Disclaimer: I don't own.
A/N: Sooo here's the next chapter. It looks like there are going to be 32 chapters in part 2, which means we have twelve to go until the iconic "I don't even have to turn around..."
In the mean time, I would like to ask some questions and opinions of you, my lovely readers, if you would be so kind.
First of all, does anyone know how much older Sara's brother is than her? I know he's old enough to have had marijuana under his bed when she was little enough to be playing hide and seek... but that leaves a wide range, and I was wondering if it's mentioned in another episode more specifically, or if that's all we know...
Secondly, as I'm getting closer to the actual episodes of CSI, I'm having a hard time deciding how to write part 3, where it will entertwine with actual episodes. I was initially thinking I'd go back to two perspectives per chapter, but then every time the two of them spoke, I'd be relaying the same event twice. It could be very interesting to have both perspectives on each of those moments, but at the same time, it could just get extremely repetative.
I also considered doing what I'm doing now--each chapter changes perspective, and have some events just portrayed from one side rather than the other. But I feel like a lot might be lost, in this way...
Please tell me what you think! I would appreciate it, especially if you have a reason to do one or not do one that I haven't thought of! Thanks!
Chapter 20: Pain
It hurt so much more to lose someone when they left you. …I had ended things with Tyler in righteous indignation, with Michael in a distressed and guilty attempt at self-preservation… with Gil in a hurried, fearful, overwhelming devotion to so-called principle.
But when Gil ended our relationship—when I had no control and no anger and no one but myself to blame… well, the pain of self-loathing certainly wasn't new to me, but it had been absent for a long time. It was sharper, fresher, more insistent—not the dull aching kind of pain, but the stinging, salt-in-the-wound, thin and high-pitched kind of pain.
It was a pain that was harder to work through, harder to forget in a book, harder to pretend away…
Gil must truly have changed me, because I did several things, in the aftermath of losing him, that I never would have done before.
First of all, I called him. He had promised that he would call me when he landed, and he didn't. I waited hours, I didn't sleep, knowing that he worked the graveyard shift and that he would probably still be up… And when an entire night and day had passed and I hadn't eaten or slept, carrying both phones with me to the bathroom when I absolutely could not wait any longer to go…. I decided that I would call him.
I would make him understand how meaningless it was—how it had only been because I loved him so much… and how I had closed my eyes and pretended that it was him, and had even made the mistake of screaming his name… I would make sure he knew how sorry I was, and how completely I regretted my actions—how much and how deeply I loved him.
…I was even prepared to disclose some secrets, to prove that love. I would tell him about the drinking… about Jeremy… about my mother. I would tell him about Ken Fuller, and the foster dad who bit me, and Ryan… the only thing I would keep to myself would be the day my father died. Everything else, he could know… as long as he would have me, and forgive me, and love me.
God, I was desperate for love. For his love.
I called, and it rang several times, and sent me to his answering machine. The first ten times I didn't leave a message, and then I did… I left many. I even broke down and called his lab.
"Las Vegas Crime Lab, this is Judy, Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Dr. Gil Grissom?"
"Oh, yep, he's just stepped into his office. And who may I say is calling?"
I hesitate, briefly—but realize that lying will only result in more anger on his part. "…Sara. Sara Sidle."
"Okay, I'll transfer you."
I imagined in my head how much time such a thing would take—she might page him, tell him he had a call on this line or that one… if he was speaking to someone it might take a moment before he responded… I waited, tapping my foot. And then she would tell him who was calling for him—Sara. Sara Sidle.
…I drew in a deep breath. Unless the person in his office was long-winded, he should know I was calling by now… I had butterflies, but not the good kind—the swooping, twisting, agitating kind of butterflies… and just as I was thinking maybe she hadn't transferred me and I should hang up and try again—the dial tone came.
He'd hung up on me, without answering.
I sat in front of the computer whenever I was home, hoping he would sign online… that even if a telephone conversation was too difficult, he might resort back to this means of communication.
No luck.
Finally, one day, I picked up the phone and called his cell, for what felt like the millionth time, in sheer agony and desperation—not even expecting him to answer anymore. And so, it took me off-guard when he did.
"Grissom." His voice is heavy with agitation, and I sit up straight in alarm, having not even prepared what I wanted to say—I hadn't for the life of me thought he would pick up.
"…Gil."
When I can't find words beyond that, he sighs. "Sara, let me just make this easy, for both of us… I, uh… I forgive you, okay… we can still be friends… so please stop calling."
Although I've nearly run completely out of tears, somehow more surface, unbidden but not unexpected. They fall freely. "F-Friends…? Gil, no, I… I can't be your friend, I… I love you. I'm so sorry, I just… please, let me explain. I'll explain…everything."
He clears his throat. "You don't need to explain. I understand, and I forgive you, Sara. I'm not mad. But I… I keep seeing it, in my mind, Sara, over and over again…" He swallows hard. "…And if I want it to go away… I can't. …Just… please don't call anymore."
"Gil…"
"I, uh… I need to get to work, Sara."
"It's only seven o'clock. You have hours."
"I… I got… called in early. Don't… don't call again, please."
And though this kills me, his voice is so desperate… so unerringly mournful as it breaks over the word 'please' before the rough disconnection and resulting silence, I don't have the heart to keep trying.
Another thing that isn't like me—another thing I would never do: I gave up.
I also called for help—something I had done before, but it was rare… reserved for only the greatest of heartaches. I called Kelly, and she flew in that night, little Joey in tow.
Seeing the little booger helped and hurt—I loved him, and he gave me something to focus on… feeding and changing and rocking and playing and burping and bathing… it was exhausting. Between caring for him and late-night talks with Kelly, I was finally able to sleep again.
"…Caring for an infant shouldn't increase the amount of sleep you get, Sar'." She scolds me playfully. We're curled up in my bed in pajamas, a pack-and-play in the corner, with soft snores drifting from it. I make a face at her.
"Yeah, well, maybe sleep is overrated."
She rolls her eyes, but then they soften… focusing back on me with more attention. "…You never cried like this with Michael." I shake my head, looking away, a fresh wave of guilt for that rising in me to add to the pain. Tears prick the back of my eyes again, and I blink them back furiously. I've already spent hours upon hours crying over him.
"…Sara, honey… if he means that much to you… I mean, if he's… the one… maybe we just have to do something about this."
My eyes snap to her face. What could I do about it? He didn't want me anymore.
"Maybe you should call him again… try explaining. Or… write him an email, explaining… that way you can say everything you want to, the way you want to… without getting emotional or interrupted. I mean… if he's it, you know… the love of your life… you don't just walk away from that. You fight for it."
But I don't have any fight left in me, and I don't believe for a minute that he wants me to fight to keep him anyway. He probably doesn't ever want to see me again… my strength fails me, my resolve wavers, and the careful mask falters and breaks—again. And then I'm sobbing against her again, her arms wrapped around me, and I can't even describe to her how much I hate myself for losing him.
Everyone who had truly wanted me in my lifetime, I had pushed away, because I was afraid to trust... Jim and Marlene, who'd wanted me to visit on the weekends and who'd only gotten a few visits a year… Michael, Gil… I was just damn lucky that Kelly didn't push to know everything, or I was certain that I would have pushed her away too. And, in truth… I hadn't let her in any more than Jim and Marlene.
I lift my eyes to look at her—the only person I still have who wants me, in any capacity… and I feel a desperate sob rake through my body, leaving me weak. "Kelly… I love you, so much. I'm sorry I didn't tell you everything… please don't leave me too."
She looks startled, and surprised, and hugs me and reassures me all the same, trying to calm me down… but I can't shake the feeling that I either have to come clean or lose her too… and the idea of voicing everything I skated over—lied about—for years… the idea of voicing all the horrors I had buried in hopes of never finding again… it's overwhelming. An impossible proposition.
And so I simply sob harder, clutching at her like she's my only lifeline in a tossing sea.
I don't remember the sobbing ending, nor do I remember falling asleep. I remember hearing her get up with Joey, the next morning… and I remember lying in bed, wondering how much I was willing to lose for my cowardice—how many people would slip away because I would rather hide from my past than face it.
I didn't make my confession to Kelly… but I determined that I needed to make a change of some kind. I needed to deal with my demons, or they'd haunt me forever...
