I haven’t had to explain my actions to anyone in years and I wasn’t thrilled to be doing it now. Nor did I like the look of irritation on his face that apparently, I was the cause of.
After making a mental note to beat the hell out of Pita at the earliest opportunity, I decided to stand my ground with Dion. I needed to set a precedence. Assert my dominance and shit like that.
“It’s my understanding the videos can be taken down,” I say hoping to calm his concerns.
“And they will be,” he says firmly. “But I’d like to know why you ever allowed it in the first place. After all, aren’t you the adult, Mercy?”
“I didn’t want to stifle his creative side.” Which is true. “And don’t tell me how to parent. Or, foster. Whatever the hell it’s called.”
“Are you standing by that or trying to piss me off?”
“Can you move back so I can breathe, please?”
“No,” he says crowding me further. Then he grips my hips and freezes. Shit. Busted. Yanking my shirt up, Dion growls, “Explain the gun.”
“Pretty sure it’s self-explanatory,” I offer lamely.
Next thing I know, I’m being frisked and not sexually. He spun me around until there was nothing left to confiscate. Stacking his finds on my desk, I watch him fight for control wondering what to do with me. I also watched him lose that fight. Too calmly he says, “A pistol, two knives, zip ties, mace and a breath spray, Mercy.”
“Far too often my lead has bad breath and” –
“The weapons!” he roars in fury. “Explain those!”
“I know how to use them, Dion, therefore I don’t need to explain shit!”
“You’re not a cop anymore!”
“Just because I quit doesn’t mean I’m not still a cop, Dion. That will always be a part of me and the only difference is, now I’m not getting paid for it.”
“And you don’t have department support or backup, Mercy. You have you and a God damn teenager with a cell phone and ideas. So far, you’ve survived on luck. I don’t need to watch the latest batch of amateur videos to know that. I can look at you and see that. Serving divorce papers and taking pictures does not require weapons!”
“First,” I say holding a finger up. A finger I wanted to shove straight up his ass minus the lube. “You’re going to knock off that condescending way you’re speaking to me. Second, my training has served me very well, obviously. Third, I fucking earned the right to carry as many weapons as my body allows. I do not take unnecessary risks so bite me for suggesting otherwise. Forth, it doesn’t matter what line of work you’re in, you can’t predict other people’s behavior. Fifth, I realize my size puts me at a disadvantage and I prepare accordingly; hence the weapons. Six, nobody wants to be served divorce papers, Dion, and sometimes those people get pushy.”
“And you push back,” he snaps.
“Well yes, considering I don’t like being pushed!”
“I want you, Mercy. More than I’ve ever wanted anything and I’ve made that more than clear. I’ve made wanting forever clear. What’s also clear is you have no intention of quitting or even being cautious. And I don’t know if I can invest in you knowing you’re out there putting yourself in harm’s way for no reason.”
I guarantee I flinched because what he just said felt like a bullet to the heart. And not the first one I’ve taken, I might add. Backing away, I do my best not to show him how much pain I’m in. “It’s my dream,” I whisper.
“What about Pita?” he says hitting below the belt. “That kid wants to be you, Mercy. He watches every move you make. He is memorizing you. Could he have handled himself today?”
No use in lying about it, so I say, “No.” Because I would have handled it for him.
“No, he couldn’t because he’s had no training. He takes his cues from you and to him, I’m sure you make it look easy. Can you live with yourself if something happens to Pita?”
“You’re right,” I concede, kinda. But there was more to this than I was willing to argue about right now. Because no matter what I say the end result was the same. He wanted me to be someone I wasn’t. Dion wanted me to be…docile. Gag.
Letting out a sigh he says, “Look at me, Mercy.” Doing as instructed, he kisses the top of my head saying, “Had something happened to you…we’ll be okay, as long as you promise not to cross that line again.”
Stiffening in his arms, I push off him and say, “I can’t make that promise and you have no right asking it of me.”
“Fuck,” he says throwing his hands up in defeat. “I’m no one to you, am I? We’re nothing, right? I’ll be God damned if I’m going to beg you to be with me. Especially when you’re so hell bent on keeping me at arm’s length. It’s obvious the only dream that matters here is yours. “
And without speaking another word, he walked out.
Before the tears set in, I called Pita and when I got voicemail, my message was simple.
“Take the videos down before someone gets hurt.”
Falling into my chair, I felt numb and heart sick. Because Dion was a good man, was trying to look out for me, start a future with me and I was nothing but a coward. I was also unwilling to cower, change or quit my fucking job. That wasn’t happening for any man. Ever. I’ve convinced myself that independence was not needing anyone. Because if you put yourself in someone else's hands and trust them to take care of you, they will disappoint you every fucking time.
“He’s not Nick,” Ember says from the door.
“Not now, Em.”
“Nick wouldn’t give a fuck,” she continues. “Because Nick only gave a fuck about Nick.”
“Nick was an expensive mistake. One I’m still paying for but thanks for the reminder.”
“Nick was decent dick and a distraction,” she says softly. “But Nick isn’t the point. Was Dion right, Mercy?”
“No,” I say reaching for the booze in my drawer. “Well, maybe about the kid. And that’s a hard maybe.”
“You would never let anything happen to Pita. Dion is just worried about you and I get that, I do. And I can’t fault him for that. Hell, I’d fault him if he didn’t. But you deserve the dream and the great guy. If he doesn’t support your dream then maybe he isn’t as great as you’d hoped he’d be.”
“What would you do?” I ask my best friend.
“What I would do is quit my job, get knocked up and spend all of his money.”
“Okay,” I try again. “What do I do?”
“You do what you always do, Mercy.”
“And that is?”
“Run shit.”
And because I had no idea what to do with that, I drank.
Two hours later, I was filled to the brim with liquid courage and still didn’t have the balls to call him.
How’s that for running shit?