.

Lost in bright city lights

.

Chapter one – Opening of an antithetic kind

.

With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.

.

A.N.

This ficathon entry (50,000 words) is rated M for language, drug use, violence and the occasional sex scene. While I believe in happy endings, I also believe that for some you have to walk along a darker path to get there in the end.

This is based loosely on the prompt given to me by artsy861 who asked if I could write this, castleramblings . tumblr post / 74547754811 (remove the spaces). My apologies to her for taking the third and fourth pictures and then going completely left field.

Also Happy Birthday Marguerite for tomorrow :-)

Kate stands alone beside the large bay windows of the banquet hall, an isolated silhouette of white. The thin material of her dress drapes her slender frame, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs as she lists from foot to foot. If she felt pain, no doubt there would be lightning bolts of fire tearing through her flesh, but she stopped feeling the moment her heart stopped beating.

It's for the best. Or at least that's what she tells herself.

The flash of bright lights from outside draws Kate's attention away from the mass of people that are socializing before her. They drift in between the high tables, loud voices competing over the top of each other as their expensive clothes glitter proudly. She huffs quietly to herself; it's as if the label they wear measures their worth.

Idiots.

She stares, eyes transfixed on the paparazzi's cameras, the hundreds of blinding lights making the dark appear as if it is truly alight with millions of stars. But it's not. There's nothing but artificial light showering some wannabe with artificial love, and she turns away in disgust.

Her level of irritability is peaking, and if she is to keep up the façade, keep mingling amongst the crowd, then she is going to require a secluded corner, even if it really is too early in the night.

It's not like she can go back to her apartment; leaving isn't an actual option.

She's not here willingly.

Tonight, like every other high class, glamorous party that she shows up for, she's nothing more than a pretty face, a good body, and a pair of legs paid to make men forget their troubles for a little while. It's hardly the modeling jobs that she does during the day, but money is money, and the bills don't care where it comes from.

"Nice party." Twisting to face the voice that's beside her, Kate smiles, an actual genuine pull of her lips, and she looks down at the tiny girl at her elbow. Sammy barely looks old enough to be in school, let alone out of it, and that, of course, is the girl's allure. It's the hook that gets her certain jobs, and tonight, unfortunately, they're in the same predicament. Nothing more than a pretty face paid to smile nicely.

But looks can be deceiving. Sammy's doe eyes and pigtails are all for show; she'd turned twenty just weeks before Kate's own twentieth birthday in November and she blinks at that thought.

She's managed to lose two months of her life. What seemed like only yesterday isn't, and yet, considering what those two months held; an empty Christmas, the first anniversary since her mother bled out in an alley, the first anniversary since her father stumbled drunk in front of a cab, it's not the worst thing to have no memory of this period of time in her life.

If she's honest with herself, it's more than just the last two months; she has no memory of the last year.

"This party is just like the one last night. And the one before that." She snaps at Sammy, rusty barbed wire laced around each word, and for a fraction of a second, shame over her harsh words pushes to the surface, but it sinks back down, disappears just as quickly.

She used to care, used to feel. Then again, she used to have people who loved her and a life with potential. But with nothing and no one, what was a teenage wild child phase is beginning to look more and more like a life not worth the effort.

Then again, it's late, the day's been long and her last line of cocaine was hours ago. The more minutes that pass, the more easily little Katie Beckett resurfaces - the lost and orphaned nineteen year old who had stood before two gravestones and wished for a third.

A humorless chuckle cracks through her parted lips, and Sammy's eyebrows draw together before Kate waves a hand in dismissal.

Because the difference between that Katie and the one who stands here now, is twelve months and one hundred and eighty degrees.

She has really grown up, matured, found some solid ground in that time.

Yeah right.

A waiter approaches, extending the platter of champagne flutes, and reaching forward Sammy plucks one with her perfectly manicured fingers as Kate shakes her head in a silent no.

"Underage drinking is wrong, Kate. Good girl for resisting." The giggle that ends Sammy's praise portrays the absurdity of her sentence, indicates that this isn't her first glass either. Both girls are well aware of what goes on - the use and abuse - to get most models through the day, it's just that alcohol and Kate don't see eye to eye.

To lose her Mom to random gang violence was heart wrenching, to lose her father to a bottle of scotch was soul destroying.

Let it go, Kate. Let it go and move on.

"You look nice tonight, Sammy." It's true and it also changes the subject entirely. The baby doll dress that the other model wears leaves her standing out amid the guests, although it has more to do with Sammy's child like features than because it is still in fashion. The pale pink hints to what lies underneath the fabric and it is earning her more than a handful of lust filled glances.

"Well, considering whose party we're at, I have high hopes for tonight."

Glancing around, Kate truly looks for the first time since they were ushered through the side entrance and she attempts to work out exactly whom is on Sammy's radar. Or at least why they make this different from the other parties they've been paid to work. The crowd at tonight's book launch looks no different to the party goers of yesterday; the meaningless chatter and heated stares that are directed her way are all just a repeated process.

"I don't get the appeal of a sugar daddy, Sammy. The money would be nice, but damn they're a lot of hard work."

Older men come with baggage, baggage that has to be attended to and that is the last thing Kate could give a shit about.

She has enough trouble keeping the happy smile on her face for strangers, for the girls that she crosses paths with on a regular basis, job after job; she has no energy left to keep the mask in place for some grumpy old man that wants to stare at her naked body while he attempts to get it up.

"Oh, Kate. Not tonight. This isn't just some sugar daddy we're talking about. This is the white whale's party. The holy grail of the bachelor world, and if I can snag his attention…" Sammy scans the crowd and Kate rolls her eyes. This is a party, and whomever they are celebrating tonight is going to be no different to all the other men.

She stumbled onto this life in the beginning, had gladly grabbed the opportunity to fade into oblivion, to just be another face in the crowd, and now, she can't see the attraction in putting herself out there, being arm candy on some wrinkled skin. She's on display enough.

A gust of cold air blows through the doors as they open, allowing more people in, and as the chill slides across her back, along the exposed skin on her arms, Kate turns into the sensation. It's only for a moment and the cool breeze is soothing on her overheated skin, but it goes before she has a chance to grab ahold of it.

Shifting sideways, she tries to chase the feeling, to keep it lasting just a little bit longer, but the doors are already closing and her movement pulls the tape that is holding the plastic on to her stomach. She'd secured the bag in a rush as she'd dashed between her last modeling appointment and tonight, and while taping it on conceals the product, it's irritating her skin.

The half gram of cocaine really has to be for later though, when the hunger from skipping everything but coffee crawls out of her belly and into her throat, for when the shake in her fingers becomes noticeable to others, for when the memories of her past begin to pull her down into depression.

It's not for now.

The dribble that spills from the man in front of her, the narcissistic noise about how amazing he is, how successful and wonderful life with him would be, grates against Kate's nerves. The shrill tone of the little man - his eyes perfectly placed at her chest as he stares into the valley of her breasts - runs up and down her spine taking shavings from her skin. The open and exposed rawness that encompasses her body, heart, and soul, is weeping - why is her usual compartmentalization cracking tonight? - and with her cheeks frozen high, she smiles down at him.

Ignore. Stand tall.

He reaches forward, trails a finger along the edge of the white strap that clings to her shoulder, dipping down until it joins with the other side between her breasts; the silver pieces on her dress catch the light and create flickers of rainbows on his skin. She swallows the bile that rises.

Breathing - slowly in and out from her mouth, god forbid the reek of bad cologne enter her body - Kate stays still. This is her normal, the new normal of her life; her body is no longer hers, it's just a tool.

Her seventeen-year-old self had no idea. Her rose-colored glasses had prevented her from seeing anything but the bitching and backstabbing of the modeling world. She sees it now, has experienced it all. The pressure to stay thin, the abuse to her body, the demands of shows, the loss of modesty, the blackmail from those in a position of power.

Once upon a time, she had dreams, goals, and a future. Now…

Kate's heart may be broken, the little pieces of shrivelled, blackened flesh thrown into the grave as her father was lowered into the ground, but at least there is rarely anything left inside her that feels.

His finger slips under the material, a nail scraping the circular edge of her areola, before he withdraws slowly. The curl of his lips, the lust in his eyes, slides across her skin and the urge to trap his finger between her own, to pull back until the snap of bone brings a completely new look to his face, unleashes itself. Not that she does.

Grin and bear it.

She's already dead… but her reflection flashes in his glasses and the eyes staring back are her mother's not hers, and the withered muscle in her chest thrashes. It stops before it really starts, but it's enough of a reminder.

"Excuse me for a moment. I seemed to have misplaced my purse."

Walking away - she's paid to smile nicely, she owes this party nothing more than that - Kate weaves in between the other guests, her gaze landing on Sammy. The other model's face beams as she arches her neck to look at the tall man she's flirting with. The tailored cut of the expensive, black jacket emphasizes the broad shoulders within, the strands of hair, styled in short, soft waves, pick up the light overhead and the brown comes alive, gold lines appearing like hidden rows of gems, and Kate comes to a halt.

If his face is as striking as the rest of him, than Sammy may just be the luckiest girl in the room, and her lips curl up before she turns away, her eyes searching for an exit.

While Kate doesn't need it in her own life, in the early hours of the morning, when the bed is too big, the apartment too quiet, and the cocaine in her system non-existent, she closes her eyes and pretends that she's loved. That she could feel love for someone else.

She can't. She had sworn to herself as she packed her parents belongings into boxes, that love is a useless emotion. Nothing can come from loving another person, nothing but heartache and loss, death and destruction.

Her elbow collides with the pile of books on the table beside her, six of the hardbacks falling onto the soft carpet underfoot, and bending at the knees, Kate uses both hands to gather them up.

"Are you a fan?"

Straightening, Kate turns toward the voice, the weight of the six novels has her resting them against her abdomen, her fingers attempting to find purchase. But all of her movements have pulled the tape away from her skin, the small plastic bag left dangling with only one sticky piece stopping it from slipping out of her dress and dropping to the ground.

Shit.

The man reaches for the books, his black jacket opening to reveal a crisp white button up, his face strong and defined with a teasing smile that dances on his lips, blue eyes as clear as the oceans, and Kate's breath leaves in a gasp as he takes them from her hands two at a time.

"Uh. No. I don't have much time to read." She used to. She loved curling on the window seat at home, the smell of her mom making brunch on a Sunday morning would drift through each room until she'd be forced to put the novel down, find the delicious buffet that had been prepared.

Closing her eyes on the sharp slash that travels through her at the memory, she shakes her head while pulling her bottom lip between the hard edges of her teeth.

Control. Breathe. Let it go.

"Well. If you find time, I hear it's a good book, by a great author." There's humor in his words but it's a mystery to her, one she doesn't have time to work out - her arms fold, holding the falling bag in place - and peeking through her lashes, she glances quickly at the table to read the title except the breach of her past is bringing unwanted tears to her eyes.

Fuck, she has to get out of here.

"Sure. Maybe."

She turns away from him, heads toward the corridor she'd spotted as the books fell from the table; heads toward solace, and the waiting euphoria that will flood her system once she bends over the line of white powder. Inhaling the substance at least allows her to feel something other than the black of the rabbit hole she has fallen into, even if it's only for a little while.

One day, maybe, she'll get to curl up again, her body relaxed, her mind happy, free of the past that haunts her, and she'll sit and read the book the stranger had recommended.

Storm Season sounds just like her life.

.

Thank you to Jo and Jamie for all their hard work behind the scenes xoxo

.

Thank you for reading xoxo