Marital Bitch (Men with Badges)

Chapter TWENTY NINE

(Brad)

Flashback: The Heather Incident, 1999

“SO,” SHE SAYS, trailing off nervously. “Do you love her?”

And the world stops on its axis.

My breath catches in my throat as I try to claw my way out of my own head. Minutes seem to pass, but in all likelihood it’s only a few moments. I don’t know what to say. Her green eyes stare at me awaiting an answer.

How do I tell her the truth? After all this time, how can I be honest with her? My stomach churns and I think I’m going to be sick. I feel like I’m cheating on them both. My best friend, my girlfriend—the truth is, I love them both.

But that’s not enough, is it? It’s not enough for a woman to have to share her boyfriend, but that’s all that I can offer. I can’t just stop loving Colleen. Believe me. I’ve tried. I really have. All that I’ll ever be able to offer Heather is half of me, if even, but I’m going to try like hell to be good to her. I’ll treat her how I’d treat Colleen, if she’d have me. But she won’t. I’m not good enough. So, whatever.

“Yeah,” I say as calmly as possible. I stare at my pretty girl with a sad smile on my face. She beams back at me, completely unaware of how I feel about her, how I’ve always felt about her.

“Good,” she says, her smile getting even bigger. “She loves you, too, Brad. You be good to Heather. You know she’s like my Monica.” I nod. Yeah, I’ve watched the show, Friends, with them enough to know what she’s talking about. Colleen is Rachel, and Heather is Monica. Best friends who share everything. Except, they don’t share a man. Only, they do, but neither of them know it.

“This doesn’t change anything, right?” I ask Colleen seriously. She looks perplexed. Of course this doesn’t change anything for her. I’m still Brad. I’m still pretty boy. Always have been. Always will be.

“You’ll always be my pretty boy,” she giggles. I roll my eyes. I hate when she calls me pretty boy. I don’t think she’ll ever understand that it sounds really f*cking gay and the guys on the force pick on me for it. I don’t even know how in the hell I can love a woman who calls me a pretty boy.

“Is it serious?” she asks. I just want to hit something. She has no clue what the f*ck it is she’s asking me. It’s serious enough. Serious as I could ever be with anyone who isn’t her. But I can’t tell her that. Our friendship would be destroyed.

“Uh,” I stutter, “yeah.” Silence fills the air and smothers me. She nods.

“So, like, how serious we talkin’ here?” Gone is the smile that once split her face in two. Her eyes are scanning my shirt and then they dart over to the wall behind me and continue around the room. She won’t look at me and that just makes this so much more awkward.

“I dunno,” I mumble, shoving my hands in my pockets and rocking back on my heels. “Serious, I guess.”

“You wanna explain that?” Colleen is pushing and it’s pissing me off. I don’t know why she is pushing me to talk about this. Can’t she see how uncomfortable I am? I can see how uncomfortable she is. She won’t even look at me. So I get fed up.

“I’m gonna marry that girl,” I say, finding my voice much to my surprise. Colleen’s eyes shoot to mine. She looks like she’s been hit in the gut. Good. Maybe she’ll know how I feel all the damn time now. “She’s nice and she’s smart and she loves me.”

“Being nice isn’t a reason to marry someone,” Colleen stands a little taller as she says this. “Neither is them loving you.” These never-ending games have worn me out.

“Well, I am going to marry her, Colleen,” I snap. “What would you know about getting married, anyway?”

“I know enough to know that the only reason for marrying anyone is because you can’t imagine a single reason not to; and that you want to be tied to them in every way possible.” Her lip quivers, but I refuse to let myself care. She’s acting like she’s jealous, I think. But that’s too much to hope for—that she could possibly be jealous. No, I’m imagining it, I’m sure.

The front door opens and Heather, Lindsay and Darla rush in, putting a stop to our conversation. I forgot they all planned on getting ready for Charlotte and Peter’s engagement party over here. Colleen turns away from me and plasters what I know to be a fake smile on her face as she greets everyone. Heather gives Colleen a passing smile and rushes over to me. I smile as best I can and pull her close. She’s wearing the perfume I gave her for her last birthday—the same perfume that Colleen wears. It’s f*cked up, I know. I close my eyes, breathing her in.

Heather stretches up and kisses me. I kiss back, but am somewhat hesitant. I feel awkward showing affection in front of Colleen. And after the conversation we just had—I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to kiss a woman comfortably in front of her again. Even if she’s not mine, she’s still my pretty girl.

WE LEAVE MY parents’ house a little after eleven. It’s late and both my girls are drunk. Heather isn’t so bad, but Colleen can’t even walk on her own. I have her thrown over my shoulder. Despite her initial protests, she is giggling and smacking my ass like she’s playing the drums. I want to be annoyed but she is telling Heather how firm my ass is.

“I know, right,” Heather laughs as she hangs onto my left arm. The right one is holding Colleen in place so she doesn’t fall and split her head open. “You should feel his ass during sex, Col,” Heather says. I puff my chest out, because damn, any man would be proud to hear his girlfriend talking about how great he is when he’s f*cking her. “His ass is like rock solid. I love to grab it.” Colleen squeezes my ass repeatedly.

“Oh! It is firm!” she shouts and then starts to rub it. I shift her so that she can’t reach it anymore. I’m getting hard with all the patting and touching and spanking, and it’s making carrying her goofy ass just a bit difficult.

We get to the car and I load Colleen in the backseat with the intention of giving Heather the front; but as I make sure all of Colleen’s limbs are inside the vehicle, I see Heather crawl in the other side. Colleen squeals and they hug telling one another that they missed each other. Drunk Colleen is open and funny and silly. She’ll tell you things that sober Colleen never will, which is unfortunate.

“Seriously though,” Heather seems to sober up for a moment. “My Bradley is really sexy and he is such a good lover.” Heather’s voice takes on a dreamy sigh.

“Well,” Colleen snorts, “my Bradley wasn’t very good the one time we tried.”

“Hey!” I interject. “We had both been drinkin’ and you know that. I don’t care how drunk you are, Frasier. That ain’t cool.” Why I feel the need to argue with drunks, I don’t even know. Truth be told, being the first man to ever get it in—even if it was only part way in—with Colleen, will always be something for me to brag about. Even if I can’t remember much because the moment I got past her barrier she freaked out and pushed me off her.

We get back to Heather’s apartment in record time. I must have been speeding. Heather crawls out and rubs her butt against the outside of the backseat window for Colleen’s amusement. Both girls burst into giggles. I coax Colleen out of her seat after promising her that I’ll let her rub my stomach for good luck. She’s so weird.

“You’re my pretty boy!” Colleen shouts making me take a step back. Heather sides up to her and they link arms.

“He is pretty!” Heather yells, grinning. I shake my head and do my best to wrangle them into the building and up the stairs. I can’t believe Chief Frasier is making me deal with her. She’s his daughter, shouldn’t this be his responsibility? Chief Frasier’s words play in my head again and again. She’s your girl, Bradley. Always has been.

I wish.

Not even two minutes after I get the drunken duo into the apartment do they start begging for food. I look through Heather’s cupboards, going so far as to offer to make them omelets. But they don’t want any of it. Heather mentions Taco Bell. I groan. Taco Bell gives them both gas. I definitely won’t be getting laid if I feed Heather that crap. But she begs and pleads and I feel my resolve weaken. And then, to seal the nail in the coffin, Colleen pouts and says “please.”

So I leave them there on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms and cheering me on as their hero. It’s ridiculous and yet so f*cking normal. Back in middle school girls started to notice me. My voice was changing and I shot up above six feet by eighth grade. Every girl that I had tried to befriend had somehow become close friends with Colleen, too. Not that I opposed her possessiveness, but being so close to having her was torture. She continued to wedge herself between me and any of the chicks who were interested in me right up until I met Heather. And now I realize that she did it again. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.

Heather and I have been together for about thirteen months now, according to Colleen. She’s counting, it seems. Having been friends with her first, Colleen would constantly talk Heather up to me. I ignored her, but then, I met Heather. Standing just a few inches taller than Colleen, with her skin slightly darker and her green eyes dulled in comparison; Heather still intrigued me. She and Colleen share these inside jokes and secrets and neither one will let me in. I don’t know which one I’m more jealous of.

I hit the steering wheel in frustration. The line at Taco Bell is just ridiculous. This whole situation is ridiculous, but this line is pissing me off. I count to one hundred and calm myself. Once I relax, the line moves smoothly and I order a variety of food. If I’m not getting laid at least I can eat well.

On the drive back, I roll down my window because fast food always causes a stink in enclosed spaces. The fresh air soothes my frazzled nerves. I’m not looking forward to having to put them to bed after they make themselves sick on processed cheese and meat mix. I circle the block and find a spot around the corner from the building entrance and trudge up to Heather’s apartment with the bag of stink.

Everything is silent inside so I try to be as quiet as I can, hoping they’ve fallen asleep. I set the Taco Bell bag on the kitchen counter and creep toward Heather’s bedroom at the end of the hall. The door is opened part way and all of the lights are off in the apartment, but I hear heavy breathing. When I look through the door, my entire world feels as though it ends.

Colleen is sprawled out on Heather’s bed on her back. Her breasts are unclothed and on display, bouncing before me. I’m momentarily frozen by their unexpected presence in my line of sight. She moans loudly, her eyes closed tight. I let my eyes travel down her body only to find Heather naked on the bed, with her hands exploring all of Colleen’s naked flesh.

My stomach lurches into my throat. I can barely breathe. Colleen is always between me and everyone else. Always. She’s always there, taunting me with what I can’t have. I want to be the one with my hands on her. I want to be the one making her clench around me, making her moan. I want it to be my hands, running up and down her soft flesh, worshiping her body.

Heather stretches up and pinches Colleen’s nipple, making her moan louder. I’m disgusted by the display before me, but I can’t move. Heather moves up further, blocking my view of Colleen’s face. I can’t see their faces, but they’re kissing. The betrayal is indescribable. I’m upset with Heather, but I’m livid with Colleen. She denies me at every turn but freely gives herself to Heather. I never saw this coming.

All the rage within me flies out in a moment that I can’t take back. I throw my fist into the door. And again. And again. It splinters beneath my hand and soon, there’s nothing but bits of wood dangling from atop the gaping hole I’ve thrown my fist through. In the moonlight from the window I can see the blood on the door, on my fist and arm, and dripping to the carpet.

Both girls scream in surprise. They claw at the sheets to cover themselves. I hear Colleen screaming at me to stop, that I’m going to really hurt myself. So I turn and stare at her before kicking my way through the bottom of the door. Heather is crying, curled into herself. Colleen wraps the sheet around herself and approaches me, trying to check my hand. I push her away as gently as I possibly can. I don’t want her hands on me. I don’t want either one of them to put their hands on me. Not after this. Not after what Colleen’s done.

A WEEK PASSES since that night. I don’t sleep because every time I close my eyes I see Colleen. She’s naked and writhing beneath me. I pump into her fast and hard and she moans. And then I’m watching the whole thing, watching myself pound her. And then it turns into Heather in my place; her lips, her hands, on Colleen. And I wake up at that point. I have a nightly ritual now. After one of those nightmares, I grab the remote and watch the TV until I pass out a few hours later. This new routine is making it tough to function at work.

“Dude,” James says, shaking me from my thoughts. “You got something.” An envelope plops on my desk. I look up to see that it’s from Heather. She’s written my name on the front. I would recognize her handwriting anywhere. I shake my head and shove it in my drawer. I can’t look at it right now. I don’t know if I’ll be able to look at it ever.