Control.
Control over my temper.
Control over Mom's treatment, her meds, her therapy her life.
Control over the interrogation room, the filth that resided there.
Control over my stupid fucking brother and his stupid fucking stunts.
Fucking sick of it all.
Erase the browser memory twice. No. Three times. Nosy fuckers everywhere here.
I'm not doing anything wrong. Just expressing my gratitude. Yea, that's it.
The air in the pen was thick, oppressive…suffocating. He crumpled the paper, still warm from the printer, and stuck it in his pocket. He eyed the room suspiciously; sure that someone had heard the paper crunch or the printer whirring or seen him going over the browser history with a fine tooth comb. Barely a soul here. The nighttime secretary, a few stray detectives…what was that secretary's name? He should find out one day. She was nice. She'd brought him coffee from the break room on several occasions, when he was here, late, throwing his life to the brass wolves. It was usually burned or lukewarm, but it was the fucking thought that counted. Thought think thinking he was thinking too godamned much. If he didn't watch it, he'd think himself right out of this, right back to his sad apartment with his sad books and his sad existence. A lifetime passed before the elevator finally dinged on his floor, spreading its doors like some needy hooker, always ready for him.
Ride me Bobby.
Ride me up and down, all night long.
Up down crime scene bullpen donut shop interrogation room holding cell locker room morgue.
You got something better to do?
He nearly jogged through the garage, arriving at his vintage piece of shit all too anxiously. His binder made a sick fwap as it hit the passenger side window, his coat landing on top of it. The key turned, the engine purred, the tires squealed, the lights flashed red stop green go green again red stop. He didn't need the paper. This city was burned into his mind, into his skull, the backs of his eyeballs. Another lifetime passed before the black high rise loomed above him, the lights in various windows all eyes, all staring at him. They knew what he was doing here, and they didn't like it.
Fuck them.
It was only after he flashed his badge at the sleepy doorman to gain entrance did he think, really think about what was happening here. His badge. His partner. His Captain. His job. His mother. His life. His badge his life his badge his life his fucking badge.
Stepping into the elevator seemed to calm him against the tide of thoughts and regrets and what if's that had crawled into his brain and started nesting, his warped reflection staring at him fourfold from the steel walls. Maybe I should get Mom a foil hat after all. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.
Fifth floor, hardware, children's wear, life altering decisions.
He squeezed between the doors, the cold metal sending a shock up his spine. If you think that's shocking buddy…buckle your seat belt. He scanned the doors quickly, numbers and letters suddenly a foreign language to him. It was here, at the end of the hall, where his frenzied journey brought him. He checked his watch, suddenly feeling like a teenager trying to sneak into his girlfriend's window. 8 p.m. It's reasonable. It's a reasonable time.
Some alien force lifted his hand, and tapped his knuckles against the door, three times. He waited. Not long. Click. Click. Turn. The door opened slowly, painfully, and then suddenly, she stood there. A black silk kimono draped over her tiny frame, red silk trim stopping mid thigh, mid-milk-white-impossibly-smooth thighs, down to shins, to feet, to tiny black painted toes. He forced himself to bring his eyes upward, to those blue-green orbs, bare of any makeup, staring wide eyed at him.
"Detective Goren…this is a pleasant surprise."
His hand shot up to his neck and instinctively begin rubbing, trying to rub the words from the back of his throat and out his mouth. "Um…H-Hi Dee. I'm uh…I'm not disturbing you am I?"
Her naked pink lips stretched into a smile.
He started to unravel.
"No, no…I'm just relaxing. My assistant manager is running the Violet tonight so I thought I'd stay home and…rest." All the dirty implications of what rest could mean clouded his head. "I just turned off the news actually, congratulations on getting your man."
He cast his eyes downward "It was um…Eames, actually. She figured it out. I was just along for the ride." He thought he heard a bell ringing before he realized it was her, giggling. What the hell is he supposed to say now?
"Is there…something I can do for you, Detective?"
He felt the last thread snap.
"I um…I n-need to l-lose…control. Just for…a little while."
Silk whispered against wood as she stepped aside, opening a path for him.
"Come in, Bobby."
His foot felt like a lead weight as he lifted it, and placed it over her threshold.