I still don’t understand what happened. I park my car under the light and look up at my steps. I sit there for a moment. It’s a moment too long. I should get inside. I’m quick like I always am, and I walk straight upstairs. It’s not till the keys fall into the glass bowl on the end table that I realize my hand is shaking.

I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. It happens a lot. I thought it would stop eventually. It’s a reaction from the adrenaline and endorphins wearing off. It’s not shock, but it’s not okay, either. I see it as a weakness and I hate it.

I sink into the sofa and try to calm myself down. I can do this. I have to do this. Other women are strong enough. Fuck, if a man can do it, so can I. Men use brute strength, while women use leverage, and brains. I truly believe that. But damn, this is fucking hard. It’s so goddamned hard. I thought police academy was rough. And it was. But real-life situations are scary as fuck.

Hand-to-hand combat is its own kind of beast. It’s terrifying at times. Women are worse than men. Way worse. Men sometimes only go a blow or two. They wanna prove a point. I’ve seen them tear each other to pieces in front of me. Even the bang of my gun going off didn’t pull them off each other. But that's rare.

Women are the opposite. When they go at it, they’re going for damage. They want blood. Humiliation. They want to scar their opponent and ruin them. They go for the face and eyes, their hair. Anywhere visible. I’ve pulled men apart on my own before. Men stronger than me. But it's nothing like pulling women apart. They go for damage and they don't give a fuck who goes down with them.

I swallow thickly, trying to just calm down. It only takes a moment to think back to when things were easier. I remember why I’m doing this. Why it’s worth it to continue.

I remember playing with my sister in the front yard with chalk. Her graduation from nursing school. Talking to her on the phone. I remember the last time I heard her voice. I hear the conversation echo in my head.

“You’re such a dork, Melissa. You need to go have some fun,” I say to her.

“I’m seriously fine at home, you go ahead without me.”

“You are truly missing out. Like you have no idea.” I can’t believe she’d hold herself back again; she's gotta learn to live a little. “There’s nothing wrong with going clubbing. You gotta get some from time to time.”

“Oh my God, don’t talk like that!” she admonishes me with a hushed tone.

“Why?” I ask.

“‘Cause you sound like a slut!” I can hear the humor in her voice.

“So?” We both laugh at my joke. “You just need to loosen up is all I’m saying.”

“Well I’m not like you, Tonya.” I can hear a little disappointment in her voice and I hate it. “I don’t have that confidence.” I want to tell her she should. I want to tell her she’s beautiful and deserving of happiness and that includes meeting up with me to go out for drinks. But I don’t want to upset her. I don’t want to be pushy. So I don’t say anything at all.

And because of that, I missed out on one more night that I could’ve had with her.

She really was a prude and an ‘inside person’ as she used to say. She didn’t read the same smutty books as me or enjoy the dirty jokes I liked. But she didn’t hold it against me, either. She never judged me. I’m guilty of judging her, though. I assumed she’d meet a doctor and make lots of babies and drive a minivan in just a few years. I teased her all the time about it. To her, it was a dream. To me, it’s a fucking nightmare.

I shake my hands out and wipe away the stray tears as I walk to the fridge. I grab the opened bottle of wine from the bottom shelf, a cabernet. I take a glass from the cabinet above the sink and ignore the dishes. They can wait. I just need to settle in a bit first.

I close my eyes and watch the scene from the alley play out again. I did everything right, flashed my badge, said hands up. First guy reaches, I shoot him in the hand. Second guy comes at me, but I’m too slow. I play the scene over while I fill the glass about halfway. Both hands were on the gun. There was nothing I could do with the other one coming after me. I needed a hand free.

I replay it over and over, trying to come up with a better strategy. But I don’t think there was one. I definitely did right by going for the armed one first. Maybe if I'd used the butt of the gun to smash in the second fucker's nose, that may have been more effective. I rewind a bit in my mind. I should’ve turned sooner, before I'd gone so far down the alley. Fuck me, I just shouldn’t have gone down there in the first place. That was fucking stupid.

Thomas is why my head is all fucked up. He does something to me. He makes me stupid, that’s his fucking superpower. He blinds me from all this shit that I’ve trained myself to do. He makes me feel...safe, in a weird way. I feel unstoppable around him. That’s not a good thing. Maybe it’s because he gives me hope. When I think about the end to all this shit, when I think about having some sort of closure, I see him there. I can see him handing it to me. Telling me Petrov’s dead. That I don’t have to face my demons, because he’s already killed them for me. Maybe it’s my way of dealing with the failure of not finding Petrov. Maybe I’ve made it all up.

I don’t know, I’m not a fucking shrink.

I tip the glass back and drain it. Mmm, I love the taste. I set the glass down on the counter and strip as I make my way to my bedroom. Most of my things are still in boxes. I need to make time to put that shit away. I toss the clothes into the hamper. At least that’s not overflowing. Score one for me.

My feet patter against the tiled floor as I turn the water on to fucking-scorching, just how I like it. I look at my face in the mirror as the water heats and steam starts to fill the stall.

I look back at a stranger.

This isn’t who I used to be.

I look… tired. That’s exactly how I look. And I am, I’m so damn tired. I’m lonely and angry. And fucking sad and miserable.

The need for justice. The need for vengeance. They’ve taken over a part of me that I miss. But they are needs. I need to know if Petrov is dead. If he’s not, I won’t stop. I hate that I’ve come to the end of this lead, all because Thomas won’t give me an inch.

Suddenly, I wish I had more on his ass. I want something to make him talk. I need him to tell me. I could use what happened today. But that’d be so fucking wrong. I feel like a bitch for even thinking it. Maybe this anger that’s driving me, this desire to fuck him over until I get what I need, maybe that’s what fuels Harrison every fucking day.

The realization snaps me out of my thoughts. No, I can’t do that. I shouldn’t want that.

But I know that Thomas knows. He could tell me where Petrov is, or if he’s dead. I know he can.

I step into the shower deciding I need to push him just a bit more. After all, I’ve given him something. I could have called it in, the scene today. I should have called it in.

But he didn’t have to do it. He didn’t have to help me.

Oh fuck, I’m such a bitch. I never even thanked him.

I let the hot water hit my skin and fucking hate the obsession that’s taken me over. Who am I? I shake my head and try to shake off all these unwanted feelings, all these horrible thoughts. I don’t like the person I’ve become. I just want it all to stop.

If only he’d help me.