I ask her again, making sure the concern comes through, “You sure you’re okay?”
She blinks a few times as if gauging whether I really do give a shit before she answers. She nods her head and replies, “Yeah, I’m fine.”
She puts her hand on the door to close it, but before she does, she looks up and asks, “Is he dead?”
She keeps asking the same question and I don’t like it. Cops ask questions. And answering that particular one could mean trouble for me. The concern is wiped off my face like it was never fucking there.
“You have a nice night, Officer Kelly,” I say as I turn my back on her and walk away. I get a few feet from her when I hear the car door shut and her engine roar to life.
As she drives away, the anger and disappointment settle in. What the fuck was I thinking? She could’ve handled herself; I could’ve stayed back and made sure she was fine after the fact. Instead I got shit on my hands that she could arrest me for.
But she didn’t. I’m not sure I trust it though. I sure as fuck don’t trust her. As I walk away with more resolve to keep my distance and listen to the orders Vince gave me, my phone goes off. It’s a text from Vince.
Why the fuck did you need Nicky?
Fuck.
This is exactly why I need to stay the fuck away from her.
Tonya
I still don’t understand what happened. I park my car under the light and look up at my steps. I sit there for a moment. It’s a moment too long. I should get inside. I’m quick like I always am, and I walk straight upstairs. It’s not till the keys fall into the glass bowl on the end table that I realize my hand is shaking.
I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. It happens a lot. I thought it would stop eventually. It’s a reaction from the adrenaline and endorphins wearing off. It’s not shock, but it’s not okay, either. I see it as a weakness and I hate it.
I sink into the sofa and try to calm myself down. I can do this. I have to do this. Other women are strong enough. Fuck, if a man can do it, so can I. Men use brute strength, while women use leverage, and brains. I truly believe that. But damn, this is fucking hard. It’s so goddamned hard. I thought police academy was rough. And it was. But real-life situations are scary as fuck.
Hand-to-hand combat is its own kind of beast. It’s terrifying at times. Women are worse than men. Way worse. Men sometimes only go a blow or two. They wanna prove a point. I’ve seen them tear each other to pieces in front of me. Even the bang of my gun going off didn’t pull them off each other. But that's rare.
Women are the opposite. When they go at it, they’re going for damage. They want blood. Humiliation. They want to scar their opponent and ruin them. They go for the face and eyes, their hair. Anywhere visible. I’ve pulled men apart on my own before. Men stronger than me. But it's nothing like pulling women apart. They go for damage and they don't give a fuck who goes down with them.
I swallow thickly, trying to just calm down. It only takes a moment to think back to when things were easier. I remember why I’m doing this. Why it’s worth it to continue.
I remember playing with my sister in the front yard with chalk. Her graduation from nursing school. Talking to her on the phone. I remember the last time I heard her voice. I hear the conversation echo in my head.
“You’re such a dork, Melissa. You need to go have some fun,” I say to her.
“I’m seriously fine at home, you go ahead without me.”
“You are truly missing out. Like you have no idea.” I can’t believe she’d hold herself back again; she's gotta learn to live a little. “There’s nothing wrong with going clubbing. You gotta get some from time to time.”
“Oh my God, don’t talk like that!” she admonishes me with a hushed tone.
“Why?” I ask.
“‘Cause you sound like a slut!” I can hear the humor in her voice.
“So?” We both laugh at my joke. “You just need to loosen up is all I’m saying.”
“Well I’m not like you, Tonya.” I can hear a little disappointment in her voice and I hate it. “I don’t have that confidence.” I want to tell her she should. I want to tell her she’s beautiful and deserving of happiness and that includes meeting up with me to go out for drinks. But I don’t want to upset her. I don’t want to be pushy. So I don’t say anything at all.
And because of that, I missed out on one more night that I could’ve had with her.
She really was a prude and an ‘inside person’ as she used to say. She didn’t read the same smutty books as me or enjoy the dirty jokes I liked. But she didn’t hold it against me, either. She never judged me. I’m guilty of judging her, though. I assumed she’d meet a doctor and make lots of babies and drive a minivan in just a few years. I teased her all the time about it. To her, it was a dream. To me, it’s a fucking nightmare.