I’m not gonna cry. I don’t fucking cry. Sure as shit not over men. I’ve had a few boyfriends here and there, but that’s never happened to me. It’s never been a hit it and quit it situation. And sure as fuck not five minutes after cumming inside of me. Asshole. He didn’t kick me out, but he could’ve picked a better time to start talking like that.

It was a mistake. I know that. It never should’ve happened. I have more restraint than that. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me so weak. I cave to him, when I haven’t ever caved before. I don’t like it. I also don’t like that he brought it up first. I was thinking it, but I was pushing it down.

It just felt so nice to be held. It’s been a long time. I feel so fucking deprived of human interaction. It’s been too fucking long. I take a deep breath as I lie down on my bed. It’s cold. But it feels good to just relax against the bed. I snort a humorless laugh.

I shouldn’t be relaxing. I shouldn’t even want that. I’ve lost sight of my purpose. I swore I wouldn’t stop until I found Petrov and destroyed him and everyone who works for him. It's like I was wearing blinders all through the academy. I didn’t even care about how much my body hurt. Nothing else mattered. I was just obsessed at taking a leap forward.

And then my huge break when the department had an opening was as if the stars had aligned. Like God was handing me my revenge on a silver platter. But then nothing. Not a fucking trace of him. The other names on my list are all dead. There are no leads. I shouldn’t be relaxing, but I don’t know what else to do.

It’s as if I’ve been running as hard and as fast as I’m able, chasing a ghost. And now he’s disappeared, and I’m finally taking a look around.

How did I get here? This isn’t what I went to college for. This isn’t what I wanted to do. My life wasn’t supposed to end up like this. Even back then I wasn’t really sure what I wanted, but the shit I was studying was at least interesting. All of this is just depressing as fuck.

But I owe it to my sister. She was older than me. Only by three years. She was reserved and polite. I was the handful child that always got into trouble. Maybe that’s why I never got along with my mother. I don’t know. But that relationship completely vanished when Melissa died. My mother couldn’t take it. She’s not a fighter like me.

The night Melissa didn’t come back, my mom was sure she was dead. The next morning when I went looking for her, putting up signs and waiting for the police to actually do something, my mother did nothing but cry. I was pissed. She wasn’t even trying. I think she buried Melissa that day. And what was left of her own soul.

Ever since I’ve been so fucking alone.

Melissa could’ve been trapped. She could have hit her head somehow and been unconscious. A million scenarios ran through my head. I knew deep inside me that she needed me. She needed us. Yet my mother did nothing but sob inconsolably.

I hated her then. It was like I could feel my sister’s pain, and I tried so fucking hard. I looked everywhere I could. But I never would have found her. I was looking in all the wrong places.

It wasn’t long after that when her body was discovered. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t imagine that someone would take her. After the shock and the sadness, all that was left was anger. I knew I had to do something.

I took a semester off school to join the groups that all promise to bring awareness to sex trafficking. I went to meetings, presentations, and counseling. But it didn’t feel like enough. More than that, I saw my sister in the women who survived. I could see her in their place.

But I knew she’d never be there. She was dead. She wasn’t ever going to sit in the chair across from me, and tell me what happened to her. She wasn’t going to be making plans with me on how to handle simple, everyday tasks that now felt impossible. I had to stop going.

I needed to go after the man who'd led her to her death.

I feel like it was just yesterday that I’d made up my mind to chase after Petrov. Like I'd gone into a dark tunnel and sprinted through it blindly, only to emerge and not realize where it was taking me.

He may be dead. I may never get to face him. I may never even know for sure. But I won’t stop.

The rest of the Valettis know something, and I can question them. Well, I can try. I know it’s risky. But I have to try. I’ll do anything to make sure Petrov never puts his hands on another woman. I hope he suffered. Tears leak down my face and hit the pillow beneath me. A sob tears through me, and I have no idea where it came from.

My anger is waning, knowing he may no longer be alive. What’s left if I don’t have the anger to hold onto? My chest feels hollow. And I can’t stand the distant feeling of sadness.

I wish I knew one way or the other.

He could’ve at least told me. Thinking of Thomas makes the pain subside, if only for a moment. He made me weak. I enjoyed it though. I’m tired of being the strong one. I’m tired of fighting an enemy I can’t even see. I’m tired of chasing ghosts.

I close my eyes and try to think of anything other than the dark past, and twisted obsession that’s brought me here. I steady my breathing and see Thomas’ face.

I feel his hands on my body. His lips against my neck.

“Bad girl.” The memory of his deep, baritone voice sends a shiver through my body. I can imagine a time when I would have run off with him. When I would have gotten on my knees and done everything and anything he asked, just for the thrill of it.

That time’s passed though. And now neither of us are in a position to allow what we did to ever happen again. My eyes pop open, realizing if he told anyone, I’d lose my job. I expect to feel fear, or shock, or anger at the thought. But I feel nothing. I don’t think I’d care.

It would hurt though, for him to use it against me. He should. If I were him, I would. What we did wasn’t right, and it would certainly add a level of distrust and uncertainty to the case if I got pulled off. It would severely compromise the case.

But the evidence is iffy as is. All we really have are the prints at this point. The tire tracks are circumstantial, and the witness deposition is inadmissible due to her state of mind.

The partial print is the only piece of evidence that’s damning, according to the prosecutor.

There’s no more evidence to collect, and everything we have points to the Valettis ending the deal and saving the women.

I can’t even fathom why Jerry is still gunning for them, unless he’s hoping for the same outcome as Harrison, just in a more professional way. I guess it’s professional to leverage and threat in order to get information for other cases.

The lines are blurred so much more than I ever thought they could be.

And I’m tired of looking at black and white. I rest my head into the pillow and try not to think about any of it at all. I just want to rewind time. I want to go back to the last time I saw Melissa and hold her. If I’d known then, what I know now, I’d never let her go. I don’t care if it’s crazy. I would do anything I could to save her.

The tears come again and I hug my pillow. I can’t save her. I’ll never be able to save her. My throat closes as I sniffle and try to breathe into the pillow.

She’s never coming back. And nothing I’ll ever do can change that.