giving up the ghost
Title: giving up the ghost
Prompts: alcohol, cold case, resolution (castle100)
Rating: PG
Summary: The tightrope she's been walking on since her mother's death has slowly drawn thinner and thinner.
Spoilers: None really, but just to be safe - it does reference her mom's murder.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
The whiskey's a smooth burn down her throat; a slow slide of torture trying in vain to heal the hollow places inside her. Eyes swim with the burn, with the sting of this unexpected failure and tears steal down her cheeks.
Pulling her knees up into her chest, she wrapped herself in an imitation hug. Scattered remains of a dead end stare shamelessly back at her from the coffee table. File folders, hand written notes, articles on the murder, and statements from detectives who worked the case cover every available surface. It's everything and nothing.
And it's just the beginning.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Her skin's tinged pink and the scent of lavender soap lingers as she steps out of the shower, steam billowing around her as she quickly dries herself off and slips on a white bathrobe. She stands in front of the mirror and wipes the fog away in a slow circular motion.
Only her reflection reveals things she doesn't want to be witness to. The broken side. The walking wounded. (Never the victim.) A woman consumed by questions that don't have answers and by theories that are just words.
Giving up has never been an option.
But letting go suddenly is.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Fingertips, nails bitten to the quick, linger against the picture on the first page. Her mother smiling.
The tightrope she's been walking on since her mother's death has slowly drawn thinner and thinner, rounded edges unraveling with each step, with each year that's disappeared. So even with her arms outstretched and her feet barely shuffling along, it's become harder and harder to keep her balance. And the net that's been hovering below just isn't strong enough anymore to catch her if (when) she falls.
Failure doesn't course through her veins when she drops the file into its box.
Relief does.
Prompts: alcohol, cold case, resolution (castle100)
Rating: PG
Summary: The tightrope she's been walking on since her mother's death has slowly drawn thinner and thinner.
Spoilers: None really, but just to be safe - it does reference her mom's murder.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
The whiskey's a smooth burn down her throat; a slow slide of torture trying in vain to heal the hollow places inside her. Eyes swim with the burn, with the sting of this unexpected failure and tears steal down her cheeks.
Pulling her knees up into her chest, she wrapped herself in an imitation hug. Scattered remains of a dead end stare shamelessly back at her from the coffee table. File folders, hand written notes, articles on the murder, and statements from detectives who worked the case cover every available surface. It's everything and nothing.
And it's just the beginning.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Her skin's tinged pink and the scent of lavender soap lingers as she steps out of the shower, steam billowing around her as she quickly dries herself off and slips on a white bathrobe. She stands in front of the mirror and wipes the fog away in a slow circular motion.
Only her reflection reveals things she doesn't want to be witness to. The broken side. The walking wounded. (Never the victim.) A woman consumed by questions that don't have answers and by theories that are just words.
Giving up has never been an option.
But letting go suddenly is.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Fingertips, nails bitten to the quick, linger against the picture on the first page. Her mother smiling.
The tightrope she's been walking on since her mother's death has slowly drawn thinner and thinner, rounded edges unraveling with each step, with each year that's disappeared. So even with her arms outstretched and her feet barely shuffling along, it's become harder and harder to keep her balance. And the net that's been hovering below just isn't strong enough anymore to catch her if (when) she falls.
Failure doesn't course through her veins when she drops the file into its box.
Relief does.