Shattered

~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.

The next morning, my parents sit across the table from me. They eat breakfast like nothing happened last night. They don't even talk about it. It isn't until I stand to leave that my father asks my mother about the lawyer.

I stop and turn with my plate in my hands. I'm worried that they're going to press charges against Trystan. "Lawyer for what?"

Daddy shoots daggers at me with his eyes. "For what? Oh, let's see. First of all there was that assault you were involved in with Brie and then there was the incident last night." His jaw twitches. I know he wants to scream at me until his eyes get too big for his head and that vein in his temple swells to spaghetti size.

"She had nothing to do with the incident last night. The officer said - " Mother is kind. She tries to defend me for once, but Daddy cuts her off.

"The officer was being polite. He didn't want to say that our daughter was with a derelict and his drunken father, doing God knows what, when things got out of hand." Daddy gives Mom a stern look and she lowers her head and goes back to her eggs. My heart falls inside my chest. I wish she'd defend me. Just once.

When Daddy resumes his rant, his voice is tense, clipped. "I'm not pressing charges. It'll cost more than it's worth." I hear it'll cost more than you're worth. It rings crystal clear in my head, like he actually said it. He looks up at me and asks, "Tell me, Mari - do you intend to throw away your life on someone so utterly beneath you, or do you intend to make something of yourself? Actions like this have consequences and from where I stand, you're throwing away your life. You're nothing but a goddamn waste."

His words cut me in two. I don't know what I expected him to say but that wasn't it. I move robotically to the sink and set my plate down. My chest constricts and turns cold. My eyes don't blink, they look but they don't see. I don't see Daddy go back to his breakfast like he wished me well today. I don't see my mother cowering, doing nothing to prevent his words from stabbing me in the heart. I've done nothing to warrant this from him, yet, this is my treatment. I'm an inconvenience. He makes that abundantly clear.

I'm a bill.

I'm an expense.

I'm an adverse risk, one that he would have rather lived without.