Shattered(3)

The cop glances through the doorway to the cops in the other room. He shakes his head once, and turns his attention back to Trystan. Another cop comes into the room. He's shaking his head, like he can't believe Trystan's so stupid.

"Are you a minor, kid?" the new cop asks. Trystan shakes his head and wishes he didn't. It makes his head throb more. He mutters curse words under his breathe and looks back at Trystan's dad who is still lying on the floor.

A few minutes later the paramedics arrive. Trystan doesn't want them to look at him, but the cops insist. There's no way to pay for this, but they look him over anyway.

They tell Trystan that he'll be all right. They tell him that his father is awake and unharmed, but they are taking him in anyway. They repeat a question, "You sure you didn't pass out? Not even for a second?"

Trystan mouths no. He lies. He isn't going to the damn emergency room. Trystan knows exactly where he's going as soon as the paramedics leave.

"Kid, we're going to have to bring you to the jail if you don't go with them. Blacking out would be normal. It's nothing to do with how much of a man you are." The cop looks at him. He doesn't understand. It isn't blacking out. It's that his private life is suddenly exposed. All those years of misery are out in the open. The only thing Trystan wanted was to get through the next couple of months and then go out on his own. This wasn't part of the plan.

Mari appears in the doorway. "I'm not pressing charges." Trystan perks up in his chair, but the cop places a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. There are two officers with Mari, walking her out to the car. She screamed the words as she passed by.

Trystan says, "But her father will."

"Smart boy. Come on. Let's get going. You're going to have a long night." The cop gestures for Trystan to stand and hold out his wrists. Cold metal bites into Trystan's skin when the handcuffs tighten. He blinks slowly, wondering how he ended up with this life.

~MARI~

Tear stains streak my cheeks. When the cop car pulls up in front of my parent's house, I nearly die. One of the officers goes ahead to the door, while the other one fishes me out of the backseat.

"They aren't home," I say.

The two cops look at me. They're both young with no wrinkles around their eyes. One has dark skin and the other one is so pale that he's practically glowing. They're like a law enforcement ying-yang.

The pasty guy asks, "Where are they?"

"Work," I say. They're always at work. And if these guys call them, I'm going to get my ass handed to me. It doesn't matter that it isn't my fault. "My dad's a surgeon. My mom's a nurse. Is there any way you could take care of this with them in the morning?" They both shake their heads. I reach for the door and stick in the key. "Fine, come inside." I keep talking as I walk in. They follow me. Their heads swivel on their shoulders as they take in the house. Everyone does that. It's too posh, too pretty. It's a status symbol in the extreme.

"Do you want coffee or something?"

"No, thank you, Miss," the cop with the super-tan says. His name is Marcello. I squint to read it on his chest. "We'll just wait for your parents. What time do you expect them?"

"In the morning. They both work the night shift." I quickly add, "And if you call them, and I'm not dead, I will be when they get home." I can't say more. I hope to God that they understand what I mean and take me seriously.

The pasty cop furrows his brow. He steps toward me. "Is someone hurting you here?"

I say nothing. I just stare at them. No one is hurting me. No one is ever here. It's not like what Trystan was enduring. My God. My stomach clenches thinking about him, about the pain in his eyes. He hid it from me all these years. There were times he seemed off, but I couldn't figure him out. Now I know why. I feel sick.

Pressing my lips together, I ask, "What'd you do with Trystan?"

"He's been taken in for questioning. They should let him go, because of what it is. You're the wild card in this equation. Your parents need to be notified. If they want to press charges, we'll be forced to comply."

"What does that mean?" I ask looking at both of them. "Why would they press charges?"

Marcello takes a deep breath. His eyes shift and he looks at his partner. Neither of them wants to tell me, but they both know the answer. "Just be glad things didn't get worse, okay. And stay away from that complex. There's some low-life scum in that part of town."

"Trystan's not like that," I say, automatically defending him. "He's a good guy. His dad beat the shit out him."

Marcello doesn't want to say it. His eyes shift to the side and then back to me. "Listen, kid. Guys like that don't get second chances. His dad may have been the one that messed him up, but there's no saving him. You understand? There's nothing left to save. He's already gone. Stay away from guys like that if you want to be happy."

The cop stares at me like I'm his little sister, like he's remembering something. He blinks and looks away. His partner is at the door. They're leaving to find my parents. I hope to God that my parents aren't at work - that somehow they fail to be notified - because I know how this will end. My throat constricts and my heart pounds harder. I say nothing else. They nod and leave. Once again, I am alone.