state, I did not realize the time of night it was, or I wouldn't have called. I had to talk to her and I had to do it now.
I went out into the kitchen and grabbed my cordless phone and another beer and went back to the livingroom and sat down.
I looked up Sasha's number and dialed.
One ring. Two rings. Three. Four.
On the fifth ring, she answered.
"Hello?"
"Sasha? I need ta talk ta Fay." I said, or rather, slurred.
"Bosco? Do you even know what time it is?" Came her instantly angry voice.
"I know. I know. But I need ta talk to her now. Come on, Sash." I begged when she didn't reply.
"Are you drunk?"
"Noooooo. I'm just needin to talk to her. It's important." I drawled, getting worried that she would hang up on me.
"Fine. I'll tell her. But don't ever call here at 4:00 in the morning again! You got that?" She snapped.
I waited while she went to wake up Faith. I could hear her getting out of bed and walking down the hall and then knocking on Faith's door. She said something that I couldn't quite make out. Then mumbling and a couple of curses and then Faith's voice.
"Bosco! What's wrong?" She asked in an anxious tone. That was a good sign. She was worried and not angry.
My heart leaped and fluttered upon hearing her voice. It made me instantly nervous and yet, it broke my heart at the same time. I had a hard time opening my mouth, for fear I would cry.
"I...uh...wanted to talk to ya about some stuff." I said.
"What stuff?
"I....just....need.....to.....I need to..." I stumbled over the words, not knowing what I wanted or how to articulate what I had to say. All I knew was that I needed to see her. It was at that moment that a small cry escaped my lips, a cry which she heard. I covered my eyes with my hand tried to control my aching throat, knowing that the damn was about to let go.
"To what, Bos?" She said, softly, knowing how hard it was for me to call her. How hard it was for me to reach out to her. On the other end, I knew she was breaking to pieces as well.
"Can you come over?" I cried, almost making no sense, but knowing that she understood anyway.
"I'll be right there." She said.
I hung up the phone and really let myself bawl. I had never been here before and I knew it wasn't a place I wanted to visit ever again. I had to get this over with. And maybe then I could heal.
TBC