Aftermath

Chapter Two

Erin stood at the sink absentmindedly rinsing the plate for the toast she'd eaten for breakfast. It was almost time to leave. Hank would be down in a few minutes and she'd have to put on her big girl pants and face them all. How would they react? Did they hate her? Would they accept her back? Would they trust her with their lives again? She felt her stomach roll. Was this even a good idea? Could she handle it? Was she ready? Did she really think she could move past this and do some good?

She'd been over and over these questions all week.

A week. It had been a week since she shot that bastard in the head. A week since she'd seen Jay beaten bloody. A week since she'd been numb.

It was different this time, getting clean. She had anticipated the headaches, the cold sweats, the nausea, the nightmares. She knew those would pass. And they did. Well except the nightmares. Those were kind enough to stick around. She was bracing for the pain, the heartbreak the unyielding guilt. After all that's what she was trying to push away when she took that first drink. But it didn't come, not like she thought that first day. Instead she was angry. Really fucking angry. After Jay left she couldn't stay in that room another second longer. She threw on her runners and headed out the door. And she just started running, pounding her feet into the ground. Faster. Harder. Over and over.

When she finally looked up she was surprised by where she was. Well maybe not really. She hesitated a moment before opening the door. The smell instantly brought her back fourteen years. It smelled like sweat. And aggression. And sweat.

"Erin? Is that you? My god girl, look at you! Haven't seen you in ages! Not since you graduated the academy. What are you doing here?" Erin smiled half heartedly at the older man who made his way towards her.

"Hi Frank. It's been a long time. I umm... Not really sure how I ended up here actually just went for a run and, well I'm here," Erin said apologetically.

Erin had first met Frank when she was sixteen. Hank had brought her here, to this boxing gym, after she'd slammed her fist through yet another wall in anger. Having to keep her shit together all day at that damn prep school was no easy task. By the end of the day she just couldn't contain it anymore and every little thing set her off. Camille had suggested therapy, to deal with everything she'd gone through. So Hank brought her here. Said it was the best therapy money could buy. And he was right.

"Well," Frank said, assessing her. "You're here now."

"Yeah. Yeah I am," she replied straightening up.

Frank gave a nod and stretched his arm out towards the ring. "Let's see what you got kid," Erin smiled at him and proceeded into the gym.

And she'd gone back every day that week. Pounded the anger into the bag over and over again until she couldn't lift her arms anymore.

"Hey kid, you think that dish is clean yet?" Hank's voice pulled her from her thoughts.

"Oh, sorry," Erin said, turning off the water and placing the dish to dry.

"You about ready to go then?" Hank asked.

"Yeah. Sure," Erin's stomach did a back flip but she pulled herself up, tilted her chin up. If Hank thought for one moment she couldn't handle this she'd be out.

"Ok, let's go." And he headed out to the truck. Erin took one last deep breath. This was it. Time to get back on the horse. She grabbed her go bag off the floor and followed Hank outside.

Erin was grateful today that Hank liked to get to work before everyone else. It gave her time to settle in and start going through cases without feeling like a museum exhibit when she walked in.