Page 7 of Lust
* * *
Hours later, I sat in the living room, flickering through the TV channels, when curly mounds of hair came into my vision line. Mary had taken the makeup off Sara’s face, though she still wore the angel halo crown.
Haunting grays stared at me meaningfully before handing me the leather jacket she had spoiled earlier tonight. It had been cleaned up.
I glanced at the jacket suspiciously. I had respect for Sara when she ruined it in retaliation for destroying her toy. I hadn’t a clue how to feel about her returning it in mint condition.
“Mary helped me clean it. Said it was your dad’s jacket,” she finally spoke. Toying with the heart necklace around her neck, she pulled it up for my benefit. “This was my mom’s.”
A small child, who should be clueless about death, somehow understood the meaningfulness of mementos left behind. She commiserated with my loss in the dark, regretful of her actions even though I had deserved it. Then she engulfed me in a hug without warning.
Shocked, I couldn’t move for several moments.
No one, not even Mary, was familiar enough with me to show affection. We never built that kind of a rapport, and to try it now would be awkward.
However, nothing about this hug was awkward.
It was… comforting.
I patted her twice on the back. “Thank you, little angel. Go to bed now.”
She didn’t seem surprised by my term of endearment and broke the hug. After she left the room, I found myself fiddling with my phone. I pulled up the site to American Girl Dolls to order that little shit one more of her damn dolls.
Fifteen Years Later
* * *
“Ihave rights, you know!” I hollered, poking my face out of the small window with railings to address the cop in the hallway.
“Not the right to assault an officer,” the man retorted dryly.
“Allegedly,” I sulkily countered and studied the dingy room in the basement. This building was a private shelter for low-income families in need. It consisted of several floors, each with multiple units to house them. The main floor was used for office and administrative purposes, as well as afterschool care for the kids. Meanwhile, the basement was too run down to be occupied. There was rubble on the floor, and the paint on the wall was chipping away. Only one window peeked into the hallway, allowing me access to my jailor—the aforementioned officer.
He was silent, watching me with tired eyes.
A few years ago, my family took over the upkeep of this shelter and regularly hosted charity events to raise money for it. Per my brother’s orders, I wasn’t allowed to have a job other than my charity work. So, I became involved in the organization’s plight that was focused on providing a safe space for victims of domestic abuse. This brick-and-mortar building was somewhat of a safe space for me as well. It was ironic to be held captive at the very place I considered a sanctuary.
This building, along with the surrounding ones, had been purchased by developers, some blood-sucking corporation. They built a buzzing plaza, encouraging a bidding war for rental space. They were in the process of relocating this shelter as it didn’t fit their agenda for gentrification.
It caused an uproar in the community and a demonstration that I had personally led.
The developers had called upon police officers to cover the perimeters and contain the rally. But the number of attendants had doubled by noon, and the demonstrators were shoved against one another. When someone slammed into me with brutal force, I accidentally bumped into an officer of the law standing behind me. The fierce shove caused him to fall, and as a result, I was restrained for assault.
Un-fucking-believable.
The cops were under strict orders to ensure a nonviolent rally. It would be a PR nightmare for the precinct if anyone were harmed during a peaceful protest. Soon, another officer escorted me inside the building to a room that had been repurposed for violent protesters. All the streets had been blocked off, so they deemed it necessary to detain me here until the protest ended.
“This is ridiculous,” I announced. “No one even saw me push that cop.”
“If a tree fell in a forest, but no one heard it, did it not make a sound?”
His attempt at a philosophical discussion was unseemly. I hated the superiority act as if he were on the right side of the fight.
“You know, Katniss Everdeen was also persecuted for standing up to the man,” I informed with the same sense of morality he seemed to possess.
“Are you really comparing your unsolicited attack on an officer of the law with a fictional character who freed a dystopian society?”
He crossed his arms across his broad chest, which only added to his intimidating aura. Unsure of how to get out of this quandary, I observed my jailor closely for clues to his psyche.
