Wreck of the Day
Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980
Rating: T. This is NOT a story for the light-hearted; contains suicidal thoughts and swearing.
Disclaimer: CBS has ownership over Numb3rs. That being said, I'm just borrowing the cast for my own enjoyment and I promise to return all characters unharmed. The song is 'Wreck of the Day' by Anna Nalick.
WARNING: This story has a lot of cursing in it; hence the high rating. So I am warning you again, this a very dark piece both in subject and words. I would also like to make it clear here that I know how serious depression can be. This story was not written in any way to make light of this matter. If you know of anyone who is dealing with depression, the best thing you can do for them is get them professional help. The best thing you can do as friend is to offer your unconditional support and to listen without judgment. There's always hope as long as you don't give up.
She got into her car and sighed heavily, letting her body slump in the driver's seat. There were no words to describe her utter exhaustion: physically, mentally and emotionally. She sighed again, forcing the encroaching darkness of fatigue from overtaking her mind. She couldn't afford to pass out now. She straightened her back, put on her seatbelt, locked her car doors and turned on the car ignition. She wanted to get home before she collapsed. Not that she really wanted to go back to an empty, cold apartment, but it was far better than having to fight and argue with her hus — ex-husband. She drove out of the secured parking lot.
Driving away from the wreck of the day
And the lights always red in the rearview
Desperately close to a coffin of hope
I'd cheat destiny just to be near you
What a fool she was, to give up what she had to come back to him. She might have been in emotional limbo, but it was a hell of a lot better than the hell she was in now. She knew he was a chronic liar, so why in the world did she go back to him? Damn bastard wanted her back and made her move across the nation, damn her for listening and believing that bull about being reformed and sorry for what he did. But her emotional trials were no excuse for what had happened today.
She pulled over to the side of the road, her vision blurred by her tears, gasping for breath. She let the sobs wrack her body, her arms folded over the steering wheel, her head resting on the rim of the cool leather as she cried.
"I'm sorry," she gasped through her tears, over and over again. "I'm so sorry." Guilt settled on her shoulders, engulfed her in its unforgiving embrace. "I'm sorry." She cried until she didn't know why she was crying anymore, only that she was reaching for air and there was nothing there for her.
She knew she was falling, but there was no one there to catch her. No one there who cared. The one she wanted to care wasn't anywhere near reachable. She had given him up for a stupid bastard, wasted her chance to be happy, to have something more than an empty, bland life. She had given him up and he had probably found someone else to be happy with. She would have done anything to get him back, anything for a second chance. But there were no second chances, not with life, not with him. She had to just cry over him as another lost chance in a life full of damned failures. And the case? It had gone so far south, so screwy that she thought they were all going to die. By some miracle of God, they hadn't, but the damage to her reputation had been done. The looks had probably already started; by tomorrow, she bet, no one at the office would be able to look her in the face, no one would trust her to watch their back anymore.
Driving away from the wreck of the day
And I'm thinking 'bout calling on Jesus
'Cause Love doesn't hurt, so I know I'm not falling in love
I'm just falling to pieces
It was over. He had called his lawyers and she had called hers and the marriage was over, annulled. It should have been done long ago, but this still hit her like an emotional train wreck. Idiot, just complete idiots, the both of them. She came back and he went back to his abusive ways as soon as the honeymoon period was over. Damned if she was going to let him slap her around again. Cheat me once, shame on you; cheat me twice, shame on me. She left, keeping herself safe from harm. Filed a restraining order that very same day and then called a lawyer. She made it clear that no amount of pleading, begging, or emotional blackmailing was going to make her come back to him; didn't mean that she didn't privately love him in some sort of twisted way, didn't mean that there wasn't a gaping wound in her heart now. Add on top of that a horrible case involving child prostitution and porn, she was right to feel worse than crap. The case had closed with a final raid that was a strategic disaster. If she didn't receive a reprimand, she'd count herself lucky. Fourteen children, fourteen living witnesses being held hostage at gunpoint, and her screwy profile had misjudged the ringleader's motives. She had sent her partner in and watched him get hit twice in the chest, right over the heart. He was going to be fine, but it he hadn't been wearing that vest, or if those bullets had been armor piecing…. The thought made her sob harder.
And maybe I'm not up for being a victim of Love
When all my resistance will never be distance enough
She gone with him to the hospital; was there when his wife had rushed into the ER, angrily demanding the medical staff to let her see her husband or else and collapse sobbing with relief in his arms. She had turned away then, left and returned to the office. She didn't need to see the accusation on the other woman's face. How the hell did you send my husband in there to get shot at? the woman would demand. What the hell were you thinking? She didn't have any answers, so she left. Who would be there for her if she ever ended up in the hospital, injured? Not her damn ex, that's for sure. If she died? She didn't know who would come to the funeral, if word would reach the people she wanted to come in time. Probably not.
Every man she had ever loved either turned out to be a lying, cheating bastard who didn't just break her heart but tore it to shreds and stomped on it for good measure or were just out of reach by no fault of their own. They didn't ask for her to love them; it just happened and it was always very, very one-sided. She had tried to force herself to stop looking for love, to just concentrate on her work. When she did that, she fell hard for the one man she could never had: her boss. What her heart had been thinking, she would never know, but there was no way he would ever love her back. He was a good friend, and that was it. Period. Nothing more, nothing less; not for her. They had closed that chapter of their relationship ten years ago. There were a few times before she left that she thought maybe he was willing to cross that line with her, but… she was probably just dreaming, imagining interest that wasn't there to begin with.
And if this is giving up, then I'm giving up
If this is giving up, then I'm giving up
Giving up on Love
On Love
Was she worth loving? she wondered as she made her way up to her apartment. No one seemed to love her. Not that she really let anyone get close. How could she? What few friends she had were more out of contact than not; she was busy with the cases that landed on her desk every day, silently pleading for her help. How could she turn them away? Some days, she felt that she was grieving for all the victims that passed her desk, that she had loved them while they were alive and that each of them were taking more of her with them to the grave. She was tired of knowing these people, letting them take her, sap her of herself. It was so selfish to think that though; this job wasn't called public service without a reason. But she was losing herself and what scared a deep part of her the most was that she didn't care anymore. She couldn't handle this guilt, this knowledge that she was the last recourse for these dead. That she had nearly killed fifteen innocent people with a wrong decision, a wrong assumption. She couldn't… she didn't know what she knew and didn't know. She just wanted all her thoughts to stop, to leave her alone. She just wanted this merry-go-around of guilt and shame to stop, to release her from its endless repetition. She just wanted peace, peace of mind, peace of heart, peace of soul; she wanted… she didn't know what she wanted.
Driving away from the wreck of the day
And it's finally quiet in my head
Driving alone, I'm finally on my way home
To the comfort of my bed
After a shower that did nothing to wash away the guilt and heaviness that was weighing down her soul, she pulled her warm bathrobe around her. But even the warm steam that clouded the bathroom mirror did nothing to thaw the deadness in her heart. She washed her hands absent-mindedly and accidentally knocked it against something that rattled. She looked down at the neon-orange bottle, sitting innocently enough on the edge of the sink. With a heavy sigh, she picked it up and took it with her to the kitchen. Could she? Would she?
She stared at the bottle in her hands, completely numb inside. She turned it, hearing the pills rattling against the plastic. It was an old prescription of sleeping pills for a bout of insomnia two years back; Bureau's doctors had insisted. There definitely were enough. They were strong, probably still were. The biggest question was would she go through with it?
It wasn't that she was easily thrown off of her mental stability; if she was, she would have left the Bureau a long time ago. But her life was a mess, her mistake in the profile nearly got her partner and the hostages killed, could she risk it happening again? How could she have made those stupid, stupid mistakes? She was a veteran agent and she nearly sent fifteen people to early graves. What the hell was she thinking? There was no question that her boss would be furious with her tomorrow and that her career was probably over, so what would be the harm if she…?
Indecision rocked her; a vicious part of her screamed mental abuse and insults of her unworthiness until she was mentally cowering inside herself, her hands opening the childproof cap on their own accord. Yes, she did deserve it. But then that beaten part of her screamed NO! and forced her hands to ram the cap back on the prescription drug bottle. She couldn't. She couldn't. She didn't know why, but she couldn't.
She deliberately set the prescription bottle down on the kitchen counter and let her hand drop limply away from it as she slowly backed away from it like it was a bomb. Not tonight then. Maybe tomorrow? Oh God, could she risk it? Could she make it though another day, only to come back here tomorrow night, wondering if it was the time to end this horrible life? As if of its own volition, her hand reached for it, but she abruptly yanked her hand back. She couldn't do it. Her eyes were glued to a framed picture that she had unknowingly set on the kitchen counter. The secretive, yet happy smiles on their faces and the laughter in his eyes stared right at her. She couldn't do it, not with that reminder in front of her.
It had been a going-away present that Amita had handed her just before she left. "I took it when…well, I hope you like it," the younger woman had blushed. In her hurry to catch her plane, she had just smiled and thanked Amita without even unwrapping the gift. She had forgotten about it until she had moved into this apartment a few weeks ago. The photograph had been taken at her going-away party at the Eppes house. She was standing next to him while he was talking about some escapade of Charlie's, which had amused her. The younger woman had taken a picture of the two of them, relaxed and laughing. Could she ever be that happy again? Would he want her, wreck as she was? She heard his voice, the last time they had spoken face-to-face. "Call me," he had said with a sad smile. She had agreed. Funny, she had forgotten about that. He hadn't called, either had she. Would he want to know? Did he deserve to have to deal with her after a horrible day at work? Probably not. But could she be so selfish…?
She looked at the bottle of pills almost longingly and swallowed hard. She turned away from them and reached for her phone. Tears clouded her vision, but she blindly finished dialing the number that she knew by heart.
The line rang once, twice, three, four… She was about ready to hang up, but then someone picked up.
"Hello?"
"Don," she sobbed, her lungs reaching for life-giving oxygen as she reached for a second chance at happiness.