Poison - Chapter 24

POISON
Chapter 24
Rated "M"

---

XXIV

"Three weeks is a long time to miss these sessions, Alexander. Is everything alright?" Dr. Jordan asked politely as she looked up from her clipboard and stared at me over the rim of her burgundy glasses. I took a breath.
"Um... I don't know..." I muttered, not sure how to answer the question. It was simple, a yes or no answer, and yet I couldn't figure out my own answer. Was I supposed to answer based on physical beings, or was it all emotional?
"Okay. Let's start off simple, shall we? Have you had any recent recollections of the past? Anything that makes you fell depressed or hurt?" She asked, refraining from tapping her pen against the clipboard like she had done the first session.
"No." I said, thinking long and hard to make sure my answer was truly correct. The last time I had experienced devastating memories was through the first month of my leave of absence, and I couldn't recall a time after my first day back at work that the terror of what I had done had relapsed.
"Are you overwhelmed by work or overstretched by the schedule of your job?"
"No." I answered again. I knew for a fact that I wasn't overwhelmed by the work I had to do, if anything I was overwhelmed by the peace it brought me to be back working and making money again, even if I was only given a desk and a computer for the time being, until I was dubbed emotionally stable by Dr. Jordan and could finally carry a gun again.
"Tell me."
"What?" I said, looking up and realizing that I had zoned out for a moment while thinking of my job. I watched at Dr. Jordan uncrossed her legs and leaned toward me, her eyes not once gazing down at her clipboard as they stared at me over her glasses.
"After three weeks of missing these sessions, what made you come back? What do you feel like you need to talk to me about? You can say anything. Nothing leaves this room."
"I have a partner now..." I found myself saying on a whim.
"Do you have a problem with them?" I shrugged at Dr. Jordan's question.
"Well, she can be quite cold and uptight..."
"And that bothers you..." I laughed lightly at her statement.
"Yeah. More than I realized, actually..." I said, looking out the window, but not being close enough to see the bustling streets of Manhattan.
"Why do you think it bothers you?" She asked and I turned to look at her again.
"How am I supposed to know? I feel more confused around her than I ever have in my entire life." She gazed down at her clipboard and I was slightly surprised that she wasn't scribbling all over the paper with her blue pen. She looked up and opened her mouth, closing it soon afterwards and sighing before opening it again.
"How do you feel around her?" She suddenly asked. "How do you react around her, how do you communicate with her?"
"Um... communicate? With... words..." I said and Dr. Jordan frowned. "How I feel around her? How I react around her? I... don't know..."
"Do you get nervous around her?" Was Dr. Jordan's next question. I was the one who frowned this time as I rose an eyebrow at the highly-trained and highly-paid therapist.
"Well, who wouldn't? She's the FBI for God's sake."
"That wasn't what I meant." She stated simply.
"Wait. You mean...?" I muttered, slowing coming to a stop with my words. I felt my heart race for a moment as I shook my head. "No. No. NO. I am not in love with Roxanne. Why does everyone think I am?"
"It is logical, Alexander. You're twenty-eight, you feel pressured by your parents to not only get married, but have children on the side. You're still recovering mentally from previous experiences, and you not only need someone to talk to, but you also need someone mentally capable to listen and understand what you've gone through. Subconsciously, you believe that this young woman is that someone."
"Wait. How do you know that's she's young?" I asked, slightly off topic.
"Personalities tell a lot about a person's preferences in relationships and significant others."
"Great..." I muttered, looking down at my hands for a moment before looking back up at Dr. Jordan. She looked at her clipboard and then to her watch, glancing up at me as she took off her glasses.
"Our time is up. I hope to see you next Monday at eleven." She said before standing up and placing her clipboard on her desk. I stood up and spoke before leaving the room.
"Yeah. Me too."

---

"Bastards..." I heard Roxanne mutter as she took off her helmet and sighed. I could see the anger blazing in her eyes, which were still as cold as Siberia. I could only stare at the woman as she battled her furious self.
"The reporters or the guys inside?" I asked simply, curious to see if she had even noticed the reporters behind her snapping pictures of the scene. Ten cop cars, all blocking the roadway, five FBI vehicles and at least a hundred field agents, including Roxanne. I had heard from Zak over the phone that it had only started off as an anonymous tip that the NYPD decided to check out, but somehow it evolved into half my precinct and half of the nearest. And not to mention almost half of the FBI agents stationed in New York City.
"What the hell do you think, Sempers?" She asked coldly, not turning her head to look at me as her eyes scanned toward the ambulance where a young woman was wrapped in a blanket, to both cover herself and to help with her mental shock.
"The guys inside?" I guessed wearily. Roxanne's facial features didn't change as she fixed a pocket on her black cargo pants and turned her radio up a few notches.
"The lot of them, really. Though if we're talking specifics, those men you're talking about escaped out the emergency exit, which makes both my job and everyone's else's here even more difficult." She said.
"How many women?" I felt the need to ask. Roxanne looked down at her hands before looking back up at the building as another FBI team entered.
"Twenty on the first floor, thirty-two on the second, fifteen on the third, seven on the fourth, and twenty-six on the floor I went up. And not to mention the fifty men we found locked up in the basement."
"What?" I said, not understanding. I couldn't remember who it was, but I remembered clearly being told that it was prostitutes or something of the sort that we being kept in the abandoned building. Female prostitutes, not, well...
"Don't act so surprised, Sempers. You and I both know this world is more fucked up than it sometimes seems. And it isn't a prostitute ring, like everyone seems to think. Like you were told. No. This... this isn't quite what people find to be prostitution, but it is still a form of the word. Prostitution is a wide category. So in modern, more accurate terms... it's a sex slave business."

---

I knew it wasn't a good idea to go to a bar on a Monday night, but there were so many things going on that I just needed a drink. And it wasn't just because of the incident earlier at the abandoned building.
"How was Jackson? I never got the chance to ask you how it was to spend almost a whole week with Roxanne." Zak stated after ordering a glass of wine. Constance had definitely changed him, and it was probably for the better too, in my opinion, though I never thought I'd be able to get over the change in Zak's alcohol preferences, and I wouldn't, especially if he started ordering martinis.
"Normal." I said, not wishing to spill too much detail about my new knowledge of Roxanne's diverse family. I couldn't help but kick myself mentally for sounding so vague and facile.
"So Constance was wrong? You aren't falling head first into the lust of one specific federal agent?" His words were not only exaggerated, but also sarcastic, which made me cringe even more than the "Constance" part. I felt my throat go dry, despite the hard liquor gliding down the passageway.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I asked, glancing at Zak, who only leaned on the counter, his elbows pressing into the hard surface of the bar. A smirk appeared on his face as he took a glance at me and then went back to taking slight, simple, almost unnoticeable glances at the young women at the other end of the bar. Usually I'd have the urge to look at their ID's, mostly because it was my job, though Zak and everyone in the precinct thought otherwise of my reasons. But at that moment, I didn't care. I was out drinking on a Monday night for a reason, and it wasn't to check every young woman's ID to make sure that it was in fact real, and they weren't secretly high school students who decided to go out in tight dresses and flaunt all night long.
"Again. You are in total denial..."
"Again, you seem to be mistaken." I counteracted. Zak only laughed at my comment before continuing.
"Is it because you know she'll never have feelings like that for you? Is that why you're in denial."
"I'm not in denial..." I said through my teeth, avoiding Zak's gaze by looking forward at the wall of alcohol. Zak continued.
"Or is it because you know that you're parents would never approve of such a girl? A girl who works harder than half of the guys in the precinct put together, and doesn't give a shit as to what other people think of her? Or is it because she won't let you in? She can't find a place in her heart to tell you anything about her, so you use denial of all things to ignore the pain? Is that what months of healing did to you? You sought out to get help, to get someone to tell you that what happened that day had nothing to do with your orders, and then you come back and use denial of all things so you don't have to feel anything. So you don't have to be human again and feel every emotion you've come to know? I see.
"You know, I fell for Roxanne, myself, when I met her. I felt so deeply in love with her that for days on end I found myself beating myself up because of it. I had the unusual feelings for Roxanne, but I loved Constance on the other side. I was infatuated with both, and I hated it. And then I saw something that turned my world upside down. I saw you. You and Roxanne, together. Well, physically together, in the same room, working alongside each other. My feelings for Roxanne turned to liquid and then transformed into the infatuation I feel today. The admiration and warmth I didn't understand until Roxanne put all those pieces together about that note. That's when I saw it..."
"What the hell are you talking about now?" I found myself saying harshly. Zak laughed and shook his head, eyebrows crunched together in disbelief.
"What the hell are you doing?" Zak suddenly said, his tone making it seem as if he were disappointed in something. "What the hell are you doing? Jesus Christ, Alexander. What are you doing with your life?" He paused for a moment, but I had nothing to say in place of the silence. Not a word to mutter, not a noise to make. I was dead silent, at a loss for words as I thought about Zak's reasons for saying such things. "How long is it going to take?"
"What?" I questioned, almost dazed by Zak's sudden question.
"How long is it going to take you to figure it all out? Yeah, I got the part where you work hard to become the head of the precinct one day, but what about after that? After you get where you're going? What are you going to do? Go back home to an empty apartment? Watch your parents live their own lives while they secretly watch yours? Become a recluse, or work twenty-four-seven? Because those are the only things I see happening if you keep this up. Keep up this denial and stupidity."
"Since when did my future involve your concerns?" I asked sternly. Zak was quiet for a moment as he pulled out a black velvet box and nervously fumbled with it. My throat went dry as I suddenly realized where Zak was going with the conversation.
"I'm moving on..." He spoke softly, barely loud enough for me to hear him over the noise of the bar. "I'm moving on. I'm done with the parties and the women and the alcohol. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of it all, I'm done with it. What am I going to get out of a bunch of random numbers that all lead to dead ends and a heartache you can't imagine? What's it going to get me to wake up every morning with no memory of everything you've done, everything you've thought about and said. What the point? What's the point in life for such things when my goal is so drastic compared to my present? I'm not going to get shit out of it if I don't change. And I've already started. But the only way I could've and still can is because of Constance..."
"What does you proposing to Constance have to do with me?"
"We've both changed throughout these past few months. Despite the hell you went through awhile back, you can't deny that you haven't changed in a way that has shocked everyone you know. Then again, you probably would considering everything else you are in denial of."
"I'm not in denial of anything. We've already gone over this."
"Bullshit. If you weren't in denial of everything anyone said about you and that agent hell would've broken loose a long time ago. Everyone can see it, Alexander. Everyone. The Captain, your parents, everyone in the precinct, me, hell, even Constance can see it, and yet you still stick to what you find the easiest. Is that what three months of therapy taught you? To pretend to be naïve, to hide away all those pesky emotions that you have and lock them up just to make what seems like your hellish life better. Even that's bullshit. For one, that God damn therapist of yours isn't being paid by the government to make you emotionless. Second, your life is better than half the people in the precinct. Yeah, you've seen the rough side of life, but you haven't seen anything compared to-"
Zak suddenly stopped and took a sigh before running a hand through his hair and shaking his head regretfully. "You? Was that what you were really going to say? That you've been through more hell than myself? Really, Zak? That's low, even for you."
"That wasn't what I was going to say..."
"Then what were you going to say? Constance? The Captain? Margarie?"
"Roxanne!" Zak yelled, done with my guesses. He hit the counter with his fist. "Shit..." He muttered.
"Roxanne?" I barely mustered, my brain racking up questions and thoughts that I couldn't decode.
"Roxanne..." Zak said breathlessly before bowing his head.
"What do you know?" I found myself muttering, questions forming in my mind non-stop as I stared at him.
"Nothing..."
"Bullshit."
"I can't tell you."
"You will tell me, or-"
"What? What will you do to make me tell you about Roxanne? Nothing is the answer. You won't do anything because you know better."
"Just tell me..."
"I can't..." He said before standing up and throwing a wad of cash on the counter before pulling on his coat. He locked eyes with me briefly as he spoke. "You wanna know everything I do, then ask Roxanne yourself. Or better yet pull your head out of your ass and cut this bullshit denial. You're going nowhere if you don't accept that you have feelings for her. Take it or leave it. I don't care... It's not my future, anyway..."

---

Apologies for the wait!
R&R!
✌lustfuleyes100

Poison - Chapter 23

POISON
Chapter 23
Rated "M"

---

XXIII

I knew from the moment we got on the plane that Roxanne had not been the one to fix the boarding passes. No. If anything, she'd be the last person to change them into such an arrangement. Sitting next to me of all people in coach was not something she'd do willingly. And I knew that. More than I knew why she decided to make conversation with me to hide the fact that sitting next to her was more awkward than being hit on by her older sister. Even if the conversation was about none other than typical work.
"I talk to your sister yesterday." I said as Roxanne finished her verbal report on Mandrax, one of the most common drugs in South Africa. The plane had yet to move as the flight attendants checked each row for buckled passengers. Roxanne laughed at me as she turned her phone into "airplane mode."
"Ah. The devil's spawn, told by none other than the priest, though she wouldn't know that if it kicked her in the ass. What did she say, anyway?" She asked, crossing her legs as she placed her phone in her lap before reaching down to secure her purse under the seat in front of her.
I hadn't realized until that moment, that small amount of time that I could look at her without her knowledge, that one, she had a tattoo right behind her ear - a phrase in Arabic, or at least I thought that was the language, and two, she had five piercings on her right ear, all of which were a gold colored except for her main pair of earrings which were gold plated feathers with diamonds scattered aimless across them.
"Uh..." I said, taking my focus away from Roxanne's tattoo and piercings. "Just everything about you're childhood." I said simply, hoping that she wouldn't be as close-minded and cold as she had earlier that week.
"Great. Did she go into detail about how she's the perfect daughter and how everyone else, except for her and Duston, is just dust under a rug?" She asked, not looking at me as she took a glance out the window and then glanced at the mother on the other side of the isle with a screaming baby. I was quite surprised that her eyes didn't become freezing cold along with her posture or facial expression. But that might've just been because we were in a plane in public and it wasn't exactly appropriate in the setting.
"No. Should she have?"
"I haven't seen her in years, but I doubt she's changed much. She's still probably more self-centered than the devil himself."
"What does it mean?" I found myself asking as I looked back to the foreign tattoo on Roxanne's slightly pale skin. She turned to me with an eyebrow raised and I couldn't help but think how close we were physically. I could almost imagine why she didn't want to look at me. I was most likely too close for comfort.
"What?" Roxanne asked, her hand fiddling with her thin, white and gold watch, just like she had the night before at the party with that expensive-looking diamond bracelet.
"Uh... the tattoo... behind your ear..." I said and Roxanne looked away, her fingertips brushing the inked spot.
"Yeah... If the guy did it right it would say 'moon and stars,' but who knows, it could say 'fuck you.'" She shrugged and I began to notice that the plane was now getting ready for takeoff. Roxanne glanced outside the window.
"Why 'moon and stars?'" I said and she looked back at me briefly before clutching her phone in one hand.
"I was nineteen. It was New Orleans. I wanted to be an astronomer when I was younger, so I got it tattooed on behind my ear in a language that not many people in the country knows." She said simply and I felt my heart race at the thought of Roxanne talking to me about something other than work. She was opening up to me, slowly, unconsciously, and there was no way in hell I'd let myself compromise her willingness to talk to me in such a manner.
"Why behind your ear? Wouldn't that hurt more?" Roxanne took a breath and clutched the end of the armrest in between us with her free hand.
"I have no idea..." She muttered softly, but still loud enough for me to hear. I rose my brow at her statement.
"What do you mean you have no idea?"
"I... kind of was... extremely intoxicated, so I don't remember a damn thing from that night." She said and I could see her cringe slightly as the plane began to speed up for takeoff. Her knuckles were turning white as she clenched the armrest. I had a sudden urge to lay my hand over hers, but I made a fist with both of my hands to stop myself. I doubted highly that Roxanne would be so forthcoming after I indulged in such an action, and I didn't want to spoil that moment as Roxanne opened up to me.
"You... being drunk? Huh. And here I thought that you'd be the one making sure everyone else didn't get drunk." I said, recuperating from my previous thoughts. Roxanne didn't say anything as she leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes, biting her lip hard. I stared at the blonde confused and somehow worried.
"I wasn't the only one, obviously. How do you think I got alcohol at nineteen? Sure as hell wasn't bought by me." She said, still cringing.
"Are you okay? You don't look so good..." I muttered and she laughed.
"No one in this God damn plane would look good or feel good if they knew how many planes crash in a year. Or how many people die from planes in general." I couldn't help but laugh and Roxanne looked at me, eyes cold as she glared.
"That's you're fear? Planes?" I asked, smiling slightly. I knew it was inappropriate to laugh at Roxanne's fear, but to be honest I hadn't expected her of all people to be afraid of them. Just the way she acted didn't match up with her fear, but then again, she was completely hypothetical.
"Shut up, Sempers." Was the last things she said as the plane lifted off of the ground. My smile faded as Roxanne became quiet and her sudden mental openness began to fade. Maybe I was truly pathetic to feel so euphoric and blithe about Roxanne's sudden attitude change. Maybe I was mad for seeing such a way as the blonde had said something about herself. Maybe they were both true. But for that moment, all I could think about was how open she had been with me. As open as I had ever seen before. And it made my heart melt to see it.

---

"I don't want your money, Roxanne." I said as she handed me a wad of cash. She smirked at my statement.
"Thank God, since the only people who actually desire my money are strippers." I loosely rolled my eyes at her.
"I still don't want your money."
"It's for the rental car. Shut up and take it."
"Again, I don-"
"You don't want my money. I got it. Just take the cash. I have no use for it, anyway."
"You could buy a new pair of shoes with it." I said, glancing down at her beat up Converse. It was probably the most unprofessional pair of shoes she owned, and yet she seemed to prefer them at the airport. Well, so I thought based exclusively off the statement she had spoke when she had to take off then put back on the pulverized high-tops. She glanced down at her shoes and rolled her eyes as she continued to hold her hand out for me to take the cash.
"They may be old and worn out, but they still work. So take the God damn money, Sempers."
"Uh... no." I said and Roxanne glared at me.
"You're really a jackass."
"Just because I'm not taking your money, doesn't mean I'm a jackass, Roxanne."
"Would you like to me to call you something else, because I have a whole list of things I could call you. Pique, vexatious, galling, nettlesome..."
"I got it."
"Cockamamie." I rose a brow at Roxanne's word.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Read a dictionary. Maybe it will help you..."
"Are you sure you're describing me and not yourself?" I asked, a smirk displaying on my face. Roxanne didn't make any facial expression as she spoke.
"If I was going to describe myself I'd use sedulous, conscientious, industrious, and assiduous."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Read a dictionary." She said with a smirk before she took a glance at her watch. Are you going to take the money or what?"
"Again. No." I said simply and another smirk crawled onto the blonde's face as she came closer to me. My heart raced as I barely felt the heat radiating from Roxanne's body.
"Fine." She said with a smirk as she slid the wad of cash in my jacket pocket. I swallowed as she looked up at me with her icy blue eyes that seemed warmer than usual. "I'd love to see what you do with the cash, but I have work to do." She said, the smirk still on her face as she took a step back and placed a hand on her suitcase. "I'll see you Monday..." She muttered before walking off to grab a taxi.
My mouth was dry, my heart was beating, and my body seemed colder when Roxanne walked away. I unfolded my arms and slid my hand into the pocket with Roxanne's money, counting it quickly and sighing as I put it back. Two hundred fifty dollars. All for a damn rental car. I couldn't decide if I was more confused that Roxanne was paying me back with enough money to cover more than half of the original fee cost or if the real problem was that she had that much money in her pocket, in cash.
I took a breath and swept my mind of the thought, my focus turning towards me getting back home to my dull apartment. I stepped into the street and raised my hand to get a ride home.

---

I threw the cash onto the counter as I unzipped my jacket, throwing it onto the back of a bar chair before opening the fridge to grab a beer. I was tired, but not in the way that required sleep. I was tired of being alone, not having anyone or anything to go home too. Maybe it was because I had been so wrapped up in Roxanne and her asinine emotions in Jackson that made me feel so lonely actually going back to my apartment without feeling the need to help and protect someone. Maybe that was it, the reason why I was feeling such a way when I was now back in the personal space of my own apartment.
I sat on the couch and turned on the TV, changing the channel every second to find something worth watching. Why did I feel this way? Why did I feel so alone? Why did I feel so... jealous of every other soul in the country right then? The better question was why did I feel so jealous of everyone when I knew I could have anything if I tried?
Zak had his French lover. I could be in his position in an instant. My mother and father had each other. I could find myself a wife anywhere, though I most likely find someone more than willing to commit in a familiar wing of a hospital (a.k.a. the morgue.), otherwise known as Summer Dwight.
I mean, why did I feel such a way then? So... depressed about my own life when I knew I could have the world if I wanted. Why, then? Why did I feel this way?
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, dropping the remote on the floor as I thought about no one but that blonde who I knew I should've ended up hating. Almost in que, my cell phone rang and I reached into my pocket to pull out my cell phone. My heart raced as I looked at the caller ID and answered it.
"Hello?" I answered, suddenly longing for Roxanne's conciliating voice. But the sounds over the phone weren't conciliating at all. It was the short, terrifying gasps of crying in the background.
"Uh..." Roxanne almost slurred through the phone. Her voice was raspy as she continued. "Sorry. Wrong number."
"Roxanne!" I said, sitting up, but I was too late as she hung up on me. My heart began to ache as I replayed the sound of Roxanne crying through the phone. Why was Roxanne crying? And why did I feel so perturbed about it?

---

Yes. It's a pretty boring chapter, but the next one will definitely make up for it. I hope... :/
As always, R&R!
✌lustfuleyes100

Poison - Chapter 22

POISON
Chapter 22
Rated "M"

---

XXII - A Childhood Worth Forgetting

I had spent that whole night and morning trying to put all the puzzle pieces together about Dallas' murder. Despite having every single damn piece of information there was on the planet, I couldn't seem to figure it out, to put each and every piece together to turn the complex puzzle pieces into a beautiful picture. Or really a picture of the guy who murdered a man. A man who just happened to be both my partner's brother and a man who was going to propose to his girlfriend as soon as he got the chance. Either I was loosing my ability to infer how the hell something like this couldn't add up, or something was missing. Or both, for all I knew. Everything seemed to be go not-as-planned lately. Hell, I cried at a funeral and it wasn't even because of the guy who was dead!
I was sick of sitting there at the desk in the hotel room, staring at files that looked as blank as Zak's face when he first heard about sex. I was annoyed, pissed, raging, sick, temperamental, everything that I wished wasn't going on in my brain was happening. And it was all because of that God damn murderer.
I stood up and flung the files off the desk, papers flying onto the ground at record speed. I stared at the painting in front of my, my breath uneven as I attempted to calm myself down. But whatever I was doing wasn't helping. I just seemed to get angrier at the fact that I hadn't heard from Roxanne in hours and I was in literal hell trying to piece together all the shit in those stupid files. All the information that I didn't even need to give a damn about because they didn't make any sense. I swallowed and took a breath.
"House keeping!" I heard from outside my door as a hard knock came to light. I choked and snapped my head toward the direction of the door.
"Uh... not right now!" I yelled back. I felt myself twitching as a side affect of not getting any sleep. I thought of my first day meeting Roxanne. She had tried to get me to pull an all-nighter, but I couldn't do it. Why? Because I was that guy who needed sleep no matter what situation came to light. Why did Roxanne not care about sleep? Probably because she was fucking crazy. That was the only explanation I could come up with...
I suddenly became dizzy, my vision spinning as I made my way to the bed, collapsing on the neat, fixed comforter and not even bothering to lay my head on a pillow as I closed my eyes.
I knew from the start that it had been a bad idea letting myself fall asleep. I had so much work to do. From, again, trying to figure out the stupid murder case, to going out and buying a suit, or tux, that I'd probably never wear ever again. But the need to sleep was too much for me to fight as I drifted off, thinking of no one else but that blonde. That blonde...
I suddenly thought of Zak. At Violet's birthday party - if you could even call it that considering half of us were drinking while she opened her presents - Zak had said that I had been in denial. Was I? In denial? No. I was not in denial. I had no feelings for Roxanne, no matter what everyone else said. I was not attracted to Roxanne in any way. Physically, mentally, emotionally. If half of those are even real. No. I wasn't. Roxanne was an ice cold bitch who hated me as much as I hated her.
So then why didn't I believe myself?

---

"Oh, shit..." I muttered as I ran up the steps and to the door of the community building, making sure to not scratch up my new dress shoes on the concrete steps too early.
"Name, please." A deep voice spoke as I looked up to see a dark-colored man blocking the door. I stopped and checked my shoes for a moment, almost dazed by his sudden appearance and then looking back up.
"Alexander Semepers." I said, my heart racing and my body out of breath as I had ran all the way from the end of the block to the building.
"You're not on the list." He said, almost glaring at me. I sighed.
"Isabel Winston invited me yesterday at the funeral. Talk to her. She'll back me up."
"If you're not on the list then you can't go in. Host's orders." I sighed again, reaching into my pocket as I spoke.
"Does it help that I'm NYPD?" I asked, holding out my badge. The man looked from me to the badge and back again. His eyes landed on me and he straightened his posture, moving away from the door, nodding for me to go in. I reached for the door in mere seconds when I heard heels clicking behind me. I noted that the officer next to me had widened his eyes slightly. I swung the door open and held it for the last and first person I wanted to see. Roxanne.
"Wow. Holding the door open for women..." She muttered. "Deacon's taken. Sorry to burst your bubble." She said almost slyly as she stopped right in front of me and looked me in the eye, a smirk being displayed lightly on her face. I swallowed as I looked at her lips, which were painted with a light pink, unlike the rest of her outfit which by looking from the corner of my eyes, I could see contained all dark colors.
She couldn't have gone any quicker as I felt my heart speed up just looking at her. I suddenly wanted to memorize her lips, every curve, every crease, every taste, whether sweet or sour. I wanted it.
I clenched my fists at the thought. What was happening to me? Why was I thinking like this? It had never happened to me before. Twenty-eight years, a million women, a thousand opportunities to please every person on my list, from my parents to myself. Why? Why did I have to see Roxanne this way? Why couldn't I have just hated her?
I did hate her. I didn't like her. I just had to keep telling myself that.
"Winston..." Deacon, the officer at the door, muttered. I turned to face him, an eyebrow raised in question.
"What?"
"Winston. The Winston family... The most famous family in Jackson. Known mostly for their looks, their good genes, their seductive manner."
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about." I said, again, not believing myself as I denied all evidence of myself falling for... Roxanne.
"Roxanne Winston. You know her. You work with her." I crunched my eyebrows together as he continued. "Word travels fast, you know. Especially when it has to do with the Winston family. Anyway, Roxanne Winston is the third child of Sterling and Isabel Winston. The brains of the family, yet her physical appearance challenges her older sister, Krystal Lena Winston and her own physical appearance. No one's seen Roxanne in years. People are excited to see her again. To find who men prefer."
"Who men prefer?" I repeated, interrupting him as he finished his sentence. He nodded and sighed.
"It's interestin'. You have a guy, he meets both of them, falls for one, and one only. It's Ms. Krystal verses Ms. Roxanne. A battle that could be one easily as Ms. Roxanne takes certain interest in fleeing while Ms. Krystal stays out of pure curiosity. But we all know the truth about the two. Krystal's the only one keeping up this charade. Roxanne would rather die than deal with her sister's unhealthy and uncouth habit."
I didn't say anything as I nodded slightly before entering the building, hoping to God I wasn't a candidate. Shit. Was I already?

---

"Alexander!" Isabel spoke happily as she embraced me. "I'm so glad you came, darlin'!" She said, letting me go to inspect me. She was wearing a green dress, which surprisingly looked good with her blonde hair and tan skin. "Look at ya'. I bought Dallas somethin' like this years back..." She said, dazing off slightly before shaking it off. "You look handsome as ever." She smiled and I returned the friendly action. My eyes suddenly met with a familiar pair of ocean blue ones and I swallowed as I stared at her. Krystal.
"Go, ahead, son. Don't be shy." Sterling spoke, his southern accent thicker than everyone else's. Isabel pushed me lightly into the crowd of people as I made my way to sit next to Krystal at an empty round table.
Krystal wore the least amount of clothing at the party. She wore a golden, strapless dress that barely covered her thighs and showed off her cleavage more than anyone could imagine. Her hair was in long, locked curls and her eye makeup brought out gold flicks in her iris'.
"You look... beautiful..." I spoke, making sure I used the right choice of words. Yes, she did look pretty, but she also looked a little inappropriate as we were at basically a party to celebrate her now deceased brother's life.
"Thanks... You look handsome." She said, biting her lip. "And you're just saying it to be nice. Admit it."
"No, no. You look... gorgeous..." I said, spitting the words harshly. She sighed softly and looked at me, a smile plastered on her face.
"Thank you..." She spoke softly and shyly. She gazed shyly, an action only meant to be a distraction from her blushing, but her eyes suddenly hardened at a sight. "Looks like my sister's going to town on that champagne. She should know better than to expect to get drunk off of it." She said and I looked across the room to see Roxanne sitting alone with a glass of champagne and a bottle next to her. She guzzled the alcohol down and I could almost imagine her sighing. She looked... beautiful...
No. No she didn't. Just no. I didn't like that midnight blue strapless dress with layers of rough, frilly fabric that enhanced her waist and made her look even more like a model. No. I didn't like that makeup that made her eyes look even more blue, and no, I didn't like those heels and no, I didn't like the jewelry or the hair or the accessories or the way she looked so fit for the event. No. I didn't like it. And again, I didn't believe myself.
"Does she drink often?" I found myself asking the woman. I could see her shrug from the corner of my eye before she spoke.
"I wouldn't know. We may be siblings, but I haven't seen Roxanne since she left for college when she was eighteen. I don't even know her major."
"Marine Biology." I said, answering a question that hadn't been directly asked, but still was visible in Krystal's voice. She rose a brow at my answer. "Marine Biology. That's what Roxanne is studying right now."
"Right now? As in currently? Then what did she do when she left? FBI training?" I wasn't sure if it was a question or secretly a low blow to her sister, but whatever it was, I was confused. Why would Roxanne go to college again if she had a bachelor's degree. I knew exactly that you had to have one to become an agent for the Bureau, so why was she going to college again? Was that her dream or something?
"I don't know..." I muttered as I looked over at the blonde across the room. Roxanne pulled out her phone and looked as if she was answering it. Her facial expression didn't change as she stood up and left the building through the front door, leaving her jacket, her purse, and her long gloves on the table. I swallowed as I watched her leave.
"I didn't mean to be rude a few days ago." Krystal suddenly said and I looked over at her to see her watching Roxanne leave. She turned to me to continue. "On the sidewalk. I wasn't trying to be pushy or anything..."
"It's fine, really..." I said, glancing at my hands before looking back up at the blonde.
"Roxanne... she was the closest to Dallas than anyone else. They were inseparable as children." I swallowed and stared at Krystal as she glanced toward the door, almost like she needed to see her sister again. "They were so alike. So... perfect..."
"Perfect?" I asked, confused as to the description as Krystal had said before that Roxanne was basically the "runt" of the litter, or family, so to speak.
"Well, not perfect in our parents' eyes or even mine for that matter, but still perfect. They were like two peas in a pod, the two of 'em. They did everything together. They were best friends, and now look at 'em. Dallas' deader than a bent doornail and Roxanne's more uptight than a Northerner during the Civil War. I might not be the best sibling in the world, but it hurts to see what they've become. It hurts more than I ever thought it would."
"You said before that she was the runt of the family. How...?" I asked vaguely, but Krystal nodded as she understood what I was asking.
"Neither Roxanne, nor Dallas were willing to change to our parents' content. Pa wanted Dallas to join the Army, take after him in some form, but Dallas wanted to be an engineer, which to our father was the opposite of an epitome of careers. They got into a lot fights, but nothing they said or did could compare to the hell Roxanne gave our mother when she tried to get her to become just like me."
"What happened?"
"Ma wanted another Southern Belle in the family. Roxanne had the looks, she just needed to dress and act like one. Roxanne made life a living hell for my mother. At times I find that it serves her right considering that she hadn't given up on her dream for eighteen years. She'd sign her up for pageants with me all the time, and during every one of them Roxanne would go missing. It started off as a few days and then a few weeks and when things between them got really bad, Roxanne would be missing for months on end. She still went to school, but she never came home."
"What did she want to do? Instead of pageants and everything?"
"Roxanne didn't care for Ma or me and what we thought to be perfection for females. No. She wanted to be like Pa. Work and school and jobs and everything that didn't have the word 'feminine' stamped in bold letters on it. But Pa wouldn't give her the time of day, even if he knew she could succeed and make him proud. She was girl, and our family was written on pure sexism and gender roles. Everyone knew that Roxanne would rather let herself get killed than affiliate herself with the specific gender role she was meant to play. She'd never bow down to my parents. She'd never get married, she'd never have children, she'd do everything possible to get away from her family.
"It all went to hell when my mother did the last thing she could to keep her daughter from ruining herself. Or to keep her daughter from ruining her own sophisticated and perfect reputation." Kathryn said, looking at her hands.
"What was it?" I asked, even more curious of the blonde who I was now affiliated with.
"An arranged marriage..." Kathryn muttered so softly that it could've been called a whisper. She laughed lightly as she looked back at the door that hadn't opened since Roxanne left. "She lost it. Roxanne lost her temper when she was approached with it. We only thought she'd be gone for a few months at the most, so we planned the wedding. A few months went by and there was no contact from her. She left the state the day before she turned eighteen. She hasn't come back until now..." Kathryn dazed off, her eyes slowly moving to the ground a few feet away from us and I could only stare at her.
What the hell had happened to Roxanne? That. That happened.

---

"Who was it?" I asked Roxanne as I sat down on the concrete steps and looked at her. Her cell phone was face up on the curb next to her as she fiddled with the diamond bracelet on her left wrist. I wasn't sure what was going on, but I was quite surprised that she didn't have a lit cigarette in her hand.
"Summer Dwight." She said simply, gazing up at the sky. I followed her eyes to the bright stars above us and was immediately mesmerized by the sight. Yes, we were still in a city, but in Jackson, you could still see the millions of glowing stars lighting up the sky unlike New York City, where I was born and raised.
"What did she say?" I asked, still looking up at the glowing white and red stars.
"There was a mistake made on the record. Wrong person's files mixed with Dallas'. He still died from the concoction, but it wasn't murder. The man we're supposed to be looking for is merely a drug addict. The Jackson police took care of him hours ago. The family's safe. The boarding passes have been changed. We're leaving tomorrow."
I just stared at her, my eyes memorizing her figure in the moonlight. Her strappy, ankle-high heels shined in the moonlight, as well as the beads on her dress, and despite my angle, I could see her eyes doing the same.
I felt my heart ache as I stared at her. I wanted to ask how she was doing, but I knew what the answer would be. "We're not friends. We're partners." I couldn't listen to her deny me information again right at that moment. After I had found out what her childhood was like, I couldn't take the denial of an answer. So instead of saying anything, I stood up and walked back inside, back into the life of the party.

---

Another Chapter! Yes! I finished it faster than ever!
Thanks to those of you who reviewed recently (zzzeus11, Guest, Chanel C). You're all awesome, as well as the rest of you who've reviewed. :)
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Poison - Chapter 20

POISON
Chapter 20
Rated "M"

---

XX - Whiskey

Three hours in a hotel room typing up emails wasn't bad, but it still wasn't easy. Every five minutes I seemed to daze off and think about Roxanne. How in the hell could she act so... so... normal? Especially with seeing her brother dead on the floor of his apartment, surrounded by cocaine and heroin and supposedly purple drank, whatever the hell that stuff was and however the hell he got it and died from it. I clicked send on my last email and swallowed, closing my eyes and imagining Roxanne's cold eyes again.
It made sense. Why she didn't want me going to Jackson. But how could I have been so stupid as to not realizing it? The conversation I "overheard" between the Captain and her. The unusual behavior of the agent I had spent less than two weeks with at the time when I got to the scene. Her knowing exactly how to open the safe. The resemblance between her and her family. It was uncanny that I hadn't gotten it until I had saw her brother's name on the record. Dallas Winston.
I closed my laptop and sighed, leaning back in my chair again and thinking of Roxanne. What was wrong with me? What was wrong with that woman? Was she the only thing I could think about? It made little sense, yet it made a lot of sense. I knew how she felt. Loosing a brother. Loosing my brother. It was a hell in itself. And yet Roxanne was feeling the exact emotions I remembered as if it had been yesterday I had heard the news. How in the hell did she not loose it? Did she talk to anyone about it? Probably not, especially after that talk with the Captain...
I shook my head, attempting to get the blonde out of my head before I did something stupid. Or thought of something stupid. The last thing I wanted was to was get emotionally connected with the female FBI agent who was not only cold as hell whenever she left the comfort of her own home, but who also was hell-ridden with most likely more than just her brother's destructive death. I couldn't let that happen. I wouldn't let that happen.
I rubbed my face - an attempt to wake me up fully before I collapsed - and stood up, stretching momentarily before grabbing my jacket. I made sure that I had my hotel room key before closing the door.
I stared at the closed door on the opposite side of me, imagining what Roxanne could be doing in there. She was probably doing work, writing emails, making reports, filing cases, everything that she had to do to probably get her mind off of her now deceased sibling. I would've thought it to be pathetic before. Before the fire, before my brother's own death, before my parents' depression and Rachelle's anxiety during her pregnancy. But no. It wasn't pathetic. It was just... hard.
I had barely known Roxanne for a few weeks and yet I knew everything there was to know about her. She was a workaholic, closed-minded, physically emotionless. She hid her feelings for a reason. To keep them out of her job. She didn't open up to the people she worked with. If she did, well, it would make her more self-conscious. She protected her people. The citizens of her country. That's what she did. And despite telling myself over and over that she'd never change no matter what happened, a small part of me still denied the fact that even if I was her partner for years on end, she'd merely see me as a partner, not one to talk to in a crisis or someone to share emotions with.
I forced myself to walk away from the opposing door, my legs aching to run the opposite way and my brain throbbing to see how Roxanne was doing. Or in other terms, what she was doing. My mind went almost numb as I walked to the lobby, my thoughts drowned by an image that was in no way reality. Or so I hoped.

---

I didn't take the car. I couldn't. My feet and legs wouldn't allow that. No. I walked. I wasn't sure how long or how far, but I walked quite a ways, enough to run into Krystal Winston, Roxanne's only sister - that I knew of - as she was evidentially going home after a long night at the club.
"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes. Alexander Sempers, right?" She said, blue eyes blazing. Her eyes were darker than Roxanne's, an ocean blue instead of an icy blue, and her hair was longer, thinner, and straighter. She looked so much like her sister, or vice versa, Roxanne looked so much like her sister, but so different at the same time. They're body structure was almost identical. Height, same. Eye shape, same, Face, almost the same, though Krystal seemed to wear so much more makeup than Roxanne who wore the minimum amount I had ever seen a woman wear.
"Yeah. Krystal, right?" I asked. I knew the answer, but it seemed impolite to not ask, and somehow being in a Southern state didn't make matters any better.
"Uh, yeah. Where are you headed?" She asked, biting her lower lip for a moment while she looked up at me. I swallowed.
"Just going for a walk. You?"
"Home. Well, unless you... want to go anywhere..."
"I'm fine, but thank you for the offer."
"Are you sure you're fine...? You don't... seem like it..." She said, getting closer, I took a step back, but I was stopped by the brick wall of the building next to me. Krystal was inches away from me when she suddenly laughed and shook her head, taking a few steps back. I could smell the whiskey on her breath as she back up.
"Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit. Bless your heart..."
"What?" I said, confused as to what the sayings were supposed to mean.
"Darlin', you should know better than to trust a Southern woman who isn't a Southern Belle." I crunched by brows together in confusion. "My sister ain't worth any of your time. She's the runt of the litter, so to speak."
"I don't know what you're talking about." I said, my eyebrows furrowing. I swallowed as she took a step towards me again.
"You never realize until you loose 'em. Everyone either falls for me or falls for my sister. A little hint, sweetheart... I ain't the one with my middle finger up."

---

I stared at the paper in my hand and looked up at the building. Same place, same address. This was where Roxanne was?
I was more confused than ever, especially with Krystal's words. The southern sayings, the piece of paper she handed me after her last sentence, Roxanne's difference between her and her sister to say the least. It was purely and simply confusing.
I opened the door and walked in to see the place empty, aside from a band in the corner who was putting away everything and one woman at the counter. Roxanne.
"We're closed." A woman yelled from behind the bar. She looked at least fifty as she stared at me loosely before continuing her work wiping the counters. Her eyes switched from the rag and counter to me multiple times as I approached the bar counter and sat close to Roxanne, one barstool between us.
"I'm quite surprised that you didn't engage in sexual intercourse with my sister." Roxanne said as she took a shot of whiskey. She didn't even cringe as she swallowed the liquid, which made me even more surprised than when I had found out that Dallas was her brother earlier that day.
"Why do you say that?" I asked, making eye contact with the woman at the counter before she continued to wipe the counters.
"I don't say this word often, but when I do I'm referring to my dearest sister. She's a slut."
"Roxanne!" The woman at the counter hissed. "You should appreciate that you have a sibling." Roxanne laughed and I looked over at her, noting that she was not in fact in her work clothes anymore, instead she was wearing tight jeans, a white collared shirt with a black sweater over it and the sleeves rolled up and what looked like oxford shoes.
"Don't get all pissed off, Magnolia. You know its true. Hell, the whole God damn city knows that its true."
"Maybe we all do, but that doesn't mean you have to say it out loud in front everyone."
"Everyone? Shit, the only person who would probably gives a damn is him." Roxanne said, nodding her head towards me. "But I highly doubt that he'll want to get shot by the Rednecks anytime soon."
"What?" I said, looking at Roxanne, again, confused as ever.
"This seems to be a good time to introduce myself. Magnolia Abet. Co-owner of this joint." She said, offering a hand. I took it politely and was shocked by her strong grip.
"Alexander Sempers. NYPD." I said, as if on que and memorized. She let go, and I followed and she began to clean a few glasses.
"Don't worry about those Rednecks. They ain't gonna shoot ya. Not with you being an officer and all." She said before turning to Roxanne. "New York City, huh? I've never heard of anyone from the south goin' to the big city."
"Well now you have. Congratulations. You can put that in your scrapbook." Roxanne said almost mockingly. I just then noticed that the whole time we'd been in Jackson - even though it had been merely a day - she hadn't used her Southern accent, almost as if she was hiding it. She sounded so sophisticated, despite the city we were in being her hometown and all.
"Don't patronize me, Roxy. How do you two know each other, anyway?"
"Work."
"So the NYPD and the-"
"FBI." Roxanne interrupted, as if she knew exactly what Magnolia was about to say. Magnolia stopped short and stared at Roxanne.
"Government... Never imagined you'd be the one working for 'em. But again, I never imagined you to abandon that accent, either." Roxanne was quiet as she finished her last shot of whiskey. This time, she cringed as she drank it, and didn't even bother to open her eyes back up. "What work do you do together?" Magnolia said and I realized she was talking to me.
"Uh, we've been assessed to work together as partners." I said simply. She nodded as a sign that she understood.
"How long?"
"Until otherwise noted." Magnolia nodded slower this time, her eyes trailing to Roxanne. I followed her eyes and looked at the blonde who now had her elbows on the counter as she pressed her forehead against her clasped hands. I could only feel bad for Roxanne. I hadn't seen her shed one tear, no sign of emotion, not even then as she drank away her feelings.
"You're not driving, right?" Magnolia said as she looked at Roxanne. The blonde opened her eyes and looked at the woman behind the counter, sighing.
"I'm not fucking stupid, so no." She said before running a hand through her loose, wavy hair.
"Try not to let her kill herself." Magnolia said, and I almost immediately became concerned.
"I'm not going to kill myself, Magnolia." Roxanne said roughly through her teeth.
"You could step off the sidewalk and get hit." Magnolia counterfeited.
"I'm not drunk, either."
"Being drunk and suffering from depression may not be the same thing, but they can have the same side effects."
"I'm not drunk and I'm not suffering from depression." Roxanne spit, her eyes cold. Magnolia only stared at the blonde who was at least thirty years younger than her.
"Whatever you say. The FBI is always right." Magnolia taunted.
"Shut up." Magnolia just laughed lightly as Roxanne got up and slid on her jacket, placing a fifty dollar bill on the table. "Keep the change." She said before walking out. I got up quickly to catch up to Roxanne when Magnolia spoke.
"I'm serious, though. Don't let her get herself killed."

---

"You are seriously real fucking annoying." Roxanne said as I caught up to her. She had almost walked a whole block before I caught up to her, slightly panting. I was in shape, but my heart seemed to be beating faster than average and at an usually awkward pace.
"And you're not?" I said. Roxanne merely shook her head at my question.
"Once in a while, I'd like to not see you, but I doubt you give a shit, anyway."
"Can you stop with the swearing, already?" Roxanne stopped and turned around, looking at me for the first time in what seemed like forever.
"Wow. I didn't know that you'd be so offended by a few words. A few words that weren't even meant to emotionally hurt you..." Roxanne practically taunted.
"Look, I know how much it hurts to have a sibling die, but-"
"Didn't I tell you earlier that we're not friends? Just because I have to work with you does not mean that I have to share my feelings with you. We might have things in common, Sempers, but you need to get a grip. We're partners. Not friends. Remember that. So don't ever come up to me and try to get me to speak my mind. The only thing I have to say to you is stay the hell out of this. What I do, what I feel, and how I act is none of your responsibility. The sooner you realize that the sooner this partnership can end and the easier both of our lives will be. So stay the hell out of my personal life. And fix yours while your at it."

---

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Poison - Chapter 19

POISON
Chapter 19
Rated "M"

---

XIX - Jackson

We had traveled separately, met up at the hotel, and made our way to the rich community that was on the outskirts of Jackson, which also housed Dallas, the man who had been supposedly killed by purple drank instead of heroin and/or cocaine, and his parents. Or just his parents would be more appropriate seeing that he had been living with his girlfriend up in Queens. Everything about driving came back to me when I got in the drivers seat of the rental car and drove toward our destination. I glanced over at Roxanne momentarily, hoping to see something other than her staring out the window in a daze. I turned back almost reluctantly, my eyes being forced to look back at the road instead of the woman next to me. It was getting harder and harder not imagining that Roxanne was truly gorgeous. It took all my strength to not give in to Zak's previous comment.
"You're quiet..." I commented, my eyes focusing on the road. Roxanne huffed at my statement and I could see her shake her head from the corner of my eyes.
"Yeah. And you're an asshole, so I guess we're even."
"What? How the hell is that even?" I asked. "And why am I an asshole, exactly?"
"You know, you could've just said that you were busy or said that you had work to do instead of getting on a fucking plane." She said, arms crossed and eyes staring out the window. I rose a brow to her sudden statement.
"So basically you're calling me an asshole because I came with you? Great. What's next? You're going to accidentally punch me in the face?" I said. Roxanne laughed with a smirk.
"Call me a bitch behind my back, I'll call you an asshole to your face. Deal with it." She said. I couldn't stop my eyes from widening as I listened to her.
"How the hell did you know that? And is that what this is about?"
"You should probably get a new best friend. One that doesn't say everything underneath the sun."
"Great. What else have you heard from Zak?"
"A lot of things."
"Which are...?" I continued, even though Roxanne looked like she didn't want to talk about it. I waited for a moment for Roxanne to reply as I drove through the neighborhood. I was shocked to see mansions on every corner of every street in the gated community. Bright green lawns, colorful flowers, delicate-looking trees, huge houses... I could almost imagine Roxanne living there, at least by the look of her own home up in New York.
"Third house on the right. Don't park in the driveway." Was all she said as she ignored my question. I parallel parked on the side of the road in front of the house. It was a beautiful home. The outside was painted with whites and beiges and the front step was decorated with white pillar columns. Delicate trees with pink and white flowers were placed expertly in correct places. It was beautiful.
I turned the key in the ignition and got out, locking the vehicle before slipping the keys into my pocket and following Roxanne to the front of the house. I knocked on the door politely and noted that Roxanne had taken a step back and had pulled out her phone for the moment to probably text someone. She quickly put it away when the door opened.
"Uh, hello. Can I help you two...?" A middle aged woman asked in a thick, southern accent. She wore a bright pink floral dress and her blonde hair was in a confusing updo. She glanced from me to Roxanne, her eyes lingering on Roxanne for a few awkward seconds before tuning back to me.
"Alexander Sempers, NYPD. This is Roxanne Winston, FBI. May we come in, we need to speak to you and your family immediately." I said pulling out my badge to show her that I was, in fact legitimate. She nodded slowly and opened the door wide to allow us into her home. It was gorgeous inside. Antique décor, silver and glass, paintings and pictures. It was beautiful.
"Uh, please, take a seat. I'll go get my husband and daughter. I'm Isabel, by the way." She said holding out a hand. I took it and shook it politely, nodding as a sign that I was listening. "I'll be right back. Y'all take a seat, won't you?" She said before she left, pointing to the couch in the living room. I looked over at Roxanne to see her standing still, arms crossed, icy blue eyes colder than ever. It was almost frightening to look at her in such a state.
"Excuse my daughter's slowness, she'll be down any minute. This is my husband, Sterling." I shook hands with the man in the military uniform. He was taller than me, at least six foot five. I could feel the tension as Sterling and Roxanne exchanged glances. What was with Roxanne? Not shaking any hands, being ice cold, being, well, ... a bitch? I was more confused than ever at Roxanne's attitude.
"Mother! Seriously? I was busy!" A young woman said. Her blonde hair was curled and messy as she straightened her skirt and buttoned her shirt. I could only imagine how she had been busy and how she got away with it.
"Not when we're in the house, Krystal. This is Alexander Sempers, NYPD, and this is... Roxanne Winston, FBI."
"NYPD? Do they treat you well?" Krystal smirked, missing a button as she bit her lip. I swallowed nervously at her awkward question.
"Sit down." Roxanne said coldly. Krystal turned to her and smirked again, but not in the same way she had done looking at me. She looked barely Roxanne's age, but somehow seemed older. Like my own age.
"Don't a bitch too early..." Krystal replied as she sat down, followed by her parents on the couch in front of us. "I thought you were dead. You've surprised me." She looked at Roxanne. I turned to the blonde I knew so little of but yet so much, but she didn't move. Her features didn't change, her eyes didn't soften. She stayed the same.
"I thought you'd be pregnant by now. You've surprised me." Roxanne replied. Krystal laughed.
"I'm not that ignorant. You of people should know that."
"You could've fooled me by the amount of men you seem to have been sleeping with."
"How do you know that?"
"The back door opened and closed approximately three times. Evidence says everything."
"Oh, really? Well, I-"
"Krystal." Isabel spoke in a low tone. Krystal stopped talking and looked at her mother's cold features. She sighed as if she knew exactly what Isabel was telling her.
"Yes, mother..." She spoke, sitting up straight and crossing her legs.
"Go on. Please."
"Uh... Yes..." I muttered as I pulled out a manila folder and opened it. I silently choked on my voice as I saw the records. I had never seen them before, not till then. Hell, I hadn't even known the victim's first name until that moment.
Dallas Thomas Winston
I turned to Roxanne, but she made no movement.
"Just give them the damn report, Sempers." She spoke coldly, staring at Krystal with her eyes narrowed. I placed the folder on the glass table silently and watched blankly as Sterling read it. He bowed his head as he showed Isabel. Tears ran down her face at lighting speed, the same could be said for Krystal when she stood up to see the paper, collapsing at her mother's feet when she realized what had happened.
"You could've prevented it..." Krystal said, her eyes glued to Roxanne and her southern accent strained along with her voice. I looked at the blonde who was still standing still, arms crossed, eyes cold.
"I believe that's my line." She said coldly. "After all, your the cause, he's just the effect." Roxanne said nothing else as she left the room. I heard the front door open and close and I knew Roxanne had left the house.
"Dustin and now Dallas?" Isabel muttered. I swallowed as I looked at Krystal. She had dazed off after Roxanne had left, and now was looking at me.
"What the hell happened to my sister?"

---

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?" I asked Roxanne as soon as I got outside. She was leaning against the car, texting someone like she had when we had first got to the door.
"Why the hell should I? We're partners, not friends." She said, not looking up from her phone.
"You know, some things just need to be said. Like when your brother dies and your family hasn't seen you in forever!" I sighed and swallowed as I walked around the car.
"We are not friends, Sempers. I don't have to tell you anything about my personal life. We only work together. That's how it is. So don't go and get pissed off because I didn't tell you something like this. We're not friends. Remember that."

---

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The weirdest shit is on this cover, but I like it. The black and white, the red lettering, the glass with smoke... Yes... my chosen style for "Poison." This will probably only be my first cover (since, well, who doesn't want to spend time searching Tumblr for these gorgeous pictures?). So if you're interesting in seeing more pictures from the story, visit my Pinterest profile (link below) and follow me. I post all sorts of weird shit like this on there. Okay, it's tasteful, though. Not terrible... ;)

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Poison - Chapter 18

POISON
Chapter 18.
Rated "M"

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XVIII - Death By Drank

I was back at work in no time. Per usual, I got there early, but not early enough to beat Roxanne to the office. I sat on the edge of the desk next to hers and just stared at her as she typed at record speed in the complete darkness of the room.
"What do you want, Sempers?" She asked coldly as she stared at the screen. Her fingers flew on the keyboard like they always had, and somehow I was entranced by movement of her hands.
"I just wanted to ask you how your weekend was. Is that a sin?" I asked. Roxanne stopped typing and turned to me, her icy blue eyes narrowing into that familiar glare I hated. I swallowed at the sight.
"Don't bring up religion, Sempers. Ever. Got it?" I nodded slowly and hesitantly and Roxanne turned back to her screen, her fingers flying once again, each finger pad dancing against the keys.
"So. What about your weekend?" I asked, folding my arms across my jacket after taking a sip of my coffee. Roxanne continued typing and I couldn't help but notice a few things. One, she was wearing a black pantsuit, per usual. Two, her hair was tied back, her choppy bangs being the only hair not enclosed by the rubber band. Three, her makeup was light. And four, her perfect features were being lit up by the glow of the computer screen. It was only a matter of time before my eyes would ache for more than just the sight of Roxanne's model-like face and the faint sight of her collar bone. At work anyway. Thank God Zak wasn't there to see me evaluate my female partner's looks.
"Tedious, monotonous, insipid, unstimulating, jejune, banal, lackluster, stodgy, vapid, monochrome and mind-numbing." Was her list of words describing her own weekend. I laughed.
"Let me take a guess... all those words mean 'boring,' right?" I said. Roxanne sighed and shook her head, leaning back in her chair and looking at me.
"You're not going to give up, are you?" She asked. I rose a brow.
"What am I giving up, again?" I taunted. Roxanne rolled her eyes and looked at her watch, noting that it was merely seven in the morning.
"Pretending that we're friends." She said as she clicked on the print button on the screen and stood up, eyes glancing at me before she began walking to the printer in the other room.
"Ouch." I emphasized, smirking. "That hurt. You know, It wouldn't kill you to crack a smile once in a while, or you know, be nice." I said, following her into the room as she waited for the papers to print.
"Yes, because cracking a smile would make everything easier..." She said as sarcastically as possible. "Tell me, how did you come up with those ideas. Please refrain from telling me that Mr. Hall gave you them."
"Zak's observant, but I don't think he cares to change your attitude. Now, myself, on the other hand, I have to work alongside you. It would be nice if you didn't act like you hated me all the time." Roxanne laughed at my statement.
"Observant? Very, to my own displeasure, I suppose. But I can't have everything go my way, can I?"
"Why do you say that?" I asked. Roxanne picked up the papers from the printer and put them into a neat pile before picking them up and looking at me.
"I may be blonde, but I'm not stupid. I may be visually impaired, but I'm not blind. And I may be straight, but I'm not hooking up with any guy in this office." I laughed at her statement as I followed her out of the empty room and walked to my own desk, hanging my jacket on the chair and looking up at Roxanne who was signing the freshly printed papers.
"So you did realize that Zak was hitting on you that day?" I asked, not exactly stunned that Roxanne had already known, but still slightly shocked.
"I'm twenty-five, single, a woman, and I'm working for the government. I'm pretty damn used to it."
"So wishing you were lesbian like Ruby...?" I started and she sighed. I couldn't help but smile as I watched her finish signing the papers and look up at me.
"So you heard that?"
"Yeah. I was quite surprised that Zak didn't though based off of pure proximity." Roxanne suddenly got quiet as she stacked the papers neatly once again, holding them together with a paper clip before staring down. "What? Do you have feelings for Zak?" I suddenly said, coming up with a thousand endings to Roxanne liking my best wing man. She suddenly looked up at me, her eyes narrowed like they had been earlier.
"No. I don't have feelings for Mr. Hall. And I never will."
"Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?"
"Well, when I have those options, you." She said simply, shrugging as she picked up the papers and began walking to the Captain's office. I followed her quickly, not wanting the conversation to end too soon.
"Me? Why?" I asked as she stopped at the door and knocked before looking at me.
"Because the last thing I need is to get fired because if you thought just a little that I had feelings for Mr. Hall in the way you thought at first, you'd never let me live that one down, which would inevitably result in myself engaging in punching you in the face and potentially breaking your nose which wouldn't settle well with Bureau of Investigation."
"Harsh..." I muttered as the Captain yelled for Roxanne to enter. She opened the door and the light from the Captain's office spread to the nearest desk. I leaned against the metal doorframe as I watched Roxanne walk to the desk.
"Miss Winston, Mr. Sempers, how can I help you?" The Captain spoke, making notice of my own presence. Roxanne placed the papers on his desk and I watched as the Captain's mouth twitched up into a smirk. "Did you work all weekend on this?" It was a question, but it wasn't one with a hint of awe in it. I could almost imagine him laughing slightly as he said it. Roxanne sighed heavily and sat down on one of the chairs.
"What?" She asked, tilting her head as the Captain rose a brow. "Don't look at me like I'm an idiot. The only reason you'd keep this conversation going is if you had a request or a favor or more likely a case to be settled that involved both Sempers and myself."
The Captain smiled and shook his head almost like he regretted saying anything. I couldn't blame him. Two weeks partnered with Roxanne didn't teach me anything. I knew for certain that she was more observant than she appeared. I just hoped to God that she hadn't realized what had happened that morning at her house, when I found my heart beating faster and... well... my male anatomy being a bitch.
"Miss Winston's right. I do have a case for you to work on, the both of you." He said, glancing to me. "Alexander, if you wouldn't mind..." He motioned to the chair next to Roxanne. I sighed quietly, closing the door behind me as I walked to the chair and sat down. I could see Roxanne's icy blue eyes almost glare at the Captain, but I didn't know a damn thing as to why she was all of the sudden upset with him.
"The man who was killed last week in his apartment, if you remember, was suspected to have died from a heroin overdose. But after recent studies, the morgue has found the cause to be from 'purple drank.'"
"What the hell is that?" I asked. The Captain looked at Roxanne and she sighed again. I turned to look at her, but she just stared off into space as she spoke.
"Purple drank originated from the South. It's a combination of prescription-strength cough syrup, soft drinks such as Sprite or Mountain Dew, and for extra sweetness hard candy such as Jolly Ranchers. It began it's debut in the rap community, believed to be in Texas, and spread throughout the South."
"So what are we doing? If him dying from this... purple drank stuff is so important, then what are we supposed to do?" I asked. The Captain opened a folder and showed us a mug shot.
"This is Danny Cinder. He's responsible for Dallas' death. Yes, he was on heroin, but there are signs that point to Mr. Cinder being Dallas' killer. There's limited information I have gotten about how that can be, but we still need to make sure that we get him in custody before he kills someone else. We've traced him to a high-class community in Jackson, Mississippi. We believe that he is going after his victim's parents."
"Wouldn't the Jackson police forces take care of him?" I asked.
"This was originally sent to the FBI for further investigation, but it so call happens that Miss Winston is the preferred agent for this case. And since she has been required to legally engage in a partnership with an NYPD agent, you hereby are required to assist with her case. Which inevitably means that you and Miss Winston will be heading to Jackson in two days for further investigation."
I nodded slightly and looked to Roxanne to see her reaction to the news. She just stared at the Captain, her eyes unsure of what emotion to take on. She suddenly cracked a smile and leaned forward, speaking before getting up and leaving the room.
"One, you're a dick. Two, if Dallas wasn't dead right now and you were pulling this stunt, I'd put up my middle finger."

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Desolation In Its Purest Form (Short Story) - by lustfuleyes100

Desolation In Its Purest Form

lustfuleyes100

I stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom, staring at myself with a blank expression. What am I supposed to do other than stare? Stare at the seventeen-year old girl who's hated by everyone. Her parents. Her teachers. Her peers. Hell, even her friends, which are now her long-lived enemies. They all hate her - me - and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.
I look at myself with disgust. What ever happened to me? How did this evolve from the perfect, innocent, sweet girl my parents saw me as. How? That was my question. And this was myself I was talking about. How? When? Why? All questions coming from and to me, but no one had an answer. Not even the poor girl in the mirror.
What am I saying? Poor? I am hideous. The person no one wanted to be around purely because of looks. At other times it's because of the thought of being around someone who looked more insane than a blood curling criminal in an insane asylum.
I cringe at the thought, and I close my eyes only to be rewarded with a few tears streaming down my pale, fat cheeks. I open my green eyes again to look at myself, but all I see is flaws. Ugly flaws. Horrid flaws. The flaws no one wants to be next to or talk with or interact with, let alone look at.
I dab my ugly cheeks with a wad of toilet paper, picking up the bits of mascara that had ran down with the salty evidence of emotion. I pause at the sight of my makeup.
What is the point? Of wearing makeup? Just to make yourself look better? But what if you don't? What if you don't look good? What if you look like fucking hell at all hours of every day of every month of every year? What is the point? Of putting it on every morning just to have people comment with hate on how I look like Chris Angel's fag brother? Or how I look so bad that I shouldn't even be on this Earth right now? Or how I should just kill myself because I have taste, because I am the purist of the pure when it comes to the Devil? Or how even if I did one good thing - like saving a child or joining a charity - I'd still have my place in hell to go to when I died? How about the fact that I'm the only one feeling it? I'm the only one feeling the pain of being different.
But is different a good thing?
Different is a term only used with the word good. With the word hope and faith. Different refers to normal, but unique. I'm not unique. I'm not different. I'm the purist form of evil this world has seen. That's what everyone says. Every person I see at school. Every teacher I am forced to talk to. Every counselor I've ever been to. They've all said the same thing. They all will say the same thing. Even my wretched parents who no nothing more than to criticize every move I make. Every grade I get, every note I get sent home with. Every detention slip I earn, every tear I shed. Every God damn sin people say I've given into.
What is a sin?
Sin. Something bad from the context of every person at my school. Sin. A wrong doing from which one is no longer in contact with God, but now in alliance with the Devil himself.
Do they even exist? Does God really exist?
If he did he would've done something. He would've helped me see the light in the darkness, to see the good in all the bad, to see the best in the worst. Isn't that what church was supposed to teach you? The church that kicked me out because I wore the wrong thing and thought a different way? The one that tore out half of my heart and threw it in the epitome of the devil's worshipers. Is that what happened? They saw me as a worshiper for the devil? They see me as a worshiper for him?
I fall to the ground in tears. My heart breaks again and again at the thought. At the recollection of my past. Of the sins people think I've committed. Of the sins people know I've committed. Of the people I knew and loved, the ones who turned on me without a trace of reluctance or forgiveness written anywhere on their face, on their body, in their mind...
I fall to the ground in tears, my thoughts pinned on my past. The people I knew, the people I loved, they all broke my heart in half, leaving me with nothing but memories of the happiness and warmth I used to feel when I was with them. No. I'd never feel that again. I can't. I won't. I don't. The feel never comes back. Not since that fateful day had I felt such an... emotion.
My tears escape, falling down my ugly cheeks once more a sign of pure, raw, awful, sinful emotions. I choke on my forming saliva as I try to swallow. My nose is running.
I gather up all of what is left of me and stand back up, opening up the cupboard and knocking a few pill bottles down into the sink before reaching the makeup remover wipes. I close the cabinet to be met once again face to face with my reflection. Face to face with my imagine. Face to face with my ugly, fat features of the most visual part of my body.
I pull my side-swept bangs back, my eyes adjusting to the sudden use of my left eye. It is unusual to see from both. My bangs fall back over my eye and I force them back again, pinning them in place before beginning to wipe off my makeup.
The first thing I see as I round my face with the moist towelette is the faint blush of my cheeks when touched at their natural state. The second thing I see is the faint drizzle of freckles that fall under my eyes and around my nose. I begin to take off my black, smudged eye makeup and I'm almost shocked as I begin to see myself in my natural state. I wipe off my eyebrows to reveal my naturally brown brows.
A tear falls, and then another. I see myself again. I see that girl - the innocent, the pure, the beautiful - again. But it's not me. It's merely a memory. It's merely a keep sake of how stupid I am and how I am the worshipper of the Devil himself. How I am a sin. How I am the purest sin this world - and the Devil - had to offer.
I throw the wipe in the garbage before unpinning my hair. I look down at the pill bottles in the sink. They are my mother's. They are my father's. They are my grandmother's.
I take a breath as I set them neatly on the base of the sink - where the spout for the water was placed and where the nobs poked their crystal handles out of the white marble sink.
Then I leave the room.
I strip from my clothes when I reach my room. A room. One that was given to me for a short period of time before I was to be transported to some other town, some other school, some other life and never to be seen by anyone here ever again. Well, that opportunity may be coming earlier than expected.
I stare at my naked body in the mirror. It's unusual really. How as I child you have nothing. Not curves, no breasts, no sins. But as you get older, everything changes. Your body, your mind, your soul. They all change. And now I am all sin. No innocence. But all sin.
I walk to my closet and pick out a dress. The dress I bought for prom, as if I had thought that someone - whether guy or girl - was going to ask me to the dance. The dance is tonight. I'm not going.
I slide on a pair of underwear before slipping into the black gown. It's beautiful. On me... no. By itself, on a mannequin or on a model... yes.
Beaded gold bodice, sweetheart neckline. Floor length skirt, puffed out barely with the tulle underneath. Streamer-like beads falling down three-forths of the way on the skirt. Beauty. I love it.
I stare at myself in the dress, suddenly seeing something different. My fat body suddenly looks... skinny. Skinnier than before, skinnier than ever. Almost like... an anorexic. My bones poke out in all the wrong places, but I have no fat. No ugly, puffy, flimsy fat. I have none. Why am I not happy?
I slip on a pair of golden heels - a pair that I had also bought without my mother's permission. I sigh at the sight.
I walk back to the bathroom and pull out a hair curler, plugging it in and pulling my hair up into a ponytail, letting my bangs fall down again before pinning them back and beginning to redo my makeup.
I put on blush. I apply nude eyeshadow. I draw slim eyeliner onto my bare eyes, and then swipe mascara onto my lashes, making them look beautiful and long. I curl the ends of my hair - the ones stuck in the high ponytail and falling against my back in loose curls. I curl my bangs slightly, the ends getting shorter with the curl and my eye beginning to be able to see once again.
I apply dark red lipstick. It pops out with my pale complexion.
I smile when I go to my room again, to look in the mirror at myself in full view. I feel... beautiful. Like I should in this position. Not to go to prom or to go to a stupid dance or even to stay in. But to choose.
I look at my arm, the scars of the knife and broken glass making a single tear fall. My skin was shredded at that time. Shredded into pieces. It felt good. To feel. To feel something that wasn't emotions. It was... breath taking.
I remember so clearly that night. That night it all started. The cutting, that is.
I sit in the bathtub fully dressed with the exception of my leather jacket. The water is overflowing, but I don't care. My hand is bleeding from the punch I gave to the mirror. The glass was cracked and broken, pieces fallen into the sink and onto the floor, sliding across the linoleum to meet the door.
I slip my head underneath the surface of the water, my breath letting go with bubbles. I sit in there, underwater, staring at the surface. It's dark. That's all I can see.
I gasp as I reach the surface, more water spilling over with the movement. I take a few breaths and look at the floor to see how much water is to be cleaned up. But I don't notice the water. I notice the sharp piece of glass floating in it.
I reach down, grasping it and feeling the water overflow even more. My bleeding hand touches it, grasps it. I bring it closer to me and lean back into the tub.
I can't help but smile at the touch, at the feel as I drag it across the skin of my left arm. I let it dig in, a drop of blood drizzling down my skin and landing in the water. I push it in deeper.
I pull down hard and cringe at the feel, but I keep going, picking another soft spot on my skin and digging the glass into to, slicing open my flesh and letting my blood drip and drip and drip into the water of the tub. I lean back at the feel, my eyes soft and wet with tears. They are closed as I cry. But I still keep on going.
I keep on cutting deeper and slicing longer. Until I reach my hand, my palm and I stop, opening my eyes and feeling more tears fall.
My arm is shredded to pieces. Every drop of water is stained red. Blood red. I sigh and drop the glass into the water, my arms displayed on the side of the tub. I lean my head back over the edge, my hair pooling on the wet floor.
I feel good. I feel amazing. I feel in control.
I shed a few tears as I look at myself. I feel in control. Not now. Not at this moment. I feel like I'm being controlled. I walk to the bathroom again and pick up each pill bottle, dumping them all - every pill of every bottle - into my hand. They overflow my palm and I cup them in both hands.
I walk carefully downstairs, making sure not to spill them. I set them on the table, positioning them to not roll away. I walk to the kitchen and pull out a tall glass, filing it to the brim with my father's scotch. I guzzle the last of the brown liquid in the bottle before taking it to the table.
I take a handful of the pills, throwing them into my mouth and guzzling merely half of the scotch. They all go down. Every last one of them. Without hesitation I reach for another, swallowing them the same way, but leaving a forth of the liquid in the glass this time. I reach for some more and finish the scotch. The alcohol is gone, but the pills aren't.
It takes me a minute to get my hand to the table. I feel slightly dizzy, and slightly nauseous, but I ignore it. Then the door opens. It's my parents.
I barely touch the pills when it hits me. The pain. I'm burning inside, I hurt, I ache. It feels like knives are ripping apart my insides and I fall on my hands and knees. My mother screams, running towards me, but I collapse on my side, convulsing. My body is shaking. I can't get up. I can't speak. I'm going to die.
I feel my eyes closing. It burns. I'm being attacked by a thousand degrees of fire. A thousand blades, a thousand cuts. But these are the ones I felt before. The ones I loved. These... these were the ones I hate.
I can't scream. I can't talk. I can't do anything as I look at my mother as she cradles me. Tears are taking off her makeup as they run down their face. She... cares? I hear my father's voice in the background as he begins a call.
A tear escapes my eye as my mother brushes back my hair and speaks.
"Don't leave me, Lilith. Don't you dare leave me. You're going to be fine. You're going to be just fine. Don't leave me. Lilith..."
I feel my eyes begin to close and I can't stop them. I can't say a word as the fire and pain reaches my throat. Almost like I was going to throw up. But worse.
"Lilith!" My mother screams as I give up and let my eyes shut.

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I wake up in a hospital bed feeling like shit. My mother is beside me, her forehead placed on my hand. I can feel her tears dripping off my fingers. My father is beside her, his head down, his elbows on his knees. We are all in pain. And it's all my fault...
I regret that day more than anything in the world. I regret it more and more every second I think about it. Six years later and I still feel the same way about it. Regret. Pain. Hurt. All because I felt like everyone hated me. That I didn't belong in this world. Like I didn't have a reason to stay or to believe that people actually did appreciate me. Some looked up to me, even. But I wouldn't have known it if it weren't for the doctors. If it weren't for my parents how called, if it weren't for my want to live.
Never feel like you aren't needed. If you do, get help. People love you. Even if you can't see it. They do. Don't give up. You'll regret it if you do.

Story Link

Poison - Chapter 17

POISON
Chapter 17
Rated "M"

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XVII - Alone

"So how is work going? You said earlier that you got a new partner?" My mother asked as she sat down with a glass of wine. I could see her glance over at Violet, who was currently opening her presents alongside Rachelle, her mother, and Constance, Zak's French girlfriend. She looked back to me, her eyes filled with hope that I'd answer efficiently.
"Um..." I spoke, not sure what to say. "Work's good... and yes, I got a partner..." I said simply. It was the least I could say to answer my mother's question without unintentionally bringing up how Roxanne was female and not only had I stayed at her place, but she had stayed at mine. It didn't exactly settle well with my parents, my mother being the one I was more worried about. Being twenty-eight and not married made my mother shutter. And I wasn't kidding.
"Tell me a little bit about him. Does he have a bad shot? Why were you partnered with him? You know, that kind of information." The middle-aged brunette said as she sipped her red wine. I hesitated.
"Uh..." I spoke.
"It's a she, and Alex can tell you the rest." Zak spoke as he walked behind Constance and put his hands on her shoulders. I turned to him and glared, thanking God that the rest of my family - with exception to Rachelle - couldn't see me.
"She?" My father pitched in, smiling slightly as he saw the look on my mother's face. She was biting her lip to keep from talking, but both my father and I - and probably everyone else in the room - knew that she wouldn't and couldn't keep her mouth shut like that.
"What is she like? Is she good with children?" Zak laughed from the background and I looked over to see Constance lightly punch him in the arm as he hugged her. This wasn't the most awkward thing I had been forced to talk about with my parents, but it was in my top ten. Talking about my ice-cold FBI partner wasn't on my list of things I found to be categorized with the delicate words my family frequently used.
"If there's one thing I know about her, it's that her job is the only thing she cares about."
"So she's a good worker. What's wrong with that?" My father asked. He had evidentially heard the emotions in my words and voice enough to question my underlined opinion. Zak suddenly laughed again and we all turned to look at the twenty-seven year old brunette.
"What are you laughing at this time?" I asked, eyebrow raised. Zak smiled, not a good one but one that told me that hell was about to break loose, and only caused by his next words.
"Ah. Alex doesn't mean that, he's just in denial."
"Denial? Of what?" I rolled my eyes at Zak. He looked at my parents with a smile that reminded me of the Cheshire Cat on Alice In Wonderland. Why did I know of that movie? Violet.
"Alex is merely in denial that he thinks Roxanne is totally hot and dissing her is the only way to tell himself that she isn't. Just be careful not to say that in front of people who've seen her in her normal clothes. You'll be looked at as a pedophile." I looked to see my mother's eyes widen.
"First off, I do not think that. And second I'm not a pedophile." I said. Zak just laughed again.
"Dude, you're seriously still in denial? Oh my God. And here I thought that you would realize this much sooner since you both have stayed the night at each other's places and everything."
I sighed as Zak spoke. Great. Just what I wanted. My parents to know everything about my partner. She was my partner! Not my girlfriend. And I did not like her. How could I? She was an ice cold bitch to not just me, but Zak also.
"How old is she?" My mother asked, curious as ever.
"Twenty-five." Zak answered. For some unknown reason, I could feel my face flush at the thought of Roxanne. The thought of her, my parents thinking about her, it was too much to imagine. I swallowed a lump in my throat as more questions flooded from my mother's mouth.
"And she works for the New York City Police Force?"
"FBI."
"FBI?" My father pitched in. "At twenty-five that's great."
"Is she from D.C.?" My mother asked, tilting her head slightly like a dog. Just seeing her reminded me of Cleo, which inevitably reminded me of Roxanne, who also reminded me that Zak thought with no hesitation that I was madly in love with the twenty-five, ice-cold, female FBI agent I had been partnered with only two weeks earlier.
"She lives here right, Alexander?" Zak asked. I sighed.
"Yeah." I said plainly, leaning back in the chair as I stared at Violet as she ran around with her new dress Rachelle had bought her and went to show her grandmother.
"Her hometown's Jackson, though."
"Jackson, Mississippi?" Rachelle asked, looking from Zak to me and then to my parents. "How sweet. A southerner. I've always wanted to meet one. Especially the Southern Belles."
"She's not a Southern Belle."
"How would you know that?" Rachelle contradicted me. I sighed.
"She's an ice cold bitch to everyone in the precinct. If she didn't work for the government she' probably kick your ass just for suggesting that. I'd be damned if she took off work for anything but an illness or wound."
"So she's a good worker. So what? That doesn't mean that she's not secretly a Southern Belle."
"Oh my God..." I muttered, sighing. I suddenly wished that Zak had never come. If he hadn't, I wouldn't have had to talk about Roxanne of all people with my parents and sister-in-law. "We are done talking about Roxanne. Okay? Let's just get back to Violet and her presents before one of us looses it."
By "one of us" I mean me. I was on the verge of leaving the room with not a single word. I knew it wouldn't go over well with anyone, including Violet herself, and I didn't want to do that, but talking about Roxanne Winston, the FBI agent who seemed to hate me more than the criminals she was putting away, just made me angry. I dealt with her every day at work. I wanted to go home and forget those icy blue eyes and that perfect body that was scarred and inked because of a life and a job that wasn't made for anyone to deal with.
There were no words as we all put our attention back to Violet. My mother smiled at her only grandchild as she showed her all the clothing she had received. Constance held onto Zak's hand and smiled warmly at the child. Rachelle looked at her only daughter with love and compassion. My father put an arm around my mother as they watched their deceased son's child smile happily.
I wasn't naïve. I still noticed. The way I was singled out. My parents had each other. Zak had Constance. Rachelle had Violet. And who did I have? A dead brother? A mortician that was head-over-heels in love with me? An FBI agent who despised me for everything I stood for? Maybe I was being too harsh on myself and everyone I affiliated myself with. Maybe my brother was dead, but he was still with me, figuratively speaking. Maybe Summer loved me too much, but she was still a sweet girl and would always be there for me. And maybe Roxanne hated me, but somehow I knew that I could always count on her in the difficult situations in life. Whether it be a criminal on the loose or a case that I just can't settle. I could always count on her.
I wasn't alone. I knew that. But still...
I was alone.

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