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7
Stressed
Jay
Asfarasnightmares go, this one’s the worst. Because this is real. I’m living it.
My best friend is gone.
Fucking kidnapped by some white man with the audacity.
After seeing what he did on the security cameras, Rosie and I call the police. Rosie usually is so calm and personable. Tonight, she lost it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her talk quite so fast or get so frustrated with anyone. Hell, this is a woman who manages to stay polite on the phone with the cable company. But tonight, all patience is gone. The 911 operator must have asked her to slow down or repeat herself six times. Which is absolutely not helping the situation.
There are cops and techs everywhere. Rosie and I give our statements to the uniforms who initially arrived on the scene. Another pair came shortly after who must be their superiors. Detective Wright and Detective Bacon take our statements again. Thankfully, our statements are recorded.
To be questioned by the police like this is an odd feeling. Even the surface-level questions are invasive, and they’ve become increasingly more so as we talk. They dissect my life as if that’s where the answer for her disappearance lies. Even with the video evidence showing exactly who took her. As if I could have possibly had something to do with it. As if I would ever hurt Julia.
The person I care about most in this world is in danger, possibly hurt or worse, and here the police are questioning me like I’m the problem. Logically, I never genuinely think they are trying to accuse me of anything. Still, it feels wrong to be so vulnerable with people I don’t know.
Bringing in the police gives me fleeting hope. But once they leave, everything grinds to a halt, and there is nothing to suppress the feelings of dread popping up again and again. I call to speak with the detective every day after Julia’s taken. I know this isn’t their only case, but I need something from them. I’m falling apart without something to occupy me. Without Julia, life dims, and I’m merely going through the motions.
Of course, the detectives are busy or out of the office when I call, which doesn’t help any with the urgency I feel. I need them to feel it too. I need them to have the air sucked from their lungs. To experience time standing still while everyone keeps moving, and no matter how loud they scream, no one stops.
No matter how many people tell me, I can’t get past the feeling this was somehow my fault. I feel helpless, useless. All while knowing I’m a failure. Not only that. But I’ve failed her.
I run through the events of the day a thousand times.
I should have known when Kelly showed up. Julia wasn’t out on the floor like she typically was when the club opened because of that meeting. I should have known, right?
When things escalated on the floor with Chad, I should have sensed it would lead to problems. I should have never left her alone at the club. I should have waited for her, stayed. I should have gone with her. I should have watched her get in her car. I should have driven her home.
I should have.
Should. Should. Should.
The word pounds in my skull. It’s a judgment, sure. Should’s are only ever that. A judgment we press upon ourselves. But it’s so fitting, so right, to blame myself. The judgments don’t stop running through my mind. I’m the only one deserving of criticism and guilt.
I know this is one of those chaos-of-the-universe situations. It’s not something that could have been avoided with careful planning and safety procedures. I couldn’t have predicted any of this. Sometimes things just happen. But that isn’t a satisfying answer.
My thoughts circle back to the list of should’s that, ironically, should have happened.
I’m sitting in Julia’s office when Rosie walks in. She looks at me with pity and regret. But the emotion seems misplaced on her features. What on earth could she regret? Rosie isn’t a woman who regrets anything. She didn’t do anything.
But neither did I. That’s the problem.
It’s me who could have done something to avoid all of this. If it weren’t for me, then Julia would still be here. Safe and sound with her family. With me.
“Jay Bird. You need to stop this.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I brush her off, saying, “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not, birdie. You’re a mess and have been all week. The staff is going crazy with your mood swings. No one knows how to act around you.” She sighs, and I know she’s right, but I don’t want to face everything. It’s easier to hide behind my guilt.
“Look, I get it. I can only begin to imagine how much you are hurting. But you’re not the only person who loved her, okay? We all miss her. We all want her back,” she continues.
“Loved? Already switching to past tense, are we? Like she’s already gone and not coming back.”
“Fuck, Jay. You know what I mean. Stop being a dick about my fucking verb tense.”
