Disclaimer: Sadly enough, I don't own anything. This is written for pure enjoyment only and no profit to be gained!
A/N: WARNING: This chapter has more talk about suicide but what really puts it over the top is the song (which collaborates with the story). It's not the most "child safe" song I've used, though I'm sure a lot of you have heard the song before.
This chapter (and song) mentions suicide, language, talks about cutting and other things.
This is another deep chapter and this song is really tied into Bobby's life. I've worked on this chapter a lot (months) and tied the song and the story together very well (IMO).
The song is titled, "Last Resort" by Papa Roach. Once again, it's like Bobby is "thinking" these lyrics in his head. This will be the last song used in this fic. Thanks.
Note: OTF (Automatic Knife) means, Out The Front.
CHAPTER: 8
Cut my life into pieces, this is my last resort
Suffocation, no breathing
Don't give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding
Around 9:00 PM, Bobby staggered out of his bedroom. He had been crying, shedding the acid tears that were all pain, down his face. His eyes were horribly blood shot and his noise was running, face red. He was suffering and looked like hell, but he didn't give a fuck about himself. He was already traveling back down the road that he thought he'd overcome. His life was imperfect and he knew it. Only now did he finally realize that it was no longer fixable.
Too far gone.
When Bobby came home from the hospital, he could only hope that things would get better. He dreamt that his life would improve, and for a while, just a few measly hours, things seemed to be tolerable again. Sure, when he got home, he immediately shut Alex out from himself, but he felt oddly relieved at the same time. She was here, with him, and he knew it. He could feel her presence and it made him more comfortable and he had proven that to himself when he had first gazed at his backup piece. It had been so long, too long, since someone had stayed with him and took care of him. Now though, he was anything but ok. Everything was spiraling out of control again. It was like déjà vu, but only this time, Alex was here with him. He felt so lost and invisible to the rest of the world.
Everything is my fault! Her pain is caused by me! My words...no one else's!
He knew he had fucked everything up. He couldn't remember the last time he really yelled at her, especially for something so stupid. She didn't say anything wrong to me...so why did I yell at her? Why did I run away from her? God, why? Normally, he would never get upset with her, but he had. He lashed out at her and then stormed away in a mad rage.
He cringed as he recalled back to a few hours ago.
Bobby started to agonizingly make his way over to the kitchen when he noticed that Alex was sound asleep on the couch. She looked exhausted and though it was dark in the room, he had a gut wrenching feeling that she too had been crying. He knew it.
Eames…
This is my last resort
That's what he'd been crying about for the past couple of hours and why he started to shed tears again. Only, Alex Eames. Not his pathetic life…No, no, no, not him. He'd already given up on himself but, Alex…
Why did I treat her so god-awfully horrible? All she tried to do was help. If I keep doing this…I'm going to push her away for good. Or am I too late? I can't keep doing this to her. She shouldn't have to be here with her fucked up partner. God, it's so unfair! Why stay by me?
Cut my life into pieces, I've reached my last resort
Suffocation, no breathing
Don't give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding
Do you even care if I die bleeding?
A sob escaped from Robert Goren's mouth as he turned his back to her and made his way into the kitchen. After staring at one of the cabinets for a few moments, he slowly bent down and rummaged through a few things until he spotted his treasure; a bottle of Glenlivet that he stored underneath the sink.
Bobby wasn't much of a drinker, though he wouldn't deny a good drink every once in a while. As he became older though, he found himself enjoying the taste less and less. It just wasn't as fun as it use to be years ago…now, it was just down right depressing; especially if he were drinking alone. What's the fun in that? There's nothing more depressing than getting belligerently hammered and passing out god knows where. Alcohol's a depressant and Bobby was well aware of the fact that he's had enough misery in his life for one eternity. Sometimes though, it's the only thing that'll help him fall asleep for those wee hours.
He doesn't plan on drinking tonight though. This time, he has something else in mind. Something much more effective. He didn't want to dull the pain; he wants to heighten it. He just wasn't sure of the whole plan…yet.
Silently making his way back into his bedroom, careful not to wake Alex, he shut the door. He leaned up against it briefly, contemplating several different things, and then pushed off of it and started to make his way to the bathroom. As he lethargically walked towards it, he couldn't help but deflect his glance over towards his side drawer once more.
Would it be wrong? Would it be right?
If I took my life tonight? Chances are that I might
Mutilation out of sight, and I'm contemplating suicide
The gun. If I took my life tonight… And Bobby cried. Goddammit…tell me what the hell I'm supposed to do!! He was looking for a sign, any sign, but his musing stopped as he realized that he was now standing directly in front of the dresser that stored his gun. It was calling his name and the revelation sent a chill throughout his body.
Just one bullet. Just one pull of the trigger. Just one.
Slowly, he opened the drawer and stared down at the cool, dark metal. A minute later, he found to be holding it in his hand and cocked his head to the side at the revelation. He couldn't recall picking it up, but it didn't frighten him. It felt comforting, though he was still shaking physically.
Cause I'm losing my sight, losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine
Losing my sight, losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine
A few moments later, reality slammed back in to Bobby and he dropped the gun back into the drawer like it was on fire. He shut the drawer closed with a bang, but not before grabbing the OTF automatic knife. He'd used it before, several times on cases throughout the years. It was the knife he used to pick up evidence with several times in his police work and was the same knife that he cut the tomato up with on a case way back when. It was also the same knife he used to slash his hand in front of a suspect in the interrogation room. Only police, EMT, Fire & Rescue and other Government agencies had access to them.
He held it up close to his face and pushed the lever forward, revealing the blade of the knife as it shot out the front. Bobby rubbed his thumb over the dagger blade and it started to bleed in return. Turning, he made his way into his bathroom and sat on the floor by the toilet, back against the bathtub. More tears seem to align as he thought about his actions not a minute ago. He doesn't care though. He's not aloud to care. Not right now. Not ever.
Fuck it…no, no, fuck me! He hissed at himself as he lifted his shirt up so that the bottom of it was under his arm pits.
He briefly looked down at himself in utter discuss. He hated the way he was and he hated the way he looked.
Sorry son-of-a-bitch.
Bobby set the Glenlivet and knife down on the cold floor and then ripped off the bandage that covered his wound. He gawked at it briefly and then found himself to be shaking his head. His dislike for himself was becoming more apparent.
I can't even succeed in killing myself. What the fuck IS wrong with me? He thought though he knew he'd never find the true answers he so desperately sought after.
Picking up the knife in his left hand, he brought his right thumb up to his mouth and licked the familiar liquid off of it. It was a small cut, only to test the blades sharpness, but it still tasted inviting, though dangerous.
Turning the knife so that the tip of the blade faced his stomach, he propelled it forward.
Ahh, fuck. His face was askew and he started to pale from the oncoming pain. Whoops. He chuckled though he wasn't sure why.
His ultimate goal was to pull his stitches out; not to kill himself. Killing himself was the furthest thing from the truth right now. His first stab at it, no pun intended, went deeper than he wanted. His hands were shaking as he tried to steady himself by taking deep breaths. Taking another deep breath, he dug the blade into his wound again and wrapped it around part of the stitches. After a few attempts, he set the, now bloody knife down next to him and resorted to using his hands the rest of the way. The stitches easily pulled out and he tossed them aside, not caring where they landed. Only a small amount of blood lightly coated over his finger tips.
Bobby slowly took the lid off of the bottle of alcohol. He looked up briefly in the direction of the door before slowly sliding down the floor, tilting his body back so he sat at about a 45 degree angle. Hesitantly, Bobby poured some of the alcohol onto his wound, washing some of the blood away in the process. Instantly he hissed as his whole body clenching in pain.
Then he grinned evilly. An unfamiliar grin that he wasn't even aware of producing.
I never realized I was spread too thin
Till it was too late and I was empty within
Hungry, feeding on my chaos and living in sin
Downward spiral, where do I begin?
He found himself to be asking if it were working and, at first, it seemed to be dulling his ache that rang in his head, but then his mind reminded him. He remembered again and his body heavily sagged all the way to the ground in response; the back of his head gently lying on the ground. It was partially due to the fact the he could no longer hold himself upright due to severe exhaustion and pain, but also because of the fact that he'd already given up on trying to cause himself pain. It wasn't distracting him anyway, though he didn't plan to stop.
The whole truth in this fucked up scenario was that it was Bobby's own sick demented way of torturing himself over yelling at, Alex. He hated himself. No, he despised himself for hollering at her. He wasn't even sure if he was alive anymore. The real, Bobby Goren would never yell at his partner; not like that.
Who the hell am I anymore? She was only trying to help you, you stupid neurotic son-of-a-bitch.
It all started when I lost my mother
No love for myself and no love for another
Searching to find a love upon a higher level
Finding nothing but questions and devils
Bobby's hand still clenched the bottle as he raised his head and titled it to the side so he could look down at his body. What had he become? A fucked up detective? Yeah, that's about right. His mother was now gone and he would never know who his true father was. The only thing that came up about his unknown father, were more questions than he started with. As for his brother…Fuck him! Bobby screamed within as he clenched in pain from the alcohol that teased over his wound. It lingered like another one of Bobby's enemies.
Cause I'm losing my sight, losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine
Losing my sight, losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine
Bobby was definitely not ok. He was losing himself and becoming dizzier by the second. It was mentally draining to know what your family was and he constantly found himself asking if he were the same. The same as his mother? The same as his brother? Or, the one that tore him apart inside more than any other one: Was he the same as his unnamed father? With this question, his hand unconsciously slid over the knife in response. He was angry. Angry with his fucked up family and even more angry because he feared he'd become them.
"No! I'm nothing like them!" He declared.
Nothing's alright, nothing is fine
I'm running and I'm crying
Alex awoke to some sort of muffled sound. As she sat up to listen, she swore it was coming from Bobby's room. After hearing some sort of noise again, she sprang upright and quickly walked towards his bedroom. Slowly, Alex opened his door; mentally preparing herself for whatever she was about to find on the other side. When she opened his door, she looked towards his bed but saw nothing. Then her head turned towards a glimmer of light that was coming from the bathroom. She froze momentarily as she took in the sight of Bobby. All she could see was the tip of his feet sticking out of the doorframe but it scared her.
Oh god, no. She silently prayed and then ran towards him.
Turning around the corner, she saw his full form just then and what she had found, made her uncontrollably gasped. Bobby lied there, still on the floor. His stomach was exposed to her now and she couldn't help but look at his revealing flesh for a moment. She had never seen Bobby without a shirt on, but she knew this was definitely not the time to have those thoughts.
Bobby was partially drenched in alcohol; his pants and shirt both victims in this incident. Alex could smell the alcohol that lingered in the room. It was strong and overwhelming. The floor was covered in it as well and Bobby's face was coated with pain and tears. When she walked in a bit further, he held the bottle in mid-air above his open wound. His hand was clenching over the knife and there was a pool of diluted blood and alcohol mix liquid that ran from his chest, off his side and onto the floor.
I'm crying, I'm crying
I'm crying, I'm crying
"Jesus Christ, Bobby! What the fuck are you doing?" She yelped and sprang towards him. She bent down and grabbed the bottle of alcohol from him, not caring about the blood, and tossed it in the sink. She was still unaware of the knife that his large hand still covered.
I ... can't ... go ... on ... living ... this ... way
Bobby didn't answer her at first. He just lay there in a haze. A painful haze. He had successfully torn out his stitches. No shit…ya think? Even over the alcohol, he could smell his own blood; he could see it. He was carefree though. He was acting as if he were drunk even though he was anything but. He was numb though, his whole body frozen in place.
Cut my life into pieces, this is my last resort
Suffocation, no breathing
Don't give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding
"Bobby! Answer me, Goddammit!" Sheer panic was the only tone that existed in her words.
"Eam—" He managed to choke out with his eyes closed. He hadn't noticed her in front of him until she had spoken. "I—I…" He struggled, caught off guard by her as he shifted his head from side to side; looking to his left and then his right, avoiding eye-contact at all costs.
Don't you dare try and avoid eye-contact with me, Goren!
"What the hell were you thinking?" She muttered, looking over his wound. "Are you drunk?" She spat out, though she figured he wasn't.
"Pain." He said. That's what he was feeling. "Not…not drunk. I didn't drink any…didn't" He rambled.
She believed him.
"Bobby, you need to go back to the hospital." She muttered. This time it was Alex who was unable to make eye-contact with him. "You need to be stitched up again and…and I can't watch you, Bobby." She said regretfully admitted. She felt like she was giving up on him but what could she do? She didn't realize that he was this far gone.
Maybe I can't help him…maybe it isn't me he needs.
"No!" He screamed loud enough so that the neighboring apartments could easily hear. He tried to sit up, only succeeding half way, but when he did this, lunged forward in a panic state, he pulled the knife up that was in his hand and waved it around in front of him a few times.
Alex jumped a mile high and retreated away from him when she saw that he had a knife. It was an automatic reflex that she knew she'd regret for the rest of her life.
Where the fuck did that come from?
"Please, Eames. Don't…don't make me go back. I've been in…in enough hospi—" And then his speech came to a complete halt when he noticed she was trembling and tears started to fall down her face.
He looked down in the direction her eyes were fixed at and terror washed over him. It dawned on him what he had done and he shook in response.
"Oh god, n…no…" He softly spoke as the horror of what he had done arose in him.
He let the object slip out of his hand where it landed on his lap.
At first glance, in Alex's eyes, it looked like he had pulled a knife on her, but when she saw his reaction, when he realized what he had done; he immediately stopped and dropped the knife.
Oh god.
Alex felt guilty. She knew in her heart that he wouldn't hurt her, but now the image had been planted and she knew that Bobby had seen the fear that plagued her eyes.
"Bobby?" She cautiously stepped towards him once more.
"I...I'm so…so sorry, E—Eames. I won't…I didn't, I—" His words faltered him and he began to feel light headed and tired. He slumped fully back onto the floor, leaving the knife were it lie on his lap. He closed his eyes tightly as he wished that he were anywhere but here.
Would it be wrong? Would it be right?
If I took my life tonight? Chances are that I might
Mutilation out of sight, and I'm contemplating suicide
Bobby hated hospitals, though, Alex never knew this. It was the reason he began to panic and the reason why his breathing was now labored. After spending so much time in them as a child and taking care of his mom all his life, he feared them. He shook every time he had to walk into one, even it if was for someone else.
"Bobby? Bobby, its ok…"
But this time, he didn't scream "no," Bobby didn't answer, he didn't flinch, he didn't even bother to open his eyes.
"Bobby?"
With his eyes tightly closed, he shook his head slightly before speaking. "I…I would never...I won't…" He cried and bit his lip to suppress some of the tears. "I would never hurt you…" He finally got out.
"I know, Bobby. It just scared me…It…it caught me off guard. I didn't see the knife until you sat up." She choked out. She knew he would never hurt her. She trusted him with her life. "Bobby, look at me."
But this time, he didn't. He found himself to be grasping the floor in an attempt to scoot himself back away from her further but his head hit the bathtub and he halted in place.
"Eames, just go…leave before I…I scare you or…or threaten you…again."
Alex was pissed.
"Bobby, you fucking look at me right now! You owe me that, Goren!" She tried a new approach.
He only looked at her when he felt her hand on his lap momentarily, picking up the bloody knife. Alex examined it quickly and then closed it and tossed it in the sink to join the bottle of Glenlivet.
"Bobby, I AM calling an ambulance. It's the best thing for you."
And this pulled him out of his moping attitude because he turned and looked at her. Straight in the eyes.
"Please, no. Don't."
"Yes, Bobby." She began as she pulled out her cell phone. "I can't…I can't fix this."
"I never…never asked you to try and…and fix me. I can't…Don't attempt the impossible." He swallowed hard.
"Bobby, you know that's not what I meant. This…I can't sew you back up. Bobby, what the hell were you thinking!?"
"J—Just leave it. Doesn't matter. I…I don't care if it hurts…but please…please don't make me go back." He rambled. "You don't have to stay here with me. You don't need to take care of me…just please don't call—" He choked and then began to cough.
Cause I'm losing my sight, losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine
Losing my sight, losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine
Alex immediately dropped her phone and went behind him to hold up his upper body. She held his head as she looked over him. Alex had never seen him like this. She had never cradled his head, or felt so close to her partner as she did at this moment in time; though she fear that Bobby was miles away.
He shook as he got his coughing under control. Alex wasn't sure if it was from lying on the cold, wet ground or from fear alone. She no longer felt angry. She felt fear, but not fear of him, but for him.
Nothing's alright, nothing is fine
I'm running and I'm crying
"Bobby, your stitches are gone…you need to get sewed back up." She paused and looked over him. "And you can't even get up and I can't carry you. I need to call for an ambulance."
"I…I can get up." He said and he started to make an effort before Alex held onto him, stopping him in the process.
"Not yet, Bobby." She sighed. "I need to try and clean you up first, ok? " He only nodded and then closed his eyes once more as he heavily sighed and laid back on the ground.
She seriously was going to call an ambulance, she still wants to in all honestly but there was one thing that stopped her from doing so. She wasn't sure exactly what it meant but she would find out later. She had to. It was the look in Bobby's eyes. He was begging her not to call. There was more to it than him just not wanting to go and she knew it. She could see through his façade at times, but she wasn't sure why. He feared it though and she was sure of it.
"Do…Does that mean that…that I…you're not going to call…" He drifted off.
"No, Bobby, but you are going to a hospital. You have to go…but I'll drive you. It doesn't look too bad but it might become infected if you don't get it taken care of."
Bobby shivered in response but didn't argue with her.
At least I'm not going in an ambulance…Eames will be with me…right?
Bobby never meant to take it this far; or at least that's what he kept telling himself. He only wanted to make himself feel pain. Feel something. He never intended to pour more than a few ounces of alcohol on himself. Even more so, he didn't intend on having, Alex find him laying here; covered in blood and alcohol.
I ... CAN'T ... GO ... ON ... LIVING ... THIS ... WAY!
More voices had arisen in him.
I told you you couldn't do anything right, you fuck up. He only closed his eyes tighter as he swore that he could hear his father inside of his head somewhere.
Can't go on ... living this way
Nothing's alright!
A/N: God, so this took more work than the whole damn story so far! This was killer to write but I had this scene planned from the beginning, so I didn't want to take it out. I did change a lot of it though…I didn't make it as dark as I had first planned and mentioned in the authors note. A LOT was cropped from this (smiles).
So…in all, what do ya think? Still out there?
-Snyder-