Disclaimer: I do not own anything relating to CSI or it's affiliates. I am merely a fan whose would like to take already established characters into a story of my own rendering.
Revelations: Sara
As she sat by the toilet, vomit falling down her chin, Sara felt as if the world had left her to die. Surely no one cared or they would be here now holding back her hair while she emptied herself of her drunken woes.
Grissom didn't care. If he did, he never showed beyond mild flirtation. He only left her with enough to satisfy her until she need another fix. She was a junkie to his love and he was her dealer.
Catherine didn't care. She saw her only as the annoying little sister who always wanted her way and nothing else would do. They could have helped each other. She could have been there when each lover left her high and dry and Catherine could have been there when Grissom cut the line each time he reeled her in.
Warrick was never there. They could have been closer, but she supposed that they were both too closed off for that. They had an understanding. It was true friendship yes, but there was the understanding that some things were just too personal. They just left it at that.
Greg was so young. He'd try to help, but the poor thing was just starting to come face to face with the realities of life via death. He hadn't been ready to face death, let alone investigate it. No, he needed her as support. He couldn't help her. His innocence wouldn't allow him to comprehend the help she needed.
Nick understood her. But that was it. Nothing past mild flirtation had ever occurred between them. She was happy for his promotion. He deserved it. She was a good CSI with a true heart for the victims and families. And all this without letting it interfere with his job. But he was blind. She needed a friend. He could have been that friend too, but he didn't see her. Just like Grissom.
Cleaning herself off with toilet paper and flushing it away, she stood up and washed her face. She started into the mirror, looking at the image before her.
God.
There she was, the genius Sara Sidle. Pale with red cheeks. Hungover. After several rounds with whatever she'd had in her cabinets, she'd lost. Again. Lucky for her she was home and not driving. She couldn't bear the faces and rumors again. Grissom's gentle hand intertwined with hers. He took her home and left. They always leave.
Making her way into the living room, Sara glanced at the clock. It was almost time for shift to began. She had only an hour and a half to get sober and ready. But the look of her living room set her into a fury. It looked like a drunken crime scene.
Just how much had she drank?
It didn't matter. She was angry. At herself. At her friends. At her lies. Everything.
As if possessed, Sara went on a rampage, cleaning the room of any trace of alcohol. The few bottles she'd managed not to finished were drained of their contents down the kitchen sink and thrown away in the trash. Never again. She was better than this.
After finishing the much needed cleaning, she readied herself for work and walked back into the now tidy living room to gather her keys. Remembering that she had thrown them on the floor, she got on her hands and knees in search of them.
Making her way to the couch, she pulled up the flaps and searched under the couch for the missing keys. She found them. A a half empty bottle of rum.
Rum.
It was her father's favorite drink. He would walk around the house with a bottle. He'd take a large swig, carefully place the bottle on the coffee table, then hit her mother until she couldn't stand up. Sara's brother would try to shield his little sister from the sights and sounds of a drunken rage, but he could only do so much.
She understood why her mother killer her father. Yes it hurt to be separated her her and her brother, only to be thrown into the foster system. But she understood.
But what had she become? No better than her father, that's what. Holding the bottle, she clenched it tight, then with all the pent up rage of the past thirty-four years, she thrust the bottle towards the door where it shattered it a spray of glass and booze.
She would not become her father.
Resolute, she took her keys and walked out the door to a new day at work. To embrace her friends. He career. Her life. Sober.
End
