I walk over to her to hold her, or apologize, or something--I don’t know what, but she makes a beeline for her purse and then starts heading to the door. It fucking hurts, but that’s what I get. What did I expect, opening my mouth and ruining it?
We were playing house though. Caught up in something that doesn’t exist.
“I’m not kicking you out.” I talk to her back as she walks out on me. I may as well have kicked her out though. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This needs to go down like this. She needs to be pissed at me. But I don’t want that.
This is all so fucked.
She turns to face me as I walk up behind her before she can open the door. I want to say something to her. I don’t know what. I just don’t want her to leave like this.
“Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.” Her voice is hard and full of menace, but her eyes are glassy with tears. It fucking guts me.
“Stop it, Tonya. It’s not like that.” She turns her back to me to open the door, but I put my hand above hers to keep it from opening. She turns around and I cage her in. She closes her eyes to avoid my stare.
“Stop it. You know I didn’t mean it like that.” I talk with a gentle tone and try to calm her down. But her defenses are way up. She’s not giving me anything. “You don’t want this anyway. You’re a cop. I’m suspect in your case for fuck's sake.”
“You didn’t do it,” she says calmly. Her admission shocks me. If she knows I didn’t do it, what the fuck is she after me for? “You’re right though. This shouldn’t have happened.” She opens her eyes and speaks calmly, “I want to leave now.”
There’s no emotion left. No sadness, no disappointment, no anger. She’s got her mask on, and she’s not giving me anything.
I should make her open up. I shouldn’t let her leave like this.
But it’s what’s best for both of us. She’s a cop, and I’m mobbed up. This shit should’ve never happened.
“Alright.” I stand back and let her open the door. I fucking hate that I feel anything for her. She’s a cop. I have to keep repeating it in my head. I have to remember I can’t have her. I’ve been ordered to stay away from her. I shouldn’t have let it get this far. This is bad. I don’t know what I was thinking.
“Can you just tell me one thing?” she asks, as she steps out into the hallway. “Is Petrov dead?” She looks up at me with nothing in her eyes, no emotion. Not a damn thing.
I bite the inside of my cheek fucking hating that she’s asking that.
“You know I can’t tell you anything. Stop asking me. I’m not gonna answer.” I can’t. I’d be a stupid prick to admit anything.
“Yeah, I figured. Couldn’t hurt to ask one more time though.” She walks down the hallway without looking back.
I feel fucking used. But what’s worse is that I want to stop her. I want to tell her how he suffered. How a woman who he tortured killed him. But I can’t.
Instead I stand in my doorway and listen to her steps. I grip the door jamb tighter as I hear the door open and listen as she leaves.
Fuck, I want to tell her. And that’s not good. None of this is good.
Tonya
I’m not gonna cry. I don’t fucking cry. Sure as shit not over men. I’ve had a few boyfriends here and there, but that’s never happened to me. It’s never been a hit it and quit it situation. And sure as fuck not five minutes after cumming inside of me. Asshole. He didn’t kick me out, but he could’ve picked a better time to start talking like that.
It was a mistake. I know that. It never should’ve happened. I have more restraint than that. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me so weak. I cave to him, when I haven’t ever caved before. I don’t like it. I also don’t like that he brought it up first. I was thinking it, but I was pushing it down.
It just felt so nice to be held. It’s been a long time. I feel so fucking deprived of human interaction. It’s been too fucking long. I take a deep breath as I lie down on my bed. It’s cold. But it feels good to just relax against the bed. I snort a humorless laugh.
I shouldn’t be relaxing. I shouldn’t even want that. I’ve lost sight of my purpose. I swore I wouldn’t stop until I found Petrov and destroyed him and everyone who works for him. It's like I was wearing blinders all through the academy. I didn’t even care about how much my body hurt. Nothing else mattered. I was just obsessed at taking a leap forward.
And then my huge break when the department had an opening was as if the stars had aligned. Like God was handing me my revenge on a silver platter. But then nothing. Not a fucking trace of him. The other names on my list are all dead. There are no leads. I shouldn’t be relaxing, but I don’t know what else to do.
It’s as if I’ve been running as hard and as fast as I’m able, chasing a ghost. And now he’s disappeared, and I’m finally taking a look around.
How did I get here? This isn’t what I went to college for. This isn’t what I wanted to do. My life wasn’t supposed to end up like this. Even back then I wasn’t really sure what I wanted, but the shit I was studying was at least interesting. All of this is just depressing as fuck.
But I owe it to my sister. She was older than me. Only by three years. She was reserved and polite. I was the handful child that always got into trouble. Maybe that’s why I never got along with my mother. I don’t know. But that relationship completely vanished when Melissa died. My mother couldn’t take it. She’s not a fighter like me.
The night Melissa didn’t come back, my mom was sure she was dead. The next morning when I went looking for her, putting up signs and waiting for the police to actually do something, my mother did nothing but cry. I was pissed. She wasn’t even trying. I think she buried Melissa that day. And what was left of her own soul.
Ever since I’ve been so fucking alone.
Melissa could’ve been trapped. She could have hit her head somehow and been unconscious. A million scenarios ran through my head. I knew deep inside me that she needed me. She needed us. Yet my mother did nothing but sob inconsolably.
I hated her then. It was like I could feel my sister’s pain, and I tried so fucking hard. I looked everywhere I could. But I never would have found her. I was looking in all the wrong places.
It wasn’t long after that when her body was discovered. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t imagine that someone would take her. After the shock and the sadness, all that was left was anger. I knew I had to do something.
I took a semester off school to join the groups that all promise to bring awareness to sex trafficking. I went to meetings, presentations, and counseling. But it didn’t feel like enough. More than that, I saw my sister in the women who survived. I could see her in their place.
But I knew she’d never be there. She was dead. She wasn’t ever going to sit in the chair across from me, and tell me what happened to her. She wasn’t going to be making plans with me on how to handle simple, everyday tasks that now felt impossible. I had to stop going.
I needed to go after the man who'd led her to her death.
I feel like it was just yesterday that I’d made up my mind to chase after Petrov. Like I'd gone into a dark tunnel and sprinted through it blindly, only to emerge and not realize where it was taking me.