A Policeman's Warning.
Aiden’s POV
Congratulations.
The word lingers on my tongue like ash. I say it, pivot on my heel, and walk away before either of them can catch a glimpse of the woeful fissure in my composure. My hands are buried so deep in my pockets that I can feel the seams pulling. Each step is a controlled, biting sound on the raining asphalt. I don't run. They can’t have the gratification. I just amble along, my jaw so tightly clenched that my teeth are aching.
The image is seared into the back of my eyelids: Eliot on one knee, the sheen of that dumb ring, and Ruthie—my Ruthie—sobbing with what appears to be joy.
Six days. For almost a week, I am the one to sit with her on the couch as she blanks out on the TV screen. I'm the one who makes her eat, who pulls her out for runs she hates, who hears her as she cycles through anger and grief and a self-loathing that has me seeing red. I scrub every bit of that phantom from our apartment and from her life.
And in one evening, he returns, not just to haunt the halls but to propose on the stupid sidewalk. And she says yes. The treason is a tangible thing, a red hot rod forcing itself right between my shoulder blades. I feel like a fool. A gullible, overprotective, idiot fool.
I slam the door of my apartment behind me, the sound reverberating throughout the vacant living room. It’s too quiet. Her side of the couch is tidy, a book face down on the cushion. His ghost is here already, infiltrating the crevices. I stalk into the kitchen and snatch a bottle of water, twisting the cap off with too much force. My phone vibrates in my pocket—probably her, remembering I exist. I breathe hard, ignoring it and leaning on the counter. My thoughts bounce back and forth between how furious I am about my own life and how exhausted I am about my job. The case documents relating to the murders scattered across my desk, and I feel the hollow eyes of the victim staring up at me. That is my world: real, tangible evil. Liars. Monsters. And Ruthie is going to marry a guy whose only verifiable skill is disappearing into thin air.
The lock turns. My back stiffens. She crosses the threshold, softly closing the door behind her as though she’s walking into a stranger’s house. She doesn’t even look at me, just gets to work removing her wet jacket. “Oh, look what the cat dragged in,” I say, my voice thick with a sarcasm I can’t hold back. “And I was just wonderin’ where you’d escaped to. Seems like you’re in a hurry.”
She finally looks at me, her face pale and red-rimmed with watering eyes that are defensive. “Aiden, don’t.”
“Don’t what, Ruthie?” I push off the counter and step toward her, my voice intentionally low. “Don’t ask where my roommate, my best friend, is? Don’t ask why I have to find out she’s getting married by tripping over a freaking rom-com scene on a city sidewalk? Why didn’t you say he’s back? A text, maybe? ‘Hey Aiden, the human vacuum I bawled over for six days is back in town. No biggie.’ Is it too much to ask?”
“It just happens!” “It’s not planned. He shows up, and we talk, and…”
“And you say yes?” I can’t help but finish for her. I laugh, a bitter, sharp laugh. “Of course you do. When there’s a fairy tale ending to be had, why worry about silly things like explanations, or common sense? Ruthie, six days. He’s gone six months without a word. In less time people are pronounced legally dead. Does that ever cross your mind, or does the shiny ring blind you too much?” I wave frantically with the bottle of water. “Does he have a story or is he just going to expect you to fall at his feet without asking any questions?”
“He has a reason!” she insists, fists clenched at her sides. “A good one. You don’t know anything about that.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s a great reason” I say sourly, making my rounds around the tiny kitchen island like a predator. “Let me guess. He is secretly a spy? Abducted by aliens? Or maybe he just wants to have some ‘me-time’ and goes on a six-day unpaid sabbatical from his life. Whatever sob story he feeds you, you swallow it entire, don’t you? Hook, line and sinker.”
“He’s sick, Aiden,” she whispers, as the words between us linger in the air.
For a split second, the fury wavers. Illness is real. It is palpable.
But my suspicion comes roaring back, stronger than ever. “Sick? That’s nice. makes an appearance when he wants/needs a caregiver. And you all with your bleeding hearts, you’re all perfectly servicable targets. You’re like a wellness clinic, for God’s sake. You have professional training to repair things that are broken. Does he tell you this before he gets down on one knee or after?”
“You always do this!” she accuses, tears welling in her eyes once more. “You instantly think the worst of him. You don’t even give him a chance.”
“He does have his chance!” I shout, overwhelmed to the point of slamming the plastic bottle onto the counter. “He’s every one of those days he’s had for six months, and he wastes them! And you throw away with you.”
I take a deep breath, trying to keep it under control. My work demands that I be level-headed and think logically. But this isn’t a happening case. This is Ruthie, and my reasoning is short-circuiting.
“That's me here, Ruthie,” I say, my voice dropping once more, thick with a bitterness that stifles me. “I am the one who has to listen to you blame yourself. I am the one who changes your sheets when you can’t get out of bed for a month. I watch you fall apart piece by piece, and then I try to put you back together. And for what? So he can stroll back in with some flimsy excuse and a diamond, and you can forget all of that in five minutes? It’s the ultimate insult. Not just to me, but to you. For the strong woman I thought you would be.”
She flinches as though I’d hit her. “It’s not like that. I haven’t forgotten anything.”
“Haven’t you?” I taunt. “Because from where I’m sitting, it sure seems like amnesia. At least temporarily unable to throw stones, if nothing else."
“This is why I’ve been trying to find my own place!” she shouts at last, throwing up her arms exasperated. “There’s nothing I can do! I can’t make any decisions about my life without you analyzing it like it’s a crime scene! I need to leave this place!”
That is it. The final crushing blow. It’s not just about her opting for him. She is doing it, trying with her entire being to run away from me. The anger inside me doesn’t simply burn; it solidifies into frost. I go expressionless. The sarcasm, the pain—everything goes out the window, and in its place is an icy calm.
I close my eyes and tell myself that it's time to tell her how I feel.
“I've had a crush on you since college.” I blurt out.
“Excuse me?”
“We have been friends for ten years and I think —”
“Stop, don't think anything Aiden.” She began and the next few minutes were lectures I didn't even hear and without thinking, my lips slams against hers.
The kiss was hot and passionate but as quickly as it had started it ended. With a slap of course.
“Wh-what? Are you. How dare you?”
“Fine,” I say, voice without any emotion. “Go.”
She's looking at me, stunned by the abrupt change. “What?”
“You hear me. You want to leave? Leave. Pack your things. Your name is not on the lease, you can be out by tomorrow. Go make a life with your resurrected boyfriend. Go play house until he gets tired and vanishes again. But you’ll do it without me.” I wag a finger at her, sharp and definitive. “This time, when he breaks you, don’t come running. I’m done cleaning up his broken pieces.”
I walk past her,and out the door, heading for the haven of my room, for the cold-eye realities of my murder investigations, which are suddenly so much easier than the woman who is standing in my living room. I pause at my door and look back, my professional instincts sending one final, parting shot.
The rage has dissipated, replaced with a bone-chilling gravity that is much more terrifying than anything.
“You think this is a game, Ruthie,” I say softly,“You think this is a game. You think love conquers all. But I get to see real world every day. I’ve seen the bodies of people who trusted the wrong person. I have seen the lies people tell to get what they want. You work with chakras and healing crystals; I deal in evidence bags and autopsy reports, honey.“We don’t live in the same reality.”
She’s crying now, her face a cocktail of confusion, and hurt. I feel a pang of something,but I crush it. She has to understand. “You want to go? Go,” I say again, my voice neutral.
“But be careful out there.” People aren’t always what they seem.” And when they show you who they are, you should trust them the first time. ”
I go into my room and close the door behind me, his clicking softly as final as a gunshot.