So much for my supposed powers of observation- I didn't see this one coming, although I guess it's only a matter of time before she and I are facing each other in this situation.
It's windy, and rain is coming down. It's a very dramatic moment. It's my fault, too. At some point there cease to be the two separate parts of this partnership. I had no idea where I ended and she began.
I noticed that. Most people cringe at my methods. She embraced them, although I'm sure if she even knew she was doing it- showing empathy in order to win confidence, making leaps and bounds in her reasoning in cases- of course she still manages to drag me back from the edge, even if I don't want her to. But I know I can let go and I'll be alright.
It's cold out here.
"Bobby?"
"Huh?"
Her face is so close to mine. I'm holding her in one arm. I am reckless; I am yearning to feel her. I am prepared to throw away everything I ever had for this one moment.
She is yearning to feel alive. I've seen it all these years, hiding behind those eyes. Those were not looks of disapproval, or exasperation (well, maybe some of them were). No, in those heated moments of breaking down a suspect, of getting into peoples heads, of stepping into the drama of humans and their nature, what I saw were glimpses of arousal.
Like today, when not only did I interrogate in my usual fashion, I did most of it in sign language, and still managed to get a confession. These days I think I half do any of it to impress her. But Lyons was pissing me off, following her around with those puppy dog eyes, and she was responding.
All I kept thinking, every time he entered my line of sight was how much trouble I would be in if I threw a punch. A completely testosterone fueled punch. When they took that poor kid away, I slid into the chair next to him, glanced sideways at him. That's how you do it. That's how you get the job done. This is my party. You're lucky you're even here- and for the past twenty minutes, she hasn't even given you a thought. She's been watching me this entire time. And right now she looks like someone who's been satisfied in just that way. You're never going to do that to her.
"Bobby."
The earth has stopped moving. Good a time as any. I catch her mouth, her lips, her tongue. The wind gusts up, rain falls, soaking and cold, I hear lightning, thunder, and I know we should go inside.
She showed up here, in front of my apartment in jeans and white t shirt, and no bra. On purpose, she parked six blocks away, and walked in the rain, and buzzed me and asked me to come down. On seeing her there, on the sidewalk, I lost all thought, all blood to the brain, all sense of decency. So had she apparently.
Even though she's the one who summoned me, I'm the one who pulls her to me, in a violent motion, because I don't know what else to do, and because there is nothing else to do.
My other arm goes around her and pulls her up off her feet. Her thighs wrap around my waist. Now she's going to get what she came for, and then some.
I carry her from the front steps, up the three flights of stairs, to theopen door of my apartment, which I slam close. I don't care if my neighbors hear. I don't care if Danny Ross hears from across town. I have a nasty thought of taking her on his desk the next time we're in there, getting chewed out for something. It's a fleeting thought, because I've dropped her on my bed, and she's already reaching up for my shirt, my belt, the button on my trousers. But I overpower her. I pull her shirt over her head, and suck each of her breasts into my mouth. She lets out a noise which I cannot describe. I am even pushing blankets off the bed in an effort to get at her. I enter her – no foreplay here, not now. Now she cries out. She shouts, but it's nothing coherent. I know my neighbors heard that. I find her mouth again, then her neck. I take her in, feel all the secret parts of her. Years and years are here on this bed, years and years of pent up frustration. She follows my lead. I whisper things into her ear that I would never tell another soul. Thunder, there's thunder outside the window, and she's crying my name. I feel her nails on my back now, and I know she just drew blood. I don't care. Tear me to shreds, I will her, although I cry out at the pain of it. She doesn't stop.
I feel her shudder beneath me, and in a few minutes, I collapse on her, kissing her again. I will never get used to the sensation her mouth on mine.
"I'm not done with you yet", I growl into her ear. I feel her nod, hear her trying to catch her breath. "Don't move, don't leave, don't do anything. We're not done until I say so."
I roll off of her, and she turns to me, kissing me, my chest, my waist, ohhh, that's still a little sensitive…. Then she curls herself around me. I breathe in her hair, still wet from the rain. In the next few hours we are in my chair in the living room, pushed up against the wall in the hallway because I couldn't make it to the shower, on the kitchen floor, over and over again. She likes being on top- figures.
Finally, we are curled in the sheets and blankets on my bedroom floor, and she is holding on to me like she is never going to let go.
"Bobby", she whispers. I love that- for the past two and a half hours she's been shouting to the high heavens.
"Yeah?"
"Now do you get it?"
"Uh huh", I say, because at last I do.