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“For exactly the reason you said – normal human interaction. I didn’t know who she was, she didn’t know who I was. I only gave the details I wanted to give, she did the same. We could communicate from anywhere, because she… lived in my computer, as far as I knew, you know? And talking to someone who was just… completely removed from everything… it was refreshing.”
“I don’t get you man,” Quentin laughed. “If you were happy to talk to her then, but now that you know the two of you are in the same place… it’s game over?”
“Yes.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense, unless you’re… afraid of what might develop. That’s it, isn’t it?”
I shook my head. “Man… I’m really not trying to talk about this shit.Really.”
“And that’s cool,” Quentin said, putting up his hands. “But… let me ask you this – and you don’t even have to respond – a year, five years, ten years from now… are you going to be able to live with the fact that someone you cared about needed your help, and you chose not to do it, based on a part of your life you swore you wanted to put behind you?”
True to his word, Quentin stood up and left, not even looking back to see if I would respond. Probably because we both knew I wouldn’t. Still though, the damage was done.
He’d effectively watered the seed of doubt his wife had planted, and the goddamn thing was already blooming.
Maybe I really was thinking about this the wrong way.
When I said I wasn’t pissed at Monica anymore, that was the truth. The whole situation was aggravating, but I understood that she wasn’t the villain. It was just all-around fucked up.
With that said, the last thing I needed was continued interaction with her, bolstering the theory that I’d killed her husband for her, or that we’d cooked up some scheme together. I didn’t need to be hauled into the police station again, didn’t need some local gossip columnist posting my picture online for the whole damned world to see.
I wasn’t trying to accept an invitation for trouble at my front door.
Quentin was right though. I could help with the other stuff right here from the comfort of my office, or at home, and never have my name officially connected to anything. The problem in that was, even if the authorities didn’t know I was helping, Monica would. And she would be grateful, and want to talk, to thank me or something, and that meant being in her face, or hearing her voice, or smelling her scent on the paper if she simply sent a card.
I didn’t need that.
But I wanted it, bad.
Which wasexactlywhy I needed to let the shit go.
Things were perfect when she was outside of my reach. When all I could do was imagine her face, or pretend smelling her perfume was like having heractualaroma in my nose. Before she was close enough to touch… or taste.
Yes, we were friends, but it served no one’s interests to pretend that there wasn’t more to the story – a story I knew better than to start in the first place. Monica was… an attachment.
I’d spent half my adult life in a career that consideredattachmentsgrounds for dismissal.Don’t develop personal relationshipswas damn near part of the job description.
It wasn’t an easy thing to let go of.
Family were the first ones I relaxed that rule for, once I hung up that particular hat for good. Their number was limited enough that it was easy, eventually, to justify friends – a few from my days at Blakewood State, but mostly fellow government agents or law enforcement – people I met during my stint as a Tech Analyst with the FBI, before I stepped away completely.
Women… were a whole other animal.
Of course I had flings – I was a man with certain needs, so that had been a constant. And it wasn’t as if I didn’t see the value of women beyond sex. Being a friend was the type of thing I could handle – I was actually pretty damned good at it, I thought. But once other shit got involved – other shit being romantic feelings – that was where it tended to fall apart. And with Kay having been such a large part of my life, for years…I couldn’t say that I felt a particular inclination to change that.
I didn’t feel incomplete. There was no deep, underlying sense that something was missing, no craving for long walks or cuddling in front of the fire. Between Kay, myFive Starfamily, friends, and work, my life was full.
Not if you leave Monica hanging though.
“Fuck,” I said out loud, scrubbing a hand over my face. Whether or not I wanted to admit it, Monica, as Sandy, had developed a certain importance in my life. When she told me vague details about a great deal she’d closed for her business, I was genuinely happy for her. When she hit me up randomly to ask about my day or see if I’d managed restful sleep, it made me feel cared for. And when the clown ass motherfucker she’d married hurt her… I wanted to doexactlywhat the police had accused me of.
So, to answer Quentin’s question… no.
Iwouldn’tbe able to live with myself knowing that she’d needed something I could provide, and I’d done nothing to help.
Closing my eyes, I heaved out yet another one of those hard sighs, then opened my desk drawer to pull out my cell phone. Before I could overthink it, I dialed a number, chuckling when the woman on the other end answered with a long, drawn out, “Hellllooooo?”
“Ren…”
