“I brought my own sandwich,” I said, shaking my head.
“What the hell is with you lately. You’re too mopey. Are you on the rag?”
“Why? Do you want to borrow a tampon?” I snapped back, laughing.
He pulled the car into a spot in front of the precinct and jumped out without another word. I took my time climbing out. I was in no rush to sit at a desk full of flowers and do reports.
The waiting area of the station house smelled like piss. People sat quietly, shifting around in their chairs, watching us as we walked in. One older woman clutched her purse to her chest in a death grip as tears poured down her face and hiccups shook her small frame. Another woman, much younger, sat two seats down from her, with rings of mascara around her eyes that ran all the way down her cheeks. She stared up at me blankly. Her eyes seemed so empty that it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I walked over to the front desk. “What’s up with raccoon eyes over there?” I wanted to go over and help her, ask if she was okay. But that wasn’t protocol, and we always had to stick to protocol.
“She’s waiting. Just came in,” she sighed, and tilted her head up at me, giving me a once over. Next to me, Mark drummed his fingers on the countertop. “Captain was looking for you a few minutes ago.”
“Both of us?” Mark asked, drumming his fingers faster.
“Just Officer Fury,” she said, giving him a flirtatious smile. I rolled my eyes at her. I found myself wondering if she ever got out from behind that desk and did any sort of real police work.
“I’ll just stay and talk with you then,” Mark smiled, winking at her.
Ew. Get a room. They both made me sick. They’ve been screwing around for months, pretending that they weren’t. And her husband was a really nice guy.Somebody should slip him a note.
I ignored their continued whispers and walked through the waiting area and into what we called the 124 room, where we all have our desks. My shoes squeaked loudly over the tiled floors and the smell of piss still lingered in the air.
Inside, the first person I caught a glimpse of was Ryan Cage, perched on the edge of Officer Lydia Martinez’s desk. There were of course a ton of other officers around, searching through filing cabinets, drinking coffee, typing on keyboards, yet they were the only two I took notice of. They had their heads pressed together as if they were sharing a secret. His head lifted as I walked in. He had a smile on his face and a laugh on his lips from something she had just said. For a split second, my feet wouldn’t move, and a strange unwanted burning sensation spread across my chest.
Ryan’s eyes flickered away quickly, continuing his conversation with Lydia. It was funny to me, just then, how I never noticed how beautiful Officer Martinez was until just that very moment. “Of course she is,” I mumbled to myself. The heat in my chest intensified, and I rushed past them and sat at my desk for the rest of my shift, writing reports. Mark never came to make sure I had my sandwich, and we never went back out on patrol.
Five minutes before the end of my tour, I finally walked into the hallway to the Captain’s office.
I took a deep breath, a few actually, before wrapping my knuckles hard against his office door.
“Come in,” his deep voice called from the other side.
“Sir,” I said, entering.
“Close the door, Officer Fury.” He sat behind his desk, his white shirt crisp and perfect—his gold brass glinting from the sunlight filtering in through the window.
I didn’t close the door.
In that moment, Captain Harris Anderson looked every bit his forty-five years. His lips pulled down, deep fissures in his brow; the rest of him was as hard and brittle as his twenty-year career. His icy, blue eyes pierced right through me. “Close. The. Door.”
Again, I didn’t.
He stood up, slowly, deliberately, leaning his hands down on his desk. Even from where he was, across the office, he towered over me. His massive presence filled up the room; it was suffocating.
“Do you want a command discipline?” he growled, clenching his hands into fists.
I took a slow, deep breath and closed the door.
It clicked softly, making my eyes well with tears.
“I miss your mouth on me.” His voice cracked with each word. “You need—”
“Please stop,” I whispered, looking up at him. His eyes darted back and forth between mine, and I knew he saw the tears there that I was desperately holding back.
“I don’t want to,” he said, softly. He rushed around the desk and gently clasped his hands over mine. “I don’t want you with anyone else. I—”
“Harris, please stop,” I said, stepping away. The tears came then, streaming down my cheeks, unstoppable, uncontrollable. “I can’t be with you like that any longer. I can’t wait for you all the time and pretend we aren’t together. For what? For when we are together, and you don’t like what I say so you put your hands on me?”
