Another wave of nausea hits me and this time, I'm not even close to the restrooms. I'm half way to my car, in the middle of the deserted parking lot. The space between two cars is all I've got to get myself a little privacy.

Have you ever puked bracing yourself between two cars? It's not easy to vomit standing in the middle of nowhere, in the dark, feeling hurt and vulnerable and yet trying all the time not to dirt your shoes. As expected, I do dirt them. Damage done, I don't care. I have better things to think about, like rinsing my mouth.

Should I go back to the CSI headquarters I just ran away from or can I wait till I get home? It should be an easy decission if it wasn't for the small detail that I've forgotten where I parked my car. So, going home, takes a car hunt first, but walking back to the building means a million questions about my dirty shoes and my distorted face. Questions I don't want to answer. Choice is made. The car, then home.

*** *** ***

It sounded right when I thought about it. And it felt better once I found the car and sat inside. But something went wrong. I couldn't start it. I've been sitting in my car, alone, in the empty parking lot, for fifteen minutes. Just sitting. A murder could have taken place before my staring eyes and I would have missed it. You know now why I didn't drive. Getting killed on the road on my way home is not my best plan for the night. Not that I had anything better in mind anyway.

*** *** ***

Now it's getting scary. It's been half an hour and I'm still here. Sitting. I breath and blink occasionally but that's all I'm able to do. I wonder if this is how she felt.

"I just sit there and stare at the wall."

That's what she wrote. I don't have a wall but I can imagine it. And I'm doing pretty well with the sitting too. I torture myself a little bit more and read the rest of the page in my mind. And, oh surprise, there it is again: Nausea.

This time I don't even think about running anywhere. I open the car's door and do it. I smile when I notice I can't dirt my shoes. But then I see I've dirt someone elses.

"Are you alright?"

Can't you see it? I'm having a party.

"Yes"

So much for my new year's resolution of speaking the truth and nothing but the truth. I think that was the last one still on my list, I can now officially call this year a failure. Again.

"Cath? Are you sure?"

"I'm fine Grissom. I have to go home".

Oops. There it is again. I'm polite and I refuse to make a real nasty mess of his shoes so I get out of the car and vomit by the front wheel. Are the pneumatics my car's shoes? I've made a mess of it's left one. I'm sorry.

"Cath?"

And his hands are on me. One on my forehead, taking some wet hair off my face, which feels good, the other on my back. Up and down. Up and down. It would be soothing if it didn't feel so disgusting right now.

"Hands off".

Now he's confussed. But he does take his hands off. The same hands I've been dying to feel on my skin for so long, the hands that were burning a hole in me, and leaving a wet trail of sweat and DNA. Those same hands.

"Catherine?"

I wish he had learned a new word by now.

"What?! Can't you see I'm a little busy here, Gil?"

I'm angry. I'm angry with him cause he is here and I can't be mad at my car. My car wouldn't care.

"What happened?"

New words. Good. If I only had the answer to them.

"Cath? Talk to me."

Do you think if I close my eyes and pretend he's not here, he'll disapear?

"Catherine. You're scaring me"

Obviously not. But it was a nice experiment.

"Cath"

And there he goes again. His hand is on my back. The beast awakes.

"Get your fucking hands off! What is wrong with you?"

Now I'm facing him and, for the first time, I can see his face. His face used to bring me confort. But he has a different face now. He almost seems like a stranger. I don't mind hurting a stranger. if necessary.

"Nothing's wrong with me! What happened to you Catherine? What's going on?"

He wants to know? I'll be glad to tell him.

"I'll tell you what's going on. I'm sick. I'm sick of all of you. Sick of sharing this lab with you. Sharing this city. The world. You're not really necessary, you know? But you behave like women were set on this earth to please you. They're yours to watch, yours to feel, yours to fuck! I'm not yours to fuck. Neither was she."

My mouth tastes bitter and those words only made the taste accentuate. I'm bitter. And mad at him for being one of them. Suddenly, he is the enemy. His face is telling me that he doesn't understand what I'm saying. I realise, I never expected him to.

"What?"

Impressive.

"I'm going home, Grissom"

And there he goes again. Touching me. He grabs my arm as I walk by him. I can't help myself. And I don't want to.

I slap him. Hard.

"I said, hands off".

And I feel cold just by saying it. If words could kill, he'd be dead. Would that make me happy?

*** *** ***

I've been driving for three minutes. That's all I've been able to. You can't drive if you can't see the road. So I'm sitting here again. Staring at the big black void that opened before my eyes when I realized I had slapped Gil. My friend. My boss.

I know I can hurt real bad when I want to. I know how to take care of myself. And I know wrath is a powerful impulse. Eddie tought me that. At thirty two I learned I can bring a man to his knees with a punch on the face. At that same age I learned bringing a man to his knees has nasty consequences. But it was an interesting discovery nonetheless.

But I didn't punch Gil in the heat of an argument over some slut who called in the middle of the night. I slapped him cause he was worried about me. I slapped him cause he didn't listen. Cause he couldn't understand.

"Mom says I need to go out more. I'm only happy when I'm home. She never listens. She doesn't understand"

How long will those lines be echoing in my head? You wouldn't expect a twelve year old girl's diary to have such effect. I can't even remember a thing of what was written in my own diaries. But of course, I never had to write about what the teacher was doing to me. Oh shit. Here it is again. If I vomit one more time I swear my throat is gonna rip open.

*** *** ***

- TBC...