Page 84 of Fighting

“We’ll see what we can do.” Officer Douchebag narrows his eyes, though they quickly drift lower, appraising my figure.

Gross. Today sucks, and it’s not even ten.

thirty-six

Nessa

The minutemy phone is in my hands, I pull up the remaining voicemails and skim the transcripts again. Inhaling deeply, I remind myself how inconsequential my problems are compared to my client’s. It’s my job to protect her so that the ongoing financial, emotional, and physical abuse is documented properly. I exhale and take another cleansing breath before pulling up my supervisor’s contact information.

Our conversation is a blur. By the end of it, I am nodding in relief and wiping away additional tears. Into the phone, I say, “Thank you again, Ruth Anne. I will absolutely take the day.”

According to my supervisor, my patient is okay. Her sister drove up from Delaware immediately and will stay with her.

Maybe it’s naivety, classism, or colorism that makes the average person think abuse happens somewhere else. However, I have seen abuse victims from all walks of life.

My phone vibrates with a text message, because, somehow, Satan’s mother fucking Bikini Waxer has not taken the hint in the last few hours.

Satan’s Bikini Waxer:

Cute picture

Nessa:

Are you having me watched?

Satan’s Bikini Waxer:

The family keeps a close eye on a lot of things. Got lucky.

Nessa:

Delete this number.

Satan’s Bikini Waxer:

Was good seeing you at the festival, princess.

I can barely keep my head above water to make sense of what has happened in the last seventy-two hours. All I know is somehow having money and a penis increases a person’s credibility. The charges have been dropped, but the photo cannot end up in the hands of my licensing board. This is the exact type of power game I was sick of when we ended things.

The angel and devil are talking to me again. They’ve teamed up now. We’re going to hold your hand while we tell you this: Caleb is an abuser. Those were signs of PTSD, and he’s trying to control you again. Don’t let him win.

I study Aba, then Mateo. I can’t tell either of them about this.

How could I be so smart and yet so very stupid? This is all a big, bright spotlight on the sign from the universe: Nessa is not supposed to date. When I date, I get distracted. If I hadn’t been distracted by Mateo, my phone would have been plugged in. I’d be the first to respond to my client. I’d keep everyone safe, and my girlfriends will keep me loved. Those who can’t do, teach. I have to stay in my lane.

Time to reset this thing with Mateo—I knew all along I didn’t have the time or energy for him. I knew he would cause me problems. I hate that I was right because it was fun while it lasted.

Handing over the keys to Mateo, I look at the ground and shake my head. “I’m sorry,” is all I can get through my lips before my lungs constrict again.

Despite the heartbreak, I smile and ask, “Aba, will you take me to visit Shae?”

thirty-seven

Mateo

“You can’t forceit to ring by staring it at,” Liam says, handing me a beer.

I haven’t heard from Nessa since we parted ways at the small police station days ago. The last thing she said to me directly was “I’m sorry.”

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