Page 44 of Body Count

“I’m not breaking up with you.But I’m not happy, either.And I know you’re not happy either.I love you.I want to make this work.And it’s not working.”

I nodded.

“I want to see a therapist.Together.”He opened his eyes, and his tone toughened.“And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“No.”

He didn’t say anything.

“You can say you’re not taking no for an answer,” I said, “but the answer is still fucking no.I did that already.I did all the required sessions to get cleared for duty.”

He still didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry I’m a piece of shit, Darnell.I am.You’re a good guy.You deserve a lot better than me.But I’m not talking to a fucking therapist about how—” I almost said,About how I got my face blown off.But instead I said, “—my parents fucked me up as a child, and so now I’m fucked up, and yeah, I’ll try to do better.”

“I think it’s time we try.”

“No.”

“We haven’t done this yet, and we should have.I should have put my foot down with you a long time ago.”

“Put your foot down?”I laughed.“Sorry to break it to you, bro, but you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“You used to talk like that all the time.That was one of the things I liked about you: the swagger.”

“I’m not going.”

Darnell sat up.He ran a hand down his shirt, his attention focused on smoothing out the wrinkles as he said, “I made an appointment for us.Tomorrow afternoon.I’ll text you the information.”

“Great.Have a good time.You can tell him or her or whoever how fucking awful I am to you.”

“You’re going to be there.And we’re not going to have this argument again.”

“Or what?You’ll break up with me?Break up with me, Darnell.I keep telling you to kick my ass out.Jesus, dude, this is a sinking ship.Save yourself.”

“If you don’t go,” he said, and his voice was calm, steady, practical.Someone explaining something simple.“I’ll tell Chief Peterson you’re not fit to return to duty.Ever.And I’ll tell him why.”

The sound of clogs on linoleum passed the room.

“Do you understand me?”Darnell said.

The heat worked its way through my body.Sweat broke out: under my arms, up my throat, in my face.My eyes stung, and I was the one who looked away first.

“I’m going to get you some ice,” Darnell said, and he walked out of the room, and the door clicked shut behind him.

18

Darnell drove me home.He talked.He asked me how I liked the new deodorant he’d bought me.He told me about a new notetaking app on his phone.At a stoplight, he pointed to a new barbeque joint and told me he’d heard they were famous for their black pepper rub.

When we got home, the deputies were gone; they’d finished processing the scene.Darnell held my arm and walked me inside.To their credit, the deputies had tried to put things to rights after they’d finished, but that was an impossible task.Everything was out of place.Traces of fingerprint powder lingered.It felt like we were coming home to someone else’s house, and it just happened to look a lot like ours.

Darnell turned on all the lights.He didn’t even ask.

Apparently, I was allowed to go to the bathroom on my own.They’d cleaned me up as best they could at the hospital, but I stayed under the hot water for a long time, the spray needling the knots in my shoulders and back.They can’t make me say anything, I thought.I can go and sit there.For an hour a week or whatever it is.Every week.As long as he wants.They can’t make me talk.

The hot water ran out eventually.I dried off.I checked myself in the mirror.Looking rough, bro.Looking very rough.I thought maybe, a little, I could still smell it.It had gotten up my nose.

I dressed—shorts and a tee.I lay on my bed with my phone.On Prowler, there were the usual pics of twinks tenting their PJ Mask boxers while trying to pull off tough shit in the profile like POWER BOTTOMS ONLY and I WILL WRECK YOU.There was a guy who had an electric keyboard in every picture—no face, just the keyboard, and in a lot of them, he was humping it.There was another guy who had a picture of himself from the ass down, in position, on what looked like an old lady’s sofa.His “Never have I ever,” one of Prowler’s profile options, saidNever have I ever been fucked on my grandma’s sofa.So, there went that last scrap of my soul.

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