“Yes.”
Sickness still brews inside of me, but all I can do is swallow it back and hope it stays down. Gabe’s hands are all over me, groping and tugging fabric, yanking my pants down as he shoves me flat against the thick cherry wood desk that takes up most of the office space, right on top of stacks of case files.
Inhaling deeply, I turn toward the door. He’s wasting no time today. As Gabe unbuckles his pants, I reach down and touch myself, trying to get aroused. Pain, to me, usually means pleasure, but there’s a fine line there, one Gabe falls on the wrong side of.
People walk by, ignoring what’s happening, as Gabe thrusts inside of me, banging against the desk, not bothering to keep the noise down. They all know what’s happening but nobody looks. Nobody cares. Not a single one of them pay a bit of attention as he loudly grunts, getting his rocks off.
I just lay here and take it, not bothering to touch myself anymore. It’s a waste of time. A waste of energy. I’m not going to enjoy it. My body goes limp, my mind wandering as people stroll past, going about their business. Just once, I’d like someone to peek inside, even just a flickering glance, a moment of curiosity that forces their eyes to acknowledge me.
Do you know what it’s like to be invisible? Do you know what it’s like to have the world turn its back on you, to turn a blind eye to your existence, like you never even mattered? Do you know what it’s like to scream until your throat is raw only to realize everyone tuned you out long ago and nobody heard a single word?
Because I do. I know.
It only takes a few minutes for Gabe to finish, slumping over, panting. “You working tonight?”
“I have the night off,” I say.
“That’s a shame,” he says. “I was going to come by. You would’ve liked that, wouldn’t you have?”
“You know I would’ve,” I lie, because no thanks.
He moves away from me, flippantly discarding his used condom in the recycling bin. I stare at it as I pull my pants up.
Is latex recyclable?
I don’t think so.
Shaking it off, I watch Gabe as he zips his pants back up. “So, what’s the plan?”
He plops down in the office chair behind the desk and starts shifting through the files he just fucked me on top of. “The plan?”
“Yeah, the plan,” I say. “What did they say? What are they going to do about the situation?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
I blink a few times, that word like a weight pressing against my chest, cutting off the air in my lungs. Nothing. “What do you mean nothing? You told me—”
“I told you I’d talk to them,” he says, “and I did.”
“But that’s not right. It’s not fair. It’s not enough!”
He cuts his eyes at me. “I’m doing all I can.”
“But you’ve done nothing! You keep promising me you’ll do something, that you’re working on it, that if I trust you, it’ll all work out, but nothing is happening!”
“These things take time.”
“It’s been nine months, Gabe. Nine fucking months.”
“What do you expect me to do, Morgan? Huh?”
“Something,” I say. “Anything.”
“I told you—I’m doing all I can. And if you want me to keep doing that, it’s in your best interest to watch how you talk to me, because I can stop. I can turn it over to another detective, maybe even pass it to the squad at headquarters, where they’ll really do nothing, if that’s what you want.”
“What I want is for you to help me, like you promised!”
“You want some help, Morgan?”
“Yes!”
“Then how about I give you some advice,” he says. “You dug yourself a hole, sweetheart, a hole so big it might as well be a grave. And they’re going to bury you in it, first chance they get, unless you get out. But all this you keep doing? All this noise you keep making? You’re just making it all worse. The hole just keeps getting bigger and bigger.”
“What else am I supposed to do?”
He shrugs. “Forget about it.”
Those words are a slap to the face. I flinch.
“You’re still young,” he continues. “Start over, move on, build a new life. People do it all the time.”
Those are probably the cruelest words that have ever been spoken to me, and that’s saying something, considering the world I live in. Life stopped playing nice with me when I was just a kid, and I grew up fast after that... faster than a kid should ever grow up. But I never let it stop me, I never gave up, fighting to make a life for myself, a life of my own, building sand castles out of nothing that I could call home. It was all stolen from me, though, in the midst of a storm, and he tells me just to start over? To give up? To move on?
I don’t want to react. I don’t want him to know he’s getting to me. I’m not going to cry, that’s for sure, because Gabriel Jones isn’t worth a single fucking tear. But the lump in my throat keeps growing and growing, my eyes stinging, and I know I need to go before he realizes he got to me.
I walk away, grabbing the office door and yanking it open, slamming it against the wall as I storm out. People stop what they’re doing, eyes flickering my direction, like the floor comes to a standstill at the commotion. I head for the elevator, slapping the button as I hazard a glance back at the judgmental faces.
“Oh, now you all want to look?” I shout as the elevator dings, opening. “You want me to bend over so the rest of you can take turns, let all of you brave boys in blue fuck me a bit more?”
I step into the elevator and hit the button for the first floor, but before the door can close, whisking me away from this hellhole, Gabe steps in. The second we start moving, he slams his palm against the stop button, the elevator screeching to a halt. A loud buzzer goes off. I know they can hear it on all the floors. I can only imagine what they’re all thinking.
Probably that he’s fucking me some more.
I reach past him, attempting to grab the button so we’ll start moving, but he blocks my hand, shoving me back against the side of the elevator.
“Pull the button back out,” I growl. “Now.”
“You need to calm down,” he says. “You’re making a scene.”
“Says the guy holding me hostage in an elevator.”
“Look, I know you’re upset, but you’re acting irrational.”
“Irrational?” I shove against him, trying to force him away from me. “Fuck you!”
He narrows his eyes when I kick him, since shoving him isn’t working. Okay, maybe that was irrational, assaulting a police officer, but whatever. He deserves it.
“We’re building a case,” he says. “You know that. We’ve been building a case for decades, Morgan. Yeah, you’re waiting, but it’s nothing compared to the time this department has put into this case. So I sympathize, I do, but we can’t jeopardize everything because of what amounts to a fucking civil dispute!”
I blink a few times. I don’t even know what to say. He calls it a civil dispute, like it’s nothing more than a petty little squabble. I stay quiet, refusing to let him see how much that hurt me, and he pulls the button out so the elevator can move again.
Officer Rimmel looks up when I step into the lobby, her gaze flickering to where Gabe lingers. A look crosses her face, her eyes narrowing as they again seek me out, watching me pass. Jealousy, or maybe just disgust... I don’t know. Does it matter? She doesn’t know what it’s like to be me. She could never understand, so she can take that look and shove it up her snobbish ass.
It’s early evening, the air blistering as it approaches dusk. I pull my hood up before shoving my hands in my pockets. Keeping my head down, I cut around the side of the precinct, heading for the subway.
I slip through the small gathered crowd, squeezing into a spot along the back. The F train approaches after a few minutes and I step onto it, finding an empty seat toward the middle of the car.
The sun is setting by the time I make it back into the city, the train taking me straight to the Lower East Side. I walk the few blocks to my building, my head still lowered, despite no longer being in Brooklyn.