My engine rumbles as I pull into a spot on the far side of the parking lot at the police station. This one-horse bullshit town only has one station, and of course Daisy’s on the other side of that door. She’s always taken after her old man in that regard. She likes order. She craves order. She likes things to be tidy and clean and wants the bad guys put away and the good guys celebrated with a parade every year.

I suck the nicotine from the end of my cigarette into my lungs and wince as I pinch the end between my fingers. The smoke fills my car as I roll up my window and cut the engine.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Daisy since Friday night. My weekend was filling out job applications in my room, pounding the pavement to get a new gig, and tossing glances over at Daisy through her window.

She never went out with that other guy after I came over. She couldn’t have. She wouldn’t have been able to get her mind off my touch. And she isn’t the kind of girl to screw around with one guy and then go off with another. She’s too fair. She’s too fucking good.

I get out of my car and slam the door shut behind me, holding the parole paperwork my officer’s given me. I have one year’s probation, and all that means is that I have to stay out of trouble until this shit is over.

Crossing the parking lot, the black asphalt teases me. The bright white parking lines remind me of being kids again, when Daisy and I would sneak off at night and cut through the parking lot of our school. We were just fucking kids, but I wanted her then, too. Before I even knew what that meant. I smile as I think about the way she used to walk on the white lines painted on the ground. She’d pretend to fall off them, even though she was on solid ground.

I’d pretend to catch her. She’d tumble into my arms.

It may have been all pretend, but to us, it was real.

I clear my throat loudly as I enter the waiting area of the precinct. Daisy’s still on front desk duty, even though she’s a supervisor now, overseeing a staff. She still has to fill out paperwork and man the desk. It’s a small town, and there’s not many people who want to work for the police department.

She looks up from her desk and buzzes me though, keeping her calm and serious demeanor as I smile and wave. I wiggle my fingers at her on purpose, and she finally smiles at me.

“You have an appointment, right?” she asks. There’s something playful in her voice, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s smiling, but she quickly looks away from me when she sees me coming through the door.

My eyes pass over her, from her eyes to her lips.

“No sane man would walk into a police station unless he had to,” I reply. The irony of my statement is not lost on us.

No sane man would walk into a police station unless he had to. If I was reporting a crime or confessing to something I’d done, I’d be sane. But I know I must be fucking crazy to have done what I did.

But still, I couldn’t help it.

I avert my eyes from hers and walk past. This isn’t my first time here. Not at all. I know this place well. From the first time I was taken in to the first time I came here for my first meeting with my parole officer, I’ve walked through this very same hallway and imagined her with me by my side. Instead, I left her.

The night it all happened, I left her at her house to wonder where I was. Now she knows exactly where I am, and where I’ll stay.

I knew she’d be angry with me. Fuck, I’m angry with myself, too. Have I atoned for the bad things I’ve done, or have I only made myself fucking worse?

Letting my hand graze along the rough wall of the hallway, I walk with purpose. But I also allow my mind to wander. I think about how she used to love being pushed up against the wall when we kissed. She loved having her hair tugged and I relished every moment I was able to slip my thumb along her lips, the way her moans would make me so hard.

I come around the corner of the hallway and see a few of the officers’ desks set up. The room is bright, filled with sunshine coming through the forest on the north side of the building. A few of the younger cops, guys I went to school with, come over and shake my hand, offering their welcome to me.

“It really is good to see you again.” This guy who was a year behind me, Mike or Mark or something, comes over and claps me on the back as we shake hands. There’s nothing bad between us. There’s nothing bad between me and most of the people I know here.

We share pleasantries and he tells me about how his sister moved to the western part of the state to start fresh. I don’t know why someone would move farther away from the coast to start fresh. If anything, I’d go to the city if I wanted something new.

But I don’t. I can’t imagine leaving again. Now that I’m back, it’s just not happening again.

I say my goodbyes and make my way over to the office where I need to meet my parole officer, Mrs. Drayton. She’s a nice lady, the sister of my junior high social studies and drama teacher. Those two ladies are like a fixture around here. Everyone knows at least one of them on a first-name basis.

I feel the young cops I just spoke to still looking at me as I go over to Mrs. Drayton’s office and knock a few times on the door. She smiles up at me kindly and takes her glasses off, motioning for me to come in.

“Please close the door behind you,” she says sweetly. I shake her hand across the desk and sit down. The sun is less bright in here, but it’s a nice space for a bureaucrat's office.

The office is filled with pictures of her family. There’s even a calendar made up with photos of her husband and kids.

“Mr. Bloom, thank you for coming here to meet with me today.” She picks up a folder from her desk and thumbs it open. It’s my file. She scans it with narrowed, serious eyes.

I laugh and shake my head.

“I thought I was required to be here,” I say. “If you don’t need me, I can go.”

“I just mean not everyone who is required to complete court-ordered parole necessarily does. Just showing up is half of it.”

I huff out another laugh and cross my arms in front of my chest. Off to my right, through the window in the wall separating the office from where the officers have their desks set up, I see Daisy’s old man talking to Colin’s father. They aren’t looking back at me. It’s almost like they’re doing it on purpose. I can feel their words, even though I can’t hear them.

Shit, I don’t even know what they’re saying. Maybe they aren’t talking about me at all. But I know what they’re thinking. I know what goes unsaid, and sometimes the words that aren’t said are the ones that hurt the most.

Daisy’s father is thinking about how I don’t deserve his daughter. He’s thinking about how my family is broken. He thinks I can’t overcome that circle. He doesn’t want to play dice with his daughter’s future. He thinks her being with me would be a risk.

There’d be a risk I’d be a fucking drunk, like my father was. And there’s a risk I’d walk out like my father did.

My eyes narrow and my blood heats as my eyes slide over to Colin. He walks through the door with so much confidence, his chest puffed out. I don’t blame him. He should be proud of what he’s accomplished. He’s been able to make himself an exact replica of his father, right down to the way he puts his hands on his hips when he feels insecure. He did this shit in high school too. I remember him from back then. It wasn’t so long ago, but it feels like a fucking world away.

Colin looks over at me and his eyes lock on my for a moment. He’s the first one to look away.

I curl up my fists and put them on my armrest, silently shaking my head. I still know what he’s thinking, but I won’t let him see me get angry. I won’t let him get the satisfaction. Even though he’s thinking I’m not worthy of Daisy, it doesn’t really matter what the hell he thinks.

“I’m here, Mrs. Drayton,” I say. I can’t help but smirk as I look over again to see Colin sink down into his desk. “So you’re saying I’ve already done half the work I need to?”

She smiles and looks up at me.

“In some respects, yes.” Her smile is warm and reassuring. I’ve never had much of that. The only older person I’ve ever really had was my mother. “I was looking at your file, Travis. You’ve never been in trouble. Just a few speeding tickets, but that’s it.”

She pauses and regards me, her lips pursed into a tight, straight line.

Daisy said something to me like that back when all this shit happened.

But inherent in Daisy’s words was an unspoken question - why?

And she wasn’t just asking why I did it. She was asking why I had to leave.

I clear my throat. I’m frustrated. I just want to get the hell out of here.

And thankfully, Mrs. Drayton doesn’t press the issue. She could pursue this line and ask why I decided to pull this fucked up stunt after a life of being so fucking good, the golden boy, but she doesn’t.

My heart thrums a little faster when I see Daisy’s father come over to the office. It seems that he’s about to come in, but instead he glances at me and keeps on walking.

He doesn’t think of me as the golden boy.

“What do I have to do to get this all behind me?” I sit up straighter and ask Mrs. Drayton.

“For starters, we need to get you into a good job.” She reaches across her desk and grabs a few fliers. “There’s a job fair coming up. You just need something stable. And we just need to really keep you out of trouble.”

“That’ll be fine,” I say. “I can stay out of trouble. That won’t be a problem.”

We review the schedule for the next three months of our meetings and I put them into the calendar on my phone. I won’t miss a meeting. I won’t do anything to get into trouble. I can’t.

It’s not for her father, though. He can think whatever the hell he wants about me.

It’s for her.

I leave Mrs. Drayton’s office and move through the station, back to where Daisy’s sitting. She has her staff around her and she has her authoritarian voice on. She’s good at it, too. We make eye contact as I leave, but she doesn’t stop what she’s doing.

And I shouldn’t expect her to. I shouldn’t expect her to drop everything and run off with me. She isn’t crazy. She isn’t fucking insane.

No sane man would walk into a police station unless he had to.

And no sane man would ever leave Daisy like I did.

I must be a little bit insane. A little bit fucked up.