A/N: Thank you so much to all who have clicked follow, favorite and review. Your support is extremely encouraging and warms my heart.
Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or any of its characters, nor do I claim ownership over any of it.
My Anchor
"I realize there's something incredibly honest,
About trees in the winter;
How they're experts at letting thing go."
-Jeffrey McDaniel
The second hand ticks past the twelve again, signaling that another hour has passed. It feels like days. She's been staring at the clock since she forced herself to get in the bed. That was four hours ago and sleep seems to be the last thing her body wants to do. It's not the same, sleeping without him next to her. She misses the warmth of Castle's body next to her, against her. The bed feels cold and lonely without him, but more than that, it just feels empty.
She sighs loudly as she rolls over, trying to ignore the sound of the ticking clock. The more she tries to shut the sound out of her mind the louder it seems to get, and suddenly, she can't stand it anymore. She throws the covers back and gets out of the bed, grabbing her robe as she swiftly exits the bedroom. She doesn't hesitate, heading straight for the cabinet in her kitchen that contains what she wants. She packed up most of her kitchen earlier in the day, but she left the last cabinet for tomorrow.
Wrenching the door open, she reaches for the bottle of scotch. It's unopened and it's been there since the last time Lanie came over for a girl's night. She breaks the seal as she heads for the couch, foregoing a glass and dropping onto the cushions in a completely un-graceful manner. The first swallow burns in all the ways she wants it to and the second is exactly what she needs.
She hasn't had scotch since one night right after she returned to work, when she was struggling with PTSD, and the reminder of what happened flashes through her mind. The broken glass and the blood running down her arm are vivid images, the burn of the alcohol not nearly enough to overcome them. She shakes her head, trying to clear the memories, bringing the bottle to her mouth for another drink. As the rich, amber liquid slides down her throat, another image surfaces, one that's too hard to ignore. She can't do this. She won't drink herself to misery while trying to ignore the pain she's feeling. She spots the pad of paper on her coffee table, knowing instantly what words are going to pour out of her tonight.
She puts the lid on the scotch, and shoves it aside, then she curls up on the floor in front of the coffee table. In a few hours Castle will be reading the words of her heart, her first letter, the story of someone she had to let go of. But Johanna Beckett isn't the only person Kate's had no choice but to let go of. And although this person is still very much alive, she lost a big part of who he was to her fifteen years ago.
Castle,
I'm writing this second letter to you even though I don't know if you'll read the first one I sent. If I were to weigh the chances of you actually reading it, my guess would be that I'll find it back in my mail box in the morning. I'm hoping that the part of you that always wants the story will overlook the fact that I've screwed everything up. More importantly, I'm hoping that you're willing to read my words even if our relationship is beyond repair.
If I'm going to continue being completely honest with you, I need you to know that these weeks without you have been some of the worst of my life. I miss the way you filled every part of my day, in some way or another. Your scent still lingers on the pillow on my bed and I can't bring myself to change the sheets. I don't want that scent to become a memory; I want it to be a reality that I get to experience for the rest of my life.
I tried to sleep tonight, but I ended up on the couch drinking a bottle of scotch that Lanie left here one night. The seal on it wasn't even broken. I managed to get all of three swallows in my system—yeah I know what you're thinking, but I didn't see any use for a glass. I'm not that person; I won't be that person. I'm not going to sit here and drink my sorrows away because that's a miserable life. It's a life that I've witnessed before and I refuse to let myself ever go down that road. If losing you is the consequence for the choices I've made, then I'm going to live with them soberly.
Yesterday, I wrote to you about losing my mom, but she's not the only person I've had to let go of. The burn of the alcohol on my tongue tonight reminded me of the second—my dad. I know you're probably wondering what I mean by that because yes, my dad is still alive, but he's not the same person that he used to be. I told you once that I wear his watch because it's a reminder of the life that I saved. It's another choice that I was forced to make. It was either save him from the bottle or lose him to it.
For months after my mom's murder I watched him drink his sorrows away, but it was more than that. The drinking didn't just drown out the pain; it flooded his entire being, drowning the man that he was. As ridiculous as it might sound, it was like losing both of my parents at the same time. Instead of having my dad to lean on, I had to let him lean on me.
My point is, I lost my dad during those months, or rather, I lost the person he was to me before my mom was killed. I got him the help he needed and he's still alive, but Castle, it'll never be the same. And I'm not saying it should be exactly the way it was before, because no one can ever go back to the way they were before losing someone that important in their life, but at some point during those months, I had to pry my grip open and let go of my dad. I had to let go of him because he wasn't a dad anymore, he was just a shell of a man who had lost his wife.
Eventually we got close again, but for several months I couldn't even stand to look at him. All I could see was the man he'd turned into, while my heart longed for the man he once was. I think a big part of me will always wonder why I wasn't enough for him to hold on to after she died. I think that's one of the reasons it's been so hard for me to let people get close to me—it's easier to guard my heart from the pain of not being enough. It's different with you though, Castle—you've always made me feel like I'm enough.
Having to let go of my dad and then re-learn to love the man that he is now, it changed me. Sometimes I still catch myself longing for that man that he used to be. In fact, there's a picture of him in a box here. It's crumpled and worn at the edges, and those marks aren't just from aging, they're from a time when I would hold on to that picture as if it would bring him back. Another shard of proof of how hard I hold on to the things I love. During that time, he became my anchor, the one thing that kept me from spiraling out of control. So I guess in a way something good came from it, losing my dad, and finding him again—it's the anchor that's held me down for so long.
You're the only person who's ever made me feel like I actually found someone that I could hold on to forever. As much as I know that I made the wrong choice in not telling you about the interview, I can't help but wonder if my head was trying to tell my heart something. My heart wants you, Castle, it always has, but my head carries that doubt around. My doubts about our future were wrong. I should have just talked to you about it, because that's something that—even when I was afraid to—I've always been able to do.
If you've read this all the way through, then it must mean you read my first letter as well. I've meant every word I've written to you. And I'm going to continue sending you my words, until my heart— every part that I've never given you—is on paper and in your hands. It's yours, it's always been yours and no one else will ever have all of it, but you.
I won't drink you out of my mind. I won't drown in my mistakes, because the truth is, Castle, I couldn't even if I tried.
-Always, Kate.
She swipes at the tears as they slide down her cheek, missing one and watching as it splashes onto the letter. The salty water smudges the tip of the 'K' in her name and she curses, trying to pat it dry. She stares at the smudge for a moment. It brings the realness of her emotions to life and she hopes that he can see it as well as feel it when he reads the letter. She folds it and seals it into an envelope before any more can fall.
She pulls herself up from the floor, leaving her letter on the table as she searches for her phone. She finds it on the nightstand by her bed and groans when the time reads six am. She might as well go down and drop the letter in the mail now; obviously sleep isn't an option her body wants, even though it's what she needs.
She comes back in her door and searches for something to eat, pulling out yet another Styrofoam container and scraping some of its contents onto a plate before popping it into the microwave. When the beep sounds to let her know the food is heated, she grabs her plate and pads over to the couch. As she's sinking down onto the cushion she spots the bottle of scotch. She sets her plate down, grabs the bottle and returns to the kitchen. Without a second thought, she unscrews the lid and pours the contents of the bottle down the drain.
It's strangely symbolic, the way the amber liquid swirls around the sink before disappearing down the drain, never to be recovered. It reminds her of her heart, words carefully scribbled onto the letters she's written for him. If he no longer wants the words of her heart, she'll let them fade away, let time slowly erase them until no one can ever recover them. No one—but him.
Bri, thank you for your support, friendship and beta. Without you this would still be unfinished on my computer. Xoxo
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