Lingering Anguish

Home : Stories by Catw00man : Lingering Anguish

Summary: You can only pretend to be something you’re not for so long.

AUTHOR: Catw00man
EMAIL: catw00man@cryptoffic.com
RATING: R
CHARACTER: Kyle Busch, Martin Truex, Kyle POV
SEQUEL TO: Hidden Pain
PROMPT: Taming the Muse #49 (#24 for me) - Aladdin
COMPLETED: June 25, 2007
WORD COUNT: 3,466
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 Kyle on his leaving HMS. I hope he lands on his feet.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I honestly never imagined writing a sequel to Hidden Pain but with recent events, Kyle losing his ride and Junior taking his place, Kyle started yammering in my ear that things weren’t so easily fixed. I agree with him so here he is almost three years from last you saw him.
AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: As before this fic contains dark themes and mentions of self mutilation. It’s not overly graphic, but the themes are there. You have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTE 3: ~*~ denotes passage of time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kyle’s house in Mooresville: June 19th, 2007

They all think I’m fine now.

Martin.  Mr. H.  Kurt.  My teammates.  My counselor.  They all think I’m fine now, that I got all my issues out of my system years ago.  And for a long while…they were right.  Martin’s friendship was the first thing in a long time I had that I could count on.  I still think he had something to do with Mr. H getting me “help.”  Oh, nothing official was ever said, no confidences were broken, and Mr. H just explained it away as a little mental tune up for the big leagues.  But I did see him and Martin talking at the end of ’04 and what other reason would they have to speak in hushed tones?

Part of me wanted to be mad.  Part of me wanted to protest it all.  But Mr. H just seems to have this way with getting you to do what he wants you to, and it’s always in your best interest…until now. 

I look over to the newspaper on the table beside me and I swear I feel like my world is spinning radically out of control.  One bad decision after another and suddenly all my safety nets seem to be evaporating beneath me.  A bad agent, speaking for me without my consent, has cost me my ride and a team that felt like family.  I thought it was HMS that was holding up my contract extension.  I had no idea my agent thought I was “worth more” than they offered.  I just wanted to stay where I was, with a team and owner I loved.  But apparently the lure of an Earnhardt suddenly made me expendable.

Glance over at the headlines proclaiming Junior to now be Jeff and Jimmie’s new teammate and I can’t stand it.  Reach out quickly, knocking it to the floor and press my palms to my eyes.  It’s supposed to be me.  I’m supposed to be the next generation Hendrick driver.  This is my team they are handing away as if it were never even mine to begin with.

It’s my fault.

The thought rings through my head again and again and it’s getting so hard to shut it out.  It’s my fault for being so bad.  Mr. H gave me a home at HMS and I never appreciated it.  Jeff…Jeff’s even tried to help, every time I asked, but half the time I never treated him, Jimmie or Brian like a teammate.  Mears and I were at odds before he even got here….

Attempt to swallow against the lump in my throat and everything inside me screams to call Martin.  And I want to.  I need to.  But I was such an asshole to him and he got so mad at me.  He’s busy now.  I know he is.  Since Junior walked out on him and slammed the team Martin’s hardly had a second to himself.  I can’t call him now.  Not about this.

Hands on the table, I push myself to my feet and slowly trudge to my room, not even realizing my hands are trembling.  It’s been a long time since I felt this way and I don’t know how to handle it.  I’m supposed to be right, now.  I’m not supposed to be having these thoughts.  But, god, I’ve fucked everything up so much.

I feel the lump in my throat again as I reach my bedroom and I reflexively brush at my damp eyes, the tears not even really registering.  Look through the bedroom and it suddenly hits me how empty it feels.  That’s when I remember why.  Erica’s things are gone…along with her.

Suck in a sharp breath when suddenly every empty space, every nook and cranny where she’d put her things seems to jump out at me, mocking me with their emptiness.  The place on the dresser where her perfume used to be, the spot on the shelf that held her CDs, the place on the night stand she’d put her eye drops.  Little things, stupid things that suddenly make me feel so alone.  I fucked up with her too.  Maybe if I’d kept my ride…maybe if I hadn’t been such a failure she wouldn’t have left me.

Bite my lip hard and I’m suddenly heading for the bathroom, my feet seemingly having a mind of their own.  I don’t need to feel this way.  I’m not supposed to feel this way.  But it’s all my fault.  Mr. H was nothing but good to me and I repaid him by acting like a child.  Erica deserved so much more than a loser who was basically fired from the sweetest ride in NASCAR.  And Martin…Martin deserves better than an asshole leech of a friend like me.

Turn the light on in the bathroom and avoid looking in the mirror, not wanting to see the loser that stares back at me.  Open the second drawer down in the cabinet and reach into the very back.  Fingers search around and find a small box, buried under a ton of other junk that belongs to me and probably Erica as well.  Fingers close around the small object and pull out a gold colored box that was probably used for a gift at some point.  That’s when I see my hand tremble.

Martin always wanted me to promise him I’d never hurt myself again…and there were times I almost did.  I wanted to.  God, I really, really did.  But I just…couldn’t.  I couldn’t give up that option.  Not when I knew there would someday be a day when he wasn’t there for me.

Like now.

Suck in a deep breath and open the box that seems to be empty, save for the flat piece of cotton that mostly fills the gift box.  I don’t even remember what this was used for…it’s been so long.  But it doesn’t matter.  All that matters is what’s hidden beneath the cotton.  Slip my fingers underneath and then pull out the small, sealed silver packet and just hold it in my hand.

I threw away all the blades but this one I stole from an infield care center who knows how long ago.  I don’t even know what track it was at, but these things all tend to be the same.  A small sterile scalpel blade, so fucking sharp the cuts heal so easy…too easy to be honest.

Move over to sit on the closed toilet seat and contemplate my actions as I set the box on the counter.  Part of me screams inside that I shouldn’t go back, that it’s not worth it, that people care.  But where are they?  Why wasn’t anyone there for me when everything fell apart in Texas?  No one told me they were fixing the car and the media turned me into a total jackass.  Where is Erica now that I need her more than ever?  Where is Mr. H, my teammates, my friends?  Even Martin, the best friend I’ve ever had, has turned his back on me…but I know that’s my fault too.  He has his own issues with Junior and DEI.  He told me very plainly that his career needs to come first, that the team needs him, that I would land on my feet….

But what if I don’t?

Slowly peel apart the silver foil and the gleaming blade finally comes into view.  Pull it out slowly, holding the blunt end and swallow hard as my whole body is tight with anticipation and building pressure I need to release.  I have to.  I just have to.  It’s all my fault.  Again.

Tears run unchecked down my cheeks and I don’t even notice them at this point, don’t even feel the sobs in my chest.  Slowly set the blade down on the counter to my right and then pull my shirt over my head, my tears starting to dry as my decision is made.  Cotton slips from my fingers and I pick up the stainless steel again.

My breath is even as coldness fills me and suddenly I feel detached from everything.  There is a comfort in this misery, this control that I finally possess.  The darkness is seductive as it pulls you down; the soft comfortable arms of depression are more welcoming than I remember.  I’m tired of fighting.  I’m tired of putting the smile on my face and acting like everything is alright.  Right now I just want to hurt and not think.  To find release and forgiveness in the sting of cut flesh and reminders I’ll carry for weeks.

Cold, wet, sliding on my arm and I look over with empty eyes as I watch one side of the cut well up to form a drop that slowly begins to slide down my upper arm.  A long horizontal stripe marking and recording my failure for all time…or at least as long as my body is still around to tell the tale.  Slide the blade up a little, making sure the new mark will be hidden by a T-shirt and slowly drag the point across my skin again.

I betrayed Mr. H so many times.  I should have paid more attention to what my agent was doing.

Switch hands, and turn to my other arm as I can feel the slight sting of the first two shallow cuts.  Slide the blade slower this time, pressing harder so the sting is more and the cut is deeper.

I wrecked my brother and acted like a child.  I tore up so many cars this season and it’s all my fault.

Swallow hard when I feel the blood slide a little further down my arm this time.  This cut is deeper.  But as I look at the marks I’ve made I know it’s still not enough.  Stand and unfasten my jeans and kick them to the floor before sitting back on the toilet seat and stare down at my too pale thighs.  I can still see the old white scars that criss-cross my legs and I can’t even remember what they were all for. 

But I deserved them.  Each and every one.

Bring the blade down to my thigh and I think about Erica and Mr. H, Kurt and Alan.  I’ve wronged them all.  But the one that really stands out to me is Martin and how much he’d hate me for this.  Long deep gash, steel so easily slicing flesh as this cut is longer, deeper than the others.  Pain sharp and burning because this one is made to scar.  I can’t forget Martin.  I can’t forget what I’ve done.  How I’ve betrayed him.  This reminder I’ll carry much longer than the rest.

Fuck.  Eyes burn with tears as I toss the blade in the sink.

Fuck, I’m so, so sorry.

~*~

A little peroxide and Neosporin and all my wounds are tended to.  My dirty little secret is once again hidden away in the drawer and I’m curled up on the bed, wearing only my boxers.  The tears have long since dried out but my heart still aches, turning my stomach into a knotted mess.  It hurts.  It just hurts.  Why am I all alone?

I shouldn’t be this way.  I know I’m not right.  I just don’t know how to be any different.  I’ve tried to distance myself.  I’ve tried to separate myself from the feelings that consume me but I just don’t know how.  I can’t stop feeling, and just when I thought the tears were gone I can feel them welling in my eyes again. 

I don’t want to cry.  I don’t want to fall apart.  I’m a man for god’s sake; I shouldn’t be such a child.  But god, right now, part of me wishes I was.  Then maybe someone would still care enough to take care of me.  Someone might care enough to notice what I’ve done, except…they never did.  Martin was the only one, and now he’s gone too.

Pull it together Kyle.  You have to stop.

But I can’t.  All I can think is how I want to wake up from this nightmare.  I wish…I wish there were a way to make it all go away.  I wish those fairytales I heard when I was a child were true.  I wish I could find my own magic lamp or genie bottle to rub and grant my wishes because I already know what I’d wish for.  I’d want to undo all the bad things I’ve ever done.  I’d want to erase all the mistakes I’ve made.  And I’d want to make this darkness that swallows me up to go away for good.

Close my eyes tight and reach for my pillow, crushing it to my chest.  Please.  I just want it to stop.

~*~

Music.

I hear music.  A song.  I know that song.

Eyes blink open and for a moment all I see is a hazy blur.  My phone.  It’s my phone that’s ringing. 

Wince and sit up as my head starts to pound from the tears and pick up my cell phone where it’s charging on my nightstand.  Flip it open and my voice is raw and rough.  God, I hope it’s not Mr. H or someone like that.  “Hello,” I finally croak out and rub at my eyes.

“Kyle?  Hey, man, did I catch you sleeping?”

Martin?  Is it really him?  I thought he was mad.  I thought he didn’t have time.  Rub at my eyes again as my vision finally starts to clear and shit.  He’s gonna know something’s wrong.  He knows me.  Oh fuck.  I promised I’d always call….

“Kyle?”  His voice takes on a more serious tone and I can hear the concern in his voice.  “Kyle, hey, talk to me.  Tell me what happened.  Kyle, please.  Don’t shut me out.”

The concern is too much and I can’t hold back a sob as my tenuous control on my emotions shatters once again.  Jesus, what’s wrong with me?  Why can’t I control anything?  Why does it all hurt so much?

“Maar-in,” I choke out and take a breath to try and steady my voice.  “’m sorry.  So fuckin sorry.  Couldn’t stop.  ‘urt.  ‘urt too much.  Fucked it all up.”

And I wait.  Wait for the scolding, the yelling, the accusations.  He’s gonna hate me.  Why would anyone want to deal with all of my shit?  I’m a loser.  A pathetic waste of space.  I’m nothing.  He doesn’t deserve to be drug down by someone as worthless as me.

“I’m on my way,” I hear him say and I can hear rustling in the background.  No, he shouldn’t.  He doesn’t need to come…but I can’t seem to stay the words to stop him.  “Kyle,” his voice is soft and forcefully and I can’t help but listen.  “It’s going to be ok.  I promise you.  You’re not alone.”

And somehow, the tiniest little part inside me in the deepest recess of my heart starts to believe.

Please, Martin.  Please hurry.

~*~

Tugging, touching and then a soothing caress.

Did I fall asleep again?

Feel someone stroke my hair.  I know that touch.  Scent of some “Woodland” cologne.  I know that smell.  Martin?  Is he really here?  Feel his arms around me and the emotion inside chokes me again as I gasp for breath and open my eyes.

“Shhhh, it’s ok, Kyle.  You’re not alone,” he tells me as I feel his hand runs soothingly down my back.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I wasn’t here.  I’m sorry I shut you out.”

No.  No, he can’t be apologizing to me.  Not when I ruined everything.  Not when I betrayed our friendship.  Sure, we fought.  I think part of him blamed me for Junior leaving somehow.  But I was the ass.   I was the one who accused him of not caring.  I was the one who broke my promise.

Pull away from his comforting touch and curl inward again.  I’m a bastard, a user, a whining little fool.  He doesn’t need this drama in his life.  That’s all I ever am anyway.  Just an accident waiting to happen.  A ticking time bomb that destroys everything I touch.  He doesn’t need the despair I bring.

“No.  No, I fucked up.  It’s my fault.  I fucked up.”  Reach up and try to cover the marks on my arms, knowing he has to have already seen them.  See the dark red line on my thigh, his mark, and I hate myself even more.  How could I fuck up again?  I’m supposed to be better. 

Hand on my arm and I jerk it away but he grabs me by the elbow and shakes till I look at him.  “Stop it, Kyle.  Don’t you dare shut down on me now.  I still need my friend.  We’re here for each other, remember?  You have to let me help you because you help me.  That’s the way friendship works, remember?”

Swallow hard and force myself to listen to his words, but I still can’t look at him.  How can I explain?  How can I make him understand?  “I-I didn’t know it…was still there.  I-I’m supposed to be better.  Martin, I swear, I didn’t know it was still there.”  Finally raise wide, scared eyes to him.  “It’s still inside me.  I-I don’t know how to make it stop.”

Dark hazel eyes lock on mine and I can’t look away, not when they seem to look inside me.  “I know,” he tells me in an even voice and everything within me screams that he can’t know.  He doesn’t know how it feels.  I start to tell him, start to scream but he speaks before I can.  “You told me, remember?   You told me how easy it was.  How it almost made you feel good.  How it was almost like an addiction…”

Watch him as his head lowers and I marvel at his words.  I can’t believe he remembered everything.  I can’t believe that he cared enough to.  He’s told me before he couldn’t understand how someone could willingly cut themselves but…apparently…he still listened.

“I read about it, ya know,” he tells me soft and I can see he seems to be afraid to reveal this to me.  Reach out and put my hand on his arm, urging him to continue, needing him to go on.  Dark eyes finally raise to mine and he speaks again in the same soft voice.  “It’s not your fault, Kyle.  And you’re right…they said it doesn’t go away.  But, you can deal with it.  We can deal with it.”  Eyes pleading as he looks at me.  “We were, weren’t we?  Dealing with it?  I-I did help…didn’t I?”

And suddenly it feels like the tables are turned and he needs my comfort.  Reach out to him, needing the contact, and hug him tightly.  “Yes, yes you helped me.  More than anyone you helped me.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I got so mad at you.  I’m sorry I fell apart.  I’m sorry…”

“Shhhh,” he tells me softly again and I feel him rock us both side to side.  “I was upset…couldn’t believe the things June was saying to the press.  I lashed out.  I turned inward but it wasn’t about you.”  And I can hear the truth in his words even though I still feel a little raw inside from what felt like betrayal.  “I had to sort things out.  I’m so sorry, Kyle.  I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Shake my head and finally pull back to look into his eyes, my hands clasping his tightly.  “We…we’ve both been going through shit…did what we needed to.”  Swallow hard and force myself not to look at the new mark on my thigh.  “I’m here for you Martin.  And…and I promise to call you…next time,” I whisper softly, silently wondering if he’ll once again ask for the promise I just can’t give as I look down again.

“I know,” he tells me softly and I feel him squeeze my hands even though I still can’t raise my head.  “And I’ll be there, the next time and the next time, and the next time….”  My head snaps up and for the first time I think I see real understanding in his eyes.  “I get it now, Kyle.  This is who you are and I’m not going to try and change you anymore.  Just remember…you’re not alone.”

I nod to him slowly, completely overwhelmed by his words.

And I can feel the fucking tears again, but this time…they’re good tears.  This time the emotions I can’t control are from acceptance and understanding and probably even love.  He’s my best friend and I’m going to try to be stronger for him.  I’m going to try and hold it together.  But when I can’t….

I know I won’t be alone.

These authors spend lots of time to write these stories. If you took the time to read this PLEASE take the time to give them some feedback. Happy writers write more ;-)

Catw00man - catw00man@cryptoffic.com