Disclaimer: Not Mine.
A/N: A very special thank you to all the wonderful ladies who have taken the time to help me with this. It is truly appreciated. This chapter deals with Sara's past and my interpretation of that. It is MATURE! Nothing graphic but still could be disturbing. Please use discretion.
Chapter 6
December 13, 2007
The hot water of the shower slid over her skin like a lover's caress. Sara sighed and tilted her head forward, moaning as the heat helped to relax the knotted muscles of her shoulders. For a moment she allowed her mind to drift to Grissom and the feel of his skin against hers, the touch of his hands. She could feel the familiar tingle low in her belly. She had been far too long without him and her need for release was becoming harder to deny. With a groan of frustration, she dragged her thoughts back to the here and now.
Turning off the water, Sara stepped out of the tub and dried off. She moved around the bedroom getting dressed for the day and her thoughts turned to her mother. That first lunch had not been what Sara expected and neither had any of their subsequent meetings. Sara had hoped for a speedy resolution to her problems. She had hoped that they would be able to sit down and talk things through so that she could get back home. With a quiet snort of laughter, she admitted to herself that she should have known better. She was currently getting ready to make her seventh trip to Point Reyes Station and, by this point, she wasn't sure what to expect any more. Laura's shock at seeing her again seemed to have worn off but there was still a strange reticence in their interactions that Sara hadn't foreseen.
For some reason, Sara had envisioned some tearful reunion. She had dreamed of sitting somewhere, sipping tea and listening to her mother explain everything. She imagined asking questions and getting answers, answers that would somehow ease the weight she had been carrying for more than half her life. It was strange how someone who had seen so much violence and death could still hold onto a rose colored view of the world. And rose colored it certainly was, because nothing was happening the way Sara had pictured it.
Instead of providing answers, Laura asked a lot of questions. Where did Sara live? What did she do for a living? Married? Children? Sara answered honestly. After all, that's what this was about. Laura, however, didn't reciprocate. She was crafty though. She dodged Sara's questions with a quick feint here, a little bob and weave there. It had been exactly twenty-eight days since Sara walked away from her life. Twenty-eight days of thinking and introspection. Twenty-eight days of spinning her wheels. Sara's patience with the situation was quickly wearing thin.
When she left the cottage, stopping to lock the door behind her, Sara shivered and snuggled deeper into her coat. The weather was cool and the wind off the bay could cut through a body like a knife. She hurried to the car, her chin tucked into her chest in an effort to keep warm, and quickly climbed behind the wheel. As she drove, her mind again wandered over the past weeks. She was tired and lonely and ready to give up. Memories she had long held at bay were crowding in around her. But that's all she had, memories of violence and pain with no explanations, and even fewer details. She was beginning to think there were no answers, at least none she was likely to find from her mother.
Doubts continued to plague her on the ride down the coast. Maybe the whole thing was a big mistake. Sometimes it truly was better to let sleeping dogs lie. She had reached the street leading to the inn and was thinking of turning around when the memory of Grissom's face in the helicopter flashed across her mind. She could see the love shining out at her and feel her fingers clenched tightly in his caring grip. She knew, without a doubt, that he deserved something she didn't have to give. He deserved the love of a whole woman, not the cobbled together façade she had maintained for years.
Without warning, anger flowed through her. It bubbled up bright and hot, rising from the pit of her stomach to engulf her. She had left the one person who had ever loved her, truly loved her, to come here, and all she was getting was bullshit. Fueled by righteous indignation, Sara turned into the drive at the inn. She practically flew out of the car and up the path to the door. Letting herself in, she called her mother's name.
"Laura." Sara's voice was loud and tinged with bitterness. She stormed past the staircase and through the doorway into the kitchen.
Her mother appeared from a door on the left, closing it tightly behind her. "Sara? What's wrong? Are you okay?" There was confusion and genuine concern in her eyes.
Sara crossed her arms over her waist and glared at the woman in front of her. "Why would anything be wrong? Just because you act like the last two decades never happened is no reason for me to be upset. I came here for answers and I think I deserve them."
Laura jerked at the venom in Sara's voice. Then, straightening, she replied, "Deserve? You deserve answers? Let me tell you something, little girl, I've paid my dues and I don't owe you a thing."
Tears filled Sara's eyes at the way the insult rolled off her mother's tongue. The 'little girl' sounded just as slick and oily as she remembered. She recalled, vividly, her mother sitting in a drunken stupor, cigarette hovering near her lips, while her seven year old daughter tried to cook dinner. With total clarity she could see the black eye and swollen lip, results of her father's latest tirade. She remembered dropping a plate and the fear that pulsed through her when the equally drunken man stumbled in from the living room.
"You'd better clean that shit up, little girl." He grabbed her arm and dragged her close. His breath was in her face, smelling of stale cigarettes and beer and hate. "You break another one and I'll break your ass. You understand me?" He flung her down and she cut her hand on a shard of glass. "You're no better than your fucking mother. Look at her. That's all you'll ever be."
"Don't you ever call me that again." Her voice was low and dangerous. "I'm not your 'little girl.' I'm not anybody's 'little girl.'"
More memories crashed in on her; the slaps and kicks and shoves, the yelling and belittling, and finally, when she was already raw and hurting, the worst one of all.
"Such a beautiful little girl." His voice was soft but the pain was excruciating. His body pressed her into the mattress. The smell of old sweat and liquor hung over him. His hand covered her mouth, muffled her screams. She fought him, twisting and turning, but he was too big, too heavy. When he was done he lay atop her and stroked her hair. "You're my little girl."
Sara's eyes slammed shut and she bared her teeth in a caricature of a smile, trying to suppress the need to throw up. This was harder than she had ever imagined. Confronting the demons might be more than she capable of handling. Uncertainty now warred with her anger.
Laura's face was ashen, but her eyes were hard, unyielding. "What do you want from me?" she spat. "You want answers? You want to know what happened that day?"
Breathing deeply through her nose, Sara tried to fight off the nausea. But nothing she did was working. She knew she had to get out of that kitchen before she embarrassed herself, before she let her mother see how weak she really was. Shaking her head she pushed past Laura and hurried toward the front door. She didn't hear Laura calling her name. She didn't hear the footsteps that trailed her down the hall.
Sara was running by the time she reached the front door, her legs pumping in an effort to put as much distance between herself and her mother as possible. She reached her car and slid behind the wheel, bumping her knee in haste, but not feeling the pain. Blindly, she fumbled with the key, finally shoving it into the ignition. Then she was moving. She was about two miles away when she couldn't hold the nausea at bay any longer. There on the side of CA-1 Sara stopped the car and threw up in the ditch. Tears streamed down her face as she knelt on the cold ground, her body slumped down with the unbelievable weight of her past.