I flip to the first blank page and start writing. Fast, messy, honest for the first time in years.
Reasons I should arrest them all:
The law
My oath
The bodies
Reasons I won’t:
Her mouth
The way she looked at me when she stole that onion ring like she was stealing my soul and I handed it over gift-wrapped
The fact that I came in my fist the second I smelled her on those panties
I tear the old pages out one by one.
I feed them to the kitchen sink and light a match.
The flames curl blue and hungry, eating every name except hers.
When it’s done I’m shaking. Hard.
I pick up the panties again, still carrying the proof that she came while reading how obsessed I am.
I press them to my face and inhale until my lungs burn.
Cop or hers?
There’s no contest.
I choose hers.
