Homecomings
Some people will offer you their hand and some won't
Last night I knew you, tonight I don't
I need something strong to distract my mind
I'm gonna look at you till my eyes go blind
~Sheryl Crow "Mississippi"
I remember everything about that day, the harshness of the lighting and the cheap thrills of doing something horribly inappropriate. Not only did I run up one side of Catherine but I ran down the other, finally letting out all the issues in my head. Pointing out that she practically threw herself at every attractive guy who came through the lab -- but never looked twice at me even though she was fucking my brains out at least three times a week. She knew how to get from all of us exactly what she wanted. I wondered why she ever stopped stripping.
We were at work, so I couldn't go into much detail about our sexual interludes. I suppose it was good that Ecklie broke things up when he did, because with the mood I'd been in things might have gotten personal faster than I knew how to handle.
As it was, I shot off my mouth at Ecklie, too. That could've, hell should've, been a career-ending move -- despite the fact that both he and I knew every word I spoke was true. But Grissom came through for me in a time when I thought he'd be the first to abandon. With everything in my being, I wanted it to be Catherine when I opened my door, I wanted it to be Catherine whose face contorted with compassion, I wanted it to be Catherine who comforted me and held my hand when I told my sordid life story for the first time in as long as I can remember.
It wasn't.
What does it say about me that I wanted it to be? What does it say about me that I lingered with baited breath for her to ring my doorbell, even if it meant just another quick fuck?
With my history, I guess it wasn't surprising that I actually wanted emotional intimacy with someone who used me as often as she pleased. Psychologists love to tell me how I've fallen into patterns, how I keep loving people who will never love me back, how I keep begging people like that to hurt me.
She rang the doorbell. I let her in, the whole time thinking that maybe those psychologists had been right all along.
I'd heard the phrase punishment sex, but I'd never really understood what that meant. What it really was. She came at me, eyes flashing with anger and something else, something I couldn't quite pin down. In an amazing show of strength, my clothes were ripped off with almost brutal force and I was shoved onto the bed. This wasn't sex, this was possession in its purest form, domination of the kind that Lady Heather merely added props for. The whole time her hands, her mouth, her teeth were on me I was riding the thin, blurry line between pain and pleasure. I don't know what turned me on more, the fact that I could send her into that kind of frenzy or that it was dangerous and taboo.
At some point, between opening the door and one of the most powerful orgasms I've ever known, I started crying. I didn't know it and Catherine didn't notice it. Afterwards, I was surprised when my hands came away from my face wet. Seeing evidence of my tears must have finally let everything come out, because I curled up on the bed and sobbed silently. She had been sitting on the edge of the bed -- not quite looking at me but keeping me in her peripheral vision -- her shoulders radiating tension and unease.
I got up and planted myself in front of her, trying to make her see me. Really notice me. Her eyes wouldn't meet mine, instead focusing on arms crossed severely over her breasts. Almost like she were trying to hide from the truth of what she'd just done. I wondered if she always did that kind of hiding after escaping my apartment post-coitus.
I forced her chin up with my hands softly, gently, lovingly. She looked so lost and confused and hurt that I almost broke down again. Instead, with tears still running freely, I kissed her softly. Gently. Lovingly.
I made love to her, my tears mixing with our sweat. Afterwards I held her for the first time, knowing that I could never let her go.
I was so deep in my thoughts that I almost missed it, the first moment I ever truly had an insight to another person's soul. She had kept me at a distance because she was just as terrified of emotional attachments as I was. So Catherine had kept her control, her power the only way she knew how.
Her lips brushed my neck as she whispered to me. She said it like she was surprised. She said it like she was just waking from a bad dream. She said it like she was finally coming home.
"I love you, Sara."