Two Latinos stand at the foot of the hospital bed I'm lying in. They're dressed in dark blue, crisp, freshly ironed (or so it seems), zero-wrinkle uniforms. Both have guns resting in holsters. The guy has a hip holster and an ankle holster, a gun in each. The woman has a shoulder holster and a knee holster, a gun in each. "Naruto Uzumaki?" Heavy accent. Don't know exactly where from, but it doesn't sound Central American. Sounds South American. "Yeah."

"Dr. Haruno found out your name from your wallet in your pocket. It has your state ID and hospital card in it." Makes sense now. "Oh." The female officer walks up to me.

"I'm sergeant Detective Soledad Reyes and this is my partner, sergeant Detective Angel Gutierrez. We recently transferred from the Domestic Violence Intervention Unit to the Sexual Assault and Child Abuse Unit. We need to find out what happened to you regarding your attack and sexual assault."

Wedding rings. His is a thick, plain—plain as in unadorned—sterling silver band. No, it has—it has 6/15/05 engraved on it. Hers is a thin gold ring with diamonds flanking an emerald. Small and elegant, like her hands. She can't be more than five foot two, maybe a hundred twenty pounds. Her eyes are green. Her hair is long, dark brown, past-the-waist cornrows. There are three beads at the end of each thin braid, all held in place by a small black rubber band. That must have taken five hours. She has a figure most American women would kill for. Hourglass figures are overrated.

Her husband stands next to her, twelve inches taller and a hundred pounds, mostly muscle, heavier. Bronze skin—not the ugly-looking fake tan that bottle-blond white girls get (along with skin cancer!), but the natural kind. His eyes are dark brown. His hair is neatly trimmed according to military standards. I wonder if he served or if it's some police dress code thing. No sideburns. No facial hair. Cute guy. His wife is so pale, but she looks even more so when compared to her husband. How the hell is a straight, married, armed couple going to help me?

Well, they'll probably understand why I don't like cops. "Naruto, who attacked you? Was it a stranger?"

"No." No sense in having them think it was a gay-bashing and hunt down a stranger. If they'd even spend their time doing that. A rape is reported every five minutes and spousal battery occurs every ninety seconds (or I've been told). Why are they wasting their time? "Was your attacker a spouse or partner?"

"Why would you think that?"

"With these kinds of crimes, the spouse or partner is the first person we look at."

"Oh." The morphine sure feels good. I wonder what lying to the police would do. I click the button a few more times. "Do you have any enemies?"

"No."

"Did you know your attacker?" I was already asked that, but in a different way. I'm so relaxed…floating… "Hmm…mmm, yeah…he's my boyfriend." Just stating a fact. "What's your boyfriend's name?"

"Sasuke."

"Last name?"

"Uchiha…you're both really nice…will you be here tomorrow?"

They look at each other. "When you're released from the hospital, would you be willing to make a statement about what happened?"

"Sure…" I drift off to sleep.