again. Old family photos and Grandmother's furniture and Grandpa's odds and ends in the garage. Those ancient memories were the only things I was glad to leave behind. But here it was, still following me around like a ghost. But Joanie thought it was cute. She liked having a picture of me as a kid underneath the condoms in her bedside table. And for that reason and only that reason, I put it back.
I was craving a drink.
I was craving freedom.
I went downstairs but the air just as thick and stifling as it was up in the bedroom. I wanted to breathe fresh air. I moved from the kitchen to the living room and back again, tightening my fist in my T-shirt. It felt like my chest was tight. Joanie was the love of my life. She was the only one keeping me there. She was the only one keeping me in that moment. But she wasn't there. She wasn't there to keep me from losing my mind. She wasn't there to keep me from going stir-crazy.
A knock on the door froze me in my tracks. I crouched down instantly, without thinking. The drapes were drawn, but there was light poking in from the gaps between the fabric. I studied the clouded window beside the door, but I could only make out a dark figure. The doorbell rang then, echoing through the lower level of the condo. My heart started pounding in my chest and I felt an itch under my collar. I knew if I didn't move, they would most likely go away, whoever they were. I knew that, but it didn't stop me from stalking toward the door and silently standing to check the keyhole. I don't know what it was, the adrenaline or the restlessness or the anger that I still couldn't get rid of. It didn't matter.
It especially didn't matter when I saw who was on the other side.
I didn't recognize him, but I recognized his clothes. From my years spent stuck in the justice system, I recognized the Sears suit and scuffed black shoes. I recognized the way he held himself and the way he was sniffing around. He was a cop, definitely a cop. There was no doubt about it.
He was Joanie's cop.
I watched as he took a step back and glanced up at the bedroom windows above. I wondered if he was looking for signs of life, for a sign of Joanie. He stepped to the side, his eyes darting to the picture window. I knew he probably wouldn't be able to see anything. I knew that if I stayed quiet long enough he would leave. I knew it, and yet I couldn't. I knew it but that didn't stop me from dropping my hand to the doorknob. I watched him through the peephole, his body distorted in the lens. I couldn't tell quite how tall he was or how strong he looked. He wasn't paying any attention to the door any more. He hopped down off the doorstep and walked closer to the window. He wasn't giving up, I told myself. He wasn't going away. It felt like he'd been there for an hour, but it had to've been seconds. My heart slowed in my chest and sweat beaded on my forehead. I wanted to know what he knew. I wanted to know what he wanted from Joanie. But most importantly, I wanted to crack his skull open and push all the thoughts of Joanie out. She was taken; she was mine. He wanted her, but he couldn't fucking have her.
So I did it. I didn't think anymore. I just turned the doorknob and let the door open a crack. It creaked lightly and a cool gust of air pushed it open further. I waited, waited to see if he would take the bait. It was foolish of me and I know that now, but at the time I couldn't think of anything else. I craved a fight too hard. I craved bone against bone and flesh and blood. I craved violence. And I craved some kind of ending, some kind of punctuation to the not knowing. It was my time to make something happen. Anything. So I did it.
I heard him return to the door step, his footsteps cautious. I heard a click, like a metallic button popping, and I knew he'd released the strap on his holster. I knew his gun would be at his hip, most likely his right side. I planned for it. It was fucking stupid, because I could just as easily have
I was craving a drink.
I was craving freedom.
I went downstairs but the air just as thick and stifling as it was up in the bedroom. I wanted to breathe fresh air. I moved from the kitchen to the living room and back again, tightening my fist in my T-shirt. It felt like my chest was tight. Joanie was the love of my life. She was the only one keeping me there. She was the only one keeping me in that moment. But she wasn't there. She wasn't there to keep me from losing my mind. She wasn't there to keep me from going stir-crazy.
A knock on the door froze me in my tracks. I crouched down instantly, without thinking. The drapes were drawn, but there was light poking in from the gaps between the fabric. I studied the clouded window beside the door, but I could only make out a dark figure. The doorbell rang then, echoing through the lower level of the condo. My heart started pounding in my chest and I felt an itch under my collar. I knew if I didn't move, they would most likely go away, whoever they were. I knew that, but it didn't stop me from stalking toward the door and silently standing to check the keyhole. I don't know what it was, the adrenaline or the restlessness or the anger that I still couldn't get rid of. It didn't matter.
It especially didn't matter when I saw who was on the other side.
I didn't recognize him, but I recognized his clothes. From my years spent stuck in the justice system, I recognized the Sears suit and scuffed black shoes. I recognized the way he held himself and the way he was sniffing around. He was a cop, definitely a cop. There was no doubt about it.
He was Joanie's cop.
I watched as he took a step back and glanced up at the bedroom windows above. I wondered if he was looking for signs of life, for a sign of Joanie. He stepped to the side, his eyes darting to the picture window. I knew he probably wouldn't be able to see anything. I knew that if I stayed quiet long enough he would leave. I knew it, and yet I couldn't. I knew it but that didn't stop me from dropping my hand to the doorknob. I watched him through the peephole, his body distorted in the lens. I couldn't tell quite how tall he was or how strong he looked. He wasn't paying any attention to the door any more. He hopped down off the doorstep and walked closer to the window. He wasn't giving up, I told myself. He wasn't going away. It felt like he'd been there for an hour, but it had to've been seconds. My heart slowed in my chest and sweat beaded on my forehead. I wanted to know what he knew. I wanted to know what he wanted from Joanie. But most importantly, I wanted to crack his skull open and push all the thoughts of Joanie out. She was taken; she was mine. He wanted her, but he couldn't fucking have her.
So I did it. I didn't think anymore. I just turned the doorknob and let the door open a crack. It creaked lightly and a cool gust of air pushed it open further. I waited, waited to see if he would take the bait. It was foolish of me and I know that now, but at the time I couldn't think of anything else. I craved a fight too hard. I craved bone against bone and flesh and blood. I craved violence. And I craved some kind of ending, some kind of punctuation to the not knowing. It was my time to make something happen. Anything. So I did it.
I heard him return to the door step, his footsteps cautious. I heard a click, like a metallic button popping, and I knew he'd released the strap on his holster. I knew his gun would be at his hip, most likely his right side. I planned for it. It was fucking stupid, because I could just as easily have
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