Midnight Introspection

Home : Stories by Catw00man : Dark Nights Series : Midnight Introspection

Summary: He’s been served the papers, and it isn’t pretty. Jeff reflects on his life.

AUTHOR: Catw00man
EMAIL: catw00man@cryptoffic.com
RATING: PG-13 - R
SERIES: Dark Nights Series
CHARACTER: Jeff Gordon
CATEGORY: Serious Angst
COMPLETED: Juy 21, 2004
WORD COUNT: 3,307
DISCLAIMER: I own NOTHING and am affiliated with NO ONE mentioned here. Not the drivers, not the teams, no one. This is all fiction and fun. In other words...NOT REAL, NOT REAL, NOT REAL. ;-)
DEDICATION: To oldlady who loves my dark Jeffy and for writing “The Boy General” and to Jai for always being an inspiration.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is the 3rd in my Dark Nights series, but you don’t have to have read the others to understand this, but those fics might put you more into Jeff’s state of mind. And yes I know, I just can’t be nice to him!
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Lakeside House in NC: Sunday Night, March 17, 2002

Well, she actually did it. She actually filed the papers. Not that I’m really that surprised. It’s not like we’ve been playing husband and wife for a long time. I just got tired of playing the part. I’m so very tired of acting…so tired of being what I’m supposed to be. I’ve been pretending for so long, I don’t even remember who I am…or was.

I grab the bottle on the floor beside the couch I am laying on and take a long drink. When did I become reduced to this…sleeping on the kid’s couch…drinking his alcohol? I shake my head as I turn on my side and look out the back windows to the lake. I can’t help but watch as the moonlight reflects off the black water, and think about going outside.

No, don’t need to go there. I turn onto my back and stretch wishing I had a smoke, although I doubt my teammate would be thrilled with me smoking in his living room. It’s too bad I had my last one on the way over. I know I’m way too drunk to drive now…wouldn’t that make a nice headline.

And there we are…back to playing the game.

I close my eyes and remember the night I left. The night I finally walked away from everything I thought I was supposed to build and everything I was supposed to do.

***

I hear her come up to my chair by the pool as I take another drink of the beer in my hand. I wonder if this time she’s going to say something, or if she’s only going to huff annoyed and go back to the house. I wish I knew what to say to her. But she wouldn’t want to hear any of it anyway. She would just shake her head and tell me I need to get over it and start acting the way I’m “supposed” to…whatever that means.

“I’m filing for divorce.”

That gets my attention, as I take the last drag off my cigarette and flick it aside. I turn to look at her standing there with her arms crossed across her chest, eyes blazing. I guess I should have seen this coming, if she’s even serious. I just never expected her to cross this line considering how “unseemly” it is to get a divorce. Not to mention she couldn’t last a day and a half with out maids waiting on her hand and foot.

I get up and step around her and start walking to the door as I drain my beer and toss it aside. I hear her hurrying after me as I open the door and step inside.

“Did you hear me? I’m not putting up with this anymore, Jeff….”

I turn and start heading up the stairs to my room. I’m really not sure what makes her more mad, that I won’t do everything she says anymore, or that I just don’t care. She’s still ranting as I reach my room and go inside.

“…not going to let you do this. You know I don’t allow drinking and smoking and cursing. What would people think if they saw you. I don’t know who you think you are--”

She finally stops talking as I turn and meet her eyes with the look I seem to have perfected lately. I think she sees she can’t control me anymore, that I’m not going to back down. Maybe if she would just listen for once…but I really don’t know that I would have anything to say. Just like now.

I turn and grab my travel bag, tossing it on the bed as I move around the room picking up the few things I’ll need. I start shoving shirts, pants and socks in the bag. I can’t play this game anymore. She’s right about one thing, I won’t be her little “Jeffy” doll anymore. I just can’t keep up appearances at home…and I’m not sure why I would want to.

I start to walk into the bathroom to pack my things there and find her standing in front of the door blocking my path.

“Where do you think you’re going?!?”

Is she serious? She really was bluffing, trying to get a reaction out of me. Doesn’t she get it yet? I’m through playing this game. I’m through playing house and following all the rules. I need to find myself again, if there’s still someone inside of me to find.

“You said you wanted a divorce, Brooke. I’m just getting out of the way,” I say as I try to move around her. She doesn’t budge. Fine. I can buy anything else I need, I think, as I turn back to my packing.

“I didn’t say you could leave. You can’t leave. You have to….”

“What?!?” I shout turning back to her. “Damn it Brooke, what do you want from me?” I shake my head as I hear her sharp intake of breath at my language. “I can’t pretend to be what you want anymore. Do you even care? Is that what you want? A lie?”

“I just want things the way they were,” she says matter of fact.

I just shake my head again as I reach for my favorite leather jacket in the closet. I grab my half packed bag and head out of the room and down the stairs. She wants the lie. She wants me to be her puppet again, and I just can’t go back. Something broke in me that day a little over a year ago and opened my eyes. I can’t go back to living a life I never wanted.

As I cross through the living room to the kitchen I can still hear her calling out behind me. I just can’t bear to listen anymore. I’m so tired of listening. I’m so tired of giving in. I reach the door to the garage and my hand stops on the doorknob as I hear her scream at me again.

“I made you, Jeff Gordon. Do you really think you would be who you are with out me? Do you really think people would love you the way they do?” I open the door and keep walking to my car as I hear her shout out again, “I made you who you are and I will destroy you….”

***

If she only knew. I wonder what she would think if she knew that she’s only one in a long line of people who have tried to make me into what I “should” be. That she’s only one more person who’s lead I followed everywhere but on the race track. Just one more person I wanted to please.

***

“Your room isn’t clean enough Jeff….”

“But, I just want to go play with my friends….”

“Sponsors don’t like sloppy drivers, Jeff….”

***

“Don’t fidget, Jeff. Real race car drivers don’t act that way….”

“But I’m hot. The race is over, can’t I take off my firesuit yet?”

“Winners don’t whine about being hot, Jeff. Winners have to look professional. You do want to be a winner don’t you?”

***

Of course I wanted to be a winner. I always wanted to be a winner. It was in victory lane the first time that I saw pride shining in John’s eyes, all for me. He was so proud of me when I did well. I wanted him to always look at me that way. So, I did everything I was told. I ran as hard as I could, and I tried to always be “professional”. I just didn’t want him to be disappointed in me.

I sigh, and take another long drink from the bottle beside me. I’m real professional tonight aren’t I? Kicked out of my own house, getting drunk alone, again. Oh, I know I’m not being fair, I was never “forced” to race…and it’s not like I ever really wanted to do anything else. But sometimes I wonder how much of a choice I really did have. I was good at racing, so I had to be the best. Second place is just the first loser right?

And I didn’t want to be a loser. I just wanted someone to be proud of me. I just wanted that mixture of love and pride that always came from winning. I used to think that’s what I got from her when I made change after change. I thought that smile of hers was the same as his…that it came from love. Now I’m just not sure.

I know when I met her she didn’t waist any time making me into what I “should” be. Shave your mustache, cut your hair, change your clothes, go to church, talk differently…all of these will make you better. All of these things will make you a winner. So, I gladly followed her lead, especially when she wrapped it all up in the guise of the way a champion should be.

I thought it would make her happy. I thought it would make me happy…and I guess it did…for awhile.

***

“Take the trophy and kiss the girl, Jeff….”

“But, I don’t wanna….”

“That’s what the winner does, Jeff. Win the trophy, kiss the girl….”

***

I can’t help but wonder if that’s why I went after her? Was it just because that’s what I thought I was “supposed” to do? When did this all start anyway? Who would I be if I hadn’t always given in? I have no idea. I’ve been so wrapped up in this for so long I don’t have a clue who the real me is. And the craziest thing is that up until a year ago I didn’t even realize anything was wrong. Not until I realized how easily it can all be taken away…how easy it is to no longer exist.

I never thought about the “real” me before that. I just assumed everything would just go on and on. I never really thought about it all coming to a crashing halt. It’s like my eyes were opened for the first time and I couldn’t understand how I got here. I couldn’t pretend that my fairytale world was real anymore, because what if it was me? What if I was here one moment and erased from the world the next without ever really living outside of a race car?

I shake my head and take another long drink of vodka. Not my drink of choice, but it will do. Anything to slow down the whirlwind in my mind.

I’ve never really thought about dying before. Now it seems like it’s all I can think about. What would it be like? What happens after you no longer exist? There are just so many ways to die…it makes my mind spin. What would it feel like? Would you know that it was over, or just black out and never wake up? I just don’t know. I just know that I can’t keep pretending like nothing is wrong when it feels like everything is.

I pick at the black label on the bottle resting on my stomach and can’t help but smile as I remember how I got here. When I left Brooke that night I went straight to Darlington early. I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t even think beyond racing on Sunday. It wasn’t until after the race when Jimmie asked me where I was going that I realized I didn’t have a clue. It must have been written all over my face because he just patted me on the back and said I could just come crash at his place.

When we finally got here and he asked me if I wanted anything to drink I just couldn’t help myself from replying, “Anything with alcohol in it.” I knew I shouldn’t have said it the moment the words slipped from my mouth. What was he going to think? Was he going to give me the same disappointed look I got from her?

But he just nodded, smiled and looked in the cabinet. When he pulled out the vodka and bottle of cheap, sweet wine I couldn’t help but reach for the liquor. I really should learn to control myself…I really am slipping. Then he turned to the refrigerator, looked inside and with the sweetest look told me that he was sorry, but he didn’t have any orange juice.

I couldn’t help but smile as I told him that, “I’ll manage.” How could I tell him the juice would just kill the burn when he was looking at me with stars in his eyes. He shouldn’t look at me like that, like I’m “somebody.” Like I’m someone he should respect. I’m just another guy, and I really should get out of this place before he figures out who I really am.

I swing my legs off the couch and put my hand on the back to steady myself as I get up. Vodka may not be my favorite drink, but it’s effective. I put my free hand on the end table as I weave over to the French doors and look outside. The lake seems so dark at night, with only the moon and stars giving it light. I really shouldn’t be getting this drunk here…I really don’t want to mess up the only good part of my life outside of my race car.

I lean my forehead against the cool glass and press my palm on the window. It’s very easy to count how many times I’ve really smiled in the last year. It’s even funnier to think that it’s always been in the presence of one person. I never forgot seeing him run that lightning fast practice lap at Darlington. But I never thought he’d come to me for advice…especially now. I close my eyes and remember walking from that drivers meeting when he came up to me for the first time.

***

“Mr. Gordon…could I talk to you for a minute?”

I look over and see a BUSCH driver coming my way. He looks familiar, but I’m not sure I remember his name. I stop and let him catch up to me as I try and think of his name…John something?

“Sure,” I reply to him, “and it’s Jeff, by the way.” I’d like to get back to my coach, but it’s not often young drivers come up to talk to me. I can’t help but wonder what he wants. It better not be an autograph, I think, as I smile.

“Jimmie Johnson,” he says sticking out his hand to me.

As I shake his hand I finally remember who he is. He’s the driver I saw practicing at Darlington last year who impressed me. “So, how can I help you, Jimmie?” I ask.

I watch him take a deep breath, look me straight in the eye and say, “Well, I was hoping I could get some career advice from you. I’d like to move up to the Cup series, and I was wondering if you could give me some pointers?”

I smile and can’t help but be impressed. He looked me right in the eye the entire time and didn’t even bat an eye. This kid has definitely got the confidence to go after what he wants, and from what I saw before he sure did seem to be able to handle a race car. “Sure, I wouldn’t mind giving you some advice,” I say as I turn to walk to my coach. “Come on back to my motor coach and we can talk.”

He seems a bit surprised at my invitation and stands there for a minute. Good, he’s confident, but not cocky. Maybe he might be the right guy for the new Cup team Rick and I have been talking about, I think as I start walking back to my coachman. He follows me after a beat, matches my stride and I ask him about his car. That breaks his silence as he begins to tell me all about his weekend so far.

***

I lift my head from the glass and take one of the few remaining drinks from the bottle in my hand. A small smile crosses my lips as I remember that day we first got to know each other. We sat and talked for hours about cars and racing, tracks and teams. It was the first time in a long time I could remember talking to someone who seemed to actually understand me.

He was just so young and full of energy when he talked about being in a race car. He just went on and on talking with his hands, the same way I do, and I just couldn’t help but wonder if I was this way when everything was new and exciting. Not that I don’t still love getting in the car--its the only time I ever really feel alive anymore. But he was just so passionate about it.

That’s why I have to get out of here as soon as I can. Before he finds out I’m not the perfect role model he seems to think I am. Before he realizes what a mess I am and I see disappointment instead of hero worship in his eyes. I shake my head at that last thought and drain the remainder of the vodka. I just hope one day he’ll finally just see me as a friend.

“Shit,” I whisper as I look down at the empty bottle. I really didn’t plan on drinking this much. Hopefully he’ll just think I’m getting hammered over being served the divorce papers and not that this is a regular binge for me. I’ll just have to replace his vodka, and maybe buy him some orange juice to go with it this time.

I push away from the door and try to carefully stagger my way back to the couch. He said I could have the room down the hall, but I really don’t want this to be a permanent arrangement, so the couch it is. Not to mention I doubt I could make it that far. I fall back down on the couch and let the bottle slip from my fingers to the floor. I’m such a pathetic mess.

I reach in my pocket for my lighter and then remember I’m out of smokes. Damn. Instead I just play with the zippo flicking it open and closed. I just don’t know where to go from here. I don’t even know where I’m going to sleep tomorrow night.

Watch the flame from the lighter flare as my fingers slide over the striker. I get a little lost staring into the flame. Fire has always mesmerized me that way. I run my free hand over the flame, feeling it’s warmth, and watch as the flame flickers. I hold my hand over the flame until the lighter becomes to hot to hold and I drop the hot metal, snapping it closed.

I rub my palm as I realize I probably held it over the flame a bit too long. It’s not really burned, but I can’t help but wonder if it was. As a race car driver I should be afraid of fire. Most drivers are. But I can only wonder what it would feel like. Would the fire totally consume you, or would you feel every minute? How long would it take? Would you stay conscious as you burned from the outside in?

Shake my head trying to clear my mind of these thoughts I can’t seem to get out of my head and the world spins. How many more nights can I make it through before thoughts aren’t enough I wonder as blissful unconsciousness engulfs me?

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Catw00man - catw00man@cryptoffic.com