Happy Tuesday! Continuing on with the same format. Hope everyone enjoys!
Thursday
Bo walked outside of the house, trying to get her breathing back under control. She and Kenzi had just fought, and she felt the need to physically hurt something.
Healthy, a voice in her mind replied, the tone sounding disturbingly like Lauren.
She thought about running again, and her legs ached in response. Still, going back inside didn't feel like a feasible choice at that moment, and she couldn't just stand here staring at her neighbors. With no car and no options, she released a sigh of resignation and started to walk.
The day was bright and cool, and Bo quickly regretted leaving her sweatshirt behind as a breeze rapidly chilled the sweat on her skin. She shivered slightly and realized that she might need to run, if for no other reason than to get warm. With a groan from her muscles, she began a slight jog, hoping that would be enough, silently cursing herself for not being in better shape.
Bo turned and headed down through a neighborhood that was more unfamiliar to her. Between her and Lauren's work schedules, she didn't take much time to just wander around. Keeping a slow pace, she took in the houses, the trim lawns, the flowerbeds, and doghouses. The area was neat but he houses were small. The streets seemed quiet, though most people were probably working, and she kept her leisurely pace, noting that the light jog was doing its job as she warmed slightly.
She turned a corner and caught sight of a woman further up the road, moving in her direction. Bo ignored her at first, but as she got closer, Bo felt herself go cold. The woman glanced up and Bo was startled to find herself looking into the face of her mother.
It can't be, some logical part of Bo's mind barked. And yet, here she was, dressed in yoga pants and tight aqua blue zip up jacket, walking down the street. Bo's heartrate sped up.
Why would she be here? There was no logical reason for it. Unless she's looking for your house the insidious voice in her head whispered back. Unless she's coming to find you. Goosebumps rose on the back of Bo's neck and her mind began to race. Had she ever told her mother her address? She knew at least roughly where she worked, could she have called the office and found out? Bo touched her hand to her side as she remembered she didn't have her cell phone with her.
How had she found her? Does it matter? the voice hissed. She's found you now. She's here.
Dizziness swept over Bo and she slowed further, coming to a stop on the sidewalk, her eyes fixed on the woman. Bo's mother looked over at her and quirked an eyebrow, her hand raising slightly as if to wave.
The nausea came at Bo like an eighteen-wheeler skidding on ice. She felt the bile lurch in the back of her throat but before it could be expelled it halted, and suddenly Bo could not breathe. Fear gripped her as she struggled to get air into her lungs. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and with shaking fingers to tried to brush it away, tried to power air into herself, tried to stay upright as she felt her knees weakening.
She wasn't sure if she was trying to vomit or not, all she knew was that stars were exploding in her brain, the world was fading darker, and there was no air.
Her dizziness caused her to feel like she was going to stagger, to fall over, but all she could think about was air, dammit, just get air in before she died of asphyxiation. She was becoming a black hole…it was happening…her mother was here, she would get to Lauren now, and Bo was collapsing inward like a dying star.
You're dying, you're dying you're dying! It's over. Nothing now but to be found…red and blue, red and blue, red and blue…red red blood when you hit the ground, blue face, no air…just a bump when you fall…just a bump just getting a few things together…red and blue, red and blue, no more time for you…
"Miss, are you okay? Miss?"
Bo was leaned over, with her hands on her knees. Her mind was screaming, the tiny wisps of air that were sneaking into her lungs feeling like jagged glass cutting their way down. She still felt the need to vomit, insistent and pressing, as she forced air past the acid and bile. SURVIVE her mind screamed, and she swore for a moment the voice was Lauren again. Survive, dammit, don't land at your mother's feet.
Another agonizing second. Another barbed wire breath. Another moment alive.
Again, one more second, fire against fire as burning air cut its way past acid.
A third breath, and a lurch as she heaved to the side and threw up in the street.
A sudden burst of air firing into her and her mind felt flooded, overwhelmed, and the somehow the light of the sun intensified like a lightning strike, the world suddenly too bright, a flash bulb from a camera. Her body was shaking as she forced herself to look up. She saw that her mother…but no…it was the woman she had seen, but it wasn't her mother at all, just a woman…had begun walking towards her, stopping in the middle of the street when Bo had vomited.
She continued to advance towards Bo slowly, obviously wary. "Do you need an ambulance? Are you okay?"
Shakily, Bo drew in a lungful of air, fireworks exploding behind her eyes. The air was still sharp, but manageable now. She shook her head.
"No…no, I'm…I just…need a minute…" she gritted out, holding up her hand. Her heart was pounding erratically, her senses screaming, her animal instincts still wild with the fight to stay alive but beginning to recede.
Slowly, painfully slowly, she pulled in one deep breath, and then two, and then three. The pain was ebbing away more each time, and the colors of the world began to recalibrate. She let herself drop her knees, seating herself on the ground, her hands on her thighs. She felt herself calming back down, the terror of the moment passing but the memory of it still burning bright in her mind.
The woman, who Bo now realized bore only a passing resemblance at best to her mother, looked at her with concerned eyes. "Are you okay? Sorry, I saw you and thought you were someone I knew so I started to wave but then you just…are you alright?"
Bo gave a tight-lipped smile. "Yeah, yeah, sorry, I'm fine. I just got a little winded, that's all."
The woman looked at her skeptically. "Are you sure? Because you seemed –"
"Thank you," Bo cut her off. "Really, I'm okay."
The woman surveyed her for another moment before nodding. "Okay. Hope you feel better."
Bo nodded, sucking in another burning breath. After a moment she gathered herself enough to stand. The woman looked torn between staying and walking away, so Bo gave another quick nod and walked on, quietly trying to keep her breathing measured.
Get yourself together. She felt a tear roll down her cheek as she turned the next corner, hazarding a glance over her shoulder to make sure her not-mother wasn't following behind her. You're a goddamn mess.
She smoothed her hand over her hair, feeling the flyaway strands under her fingers, and as she pulled her hand back she saw it shaking.
She shook her hands out at the wrists and flexed her fingers. This is ridiculous. Get your head right, Dennis. She felt irritation with her own weakness, her inability to just get over it and focus on what needed to be done. When had she become this person? She didn't fall apart just because things got difficult. She wouldn't fall apart.
Fuck it all Bo thought. Fuck the guy who had started all this. Fuck her mother for being so weak. Fuck the world for being this much of a fucking disaster, full of weak cowards who just did what was easy and expedient. Fuck. It. All.
Action, she thought. That was what was needed now. Not more talking, not more wallowing, not more commiserating. Action. Bo didn't even feel the protest of her legs as she accelerated her steps and began to run.
Friday
A ticking clock, striking midnight and a gong ringing out, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four peals…two children, one in red, one in blue…ring around the rosy, rosy, rosy, rosy around the ring…red and blue, blue and green, green, green, and money raining from the sky, dollar bills fluttering down…dollar bills, dollar bills, pennies falling…you love your money so goddamn much…it isn't safe out here, the money is falling, it will hit us…ring around the rosy, pocket full of money, run before he comes, he's coming, he's coming, she's coming…she's here, she's red and green, she's green and blue, she's blue and red…twenty-four is the most dangerous, do you know that? Here she comes, she's coming! She's COMING! SHE'S HERE!
At 3:30, Bo's eyes shot open, her heart racing in reaction to a dream she already couldn't remember. She felt the panic tensing her muscles, even as it faded with her mind's waking.
With a sigh, she ran her hand down her face and looked at the clock, knowing there was no chance she would be falling back asleep.
She glanced over at Lauren who was still sleeping soundly beside her, her tee shirt rumpled and twisted, her leg kicked out and on top of the blankets. Bo felt a surge of affection for her softened features, her unguardedness in her sleep. After looking at her for a long moment, Bo quietly pulled herself from bed and went to change her clothes.
She tiptoed to the living room and pulled on her sneakers before easing out the door. As she exited she had a moment where she remembered that her cell phone was still inside, but she decided not to risk waking Lauren by going back for it. She took a moment to do a few perfunctory stretches and then set off to run.
She didn't remember making a conscious decision to go back the neighborhood where she thought she had seen her mother, but she went there naturally, her eyes scanning everything as she jogged down the quiet street. There were no cars, no people, nothing happening. Because it's the middle of the night her mind niggled at her, but she pushed it back, continuing her vigilant scan.
The neighborhood seemed to be constructed of six streets, lined with small houses and lawns. There were a few streetlights scattered about, about a third of which were burned out, but the area still seemed well kept up and safe.
After she completed one loop, she turned and did it again. And a third time. Okay, if any of these people have security cameras, they're going to think you're casing the neighborhood Bo thought to herself.
After the completion of the third loop, she stopped near a tree, dropping her hands to her knees as she caught her breath. She was winded, but it was manageable; she hadn't been running very fast, spending more time searching for her mother. She felt an insistent need for water. Way to plan this out she thought, bitterly. Ignoring her thirst, she surveyed the quiet street. Okay, nothing here. All quiet. All safe. No heroin addicts in sight. Time to go home.
She did a quick series of stretches before turning and starting her fourth loop.
After her fourth circuit, Bo turned and headed back home. She walked quietly inside, unsure of the time. Before she could kick off her sneakers, she heard Zeus stirring. She walked over to the hook and retrieved his leash. He looked at her with tired eyes, but dutifully followed her outside for an early morning run, loop number five.
The day wore on. Despite her attempts at being productive and busy, Bo found herself thinking of her mother off and on throughout the day. She didn't want to, she knew there was nothing she could really do – what her mother needed was professional help, and she wasn't willing at accept it, at least not yet. But still…she couldn't shake her thoughts of her.
She's not the only one who needs professional help.
Why was it so hard to ignore your own thoughts?
By evening, Bo was in the back office. She could hear the sounds of the bar in full swing, not an overly busy night, but not a slow one, either. Although she couldn't quite admit it, even to herself, Bo felt…drained. She couldn't face the din right now, couldn't deal with the worried faces of her friends, or the hollow look in Ciara's eyes. She couldn't perform, at least not for a few more minutes.
What she wanted to do was pretend. She wanted to pretend that this case hadn't gotten to her. She wanted to pretend she could put her professional face back on and just deal with it, because was what she was supposed to do. There had been bad cases before; there would be bad cases again. Why this one? Why was she so thrown?
The first twenty-four hours are the most dangerous. Did you tell her that?
The truth was Bo couldn't remember. The more she thought about it the more she could convince herself both that she had and she hadn't. She just couldn't remember.
This case wasn't her fault. She understood that, logically, professionally. That didn't change the sting. That didn't change that awful feeling that always came with mental Monday morning quarterbacking. Had she done enough? Did she give her the right advice? If she hadn't told her to file for the protective order, would she be alive right now? If she had given her information for a shelter, would she have gone? Would Peters be alive if she had? Would the woman's children have a mother?
A mother.
Her mother wasn't going to get well. How many times had they been down this road? How many times had Bo had this exact pep talk with herself, forcing herself to accept that? And yet here she was, again, as if nothing had ever changed.
How many times had she given her money?
Her mother wasn't going to heal. She wasn't going to become who she could be. She wasn't going to rise above, find it within herself to make the change, pull herself up by her bootstraps, none of that shit.
And yet. And yet.
With a heavy sigh, Bo picked up her phone and typed out a message to her mother.
I hope you aren't lying about making changes. I'm still willing to help you find rehab or domestic violence resources if you are willing to go.
She stared at the message for a few moments. It wouldn't accomplish anything. Ultimately, it wouldn't matter if she sent it or not.
Her mind drifted back to the crime scene from Tuesday. She heard the DVD menu music playing. She saw the dishes in the sink, left from dinner, unwashed. She saw the basket of laundry that had been left folded in corner of the bedroom. She smelled the iron of blood mixing with early morning dew, creating a sickly cocktail of fetid hate. She felt the smooth sheen of the crime scene tape under her fingertips, slick and cool. She saw the arc of blood on the wall, extending to the ceiling, the long drips extending like demon fingers towards the floor. She saw the boy's bedframe, bent and splintered from the force of the attack. She heard the chaos of voices, cameras taking photos, people outside asking what was happening. She heard the agonized scream of the victim's mother as she arrived and was told to go to the hospital.
She lifted her phone and pressed send.
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