Chapter 10: Someone Call the Police

I lower the phone giving him a what-the-fuck-does-it-look-like expression as Ashley regains her advantage. Now that she's back on top, I drop the phone and grab her by the shoulders pulling her off the naked woman. Somehow, by luck or fate, I don't end up getting kicked or punched in the head.

Ashley breathes heavily in my ear, trying to push past me to get back into the fight, but she's losing steam and I'm able to hold her at bay. Who knew fighting looked so ridiculous in real life? It's a live action Jerry Springer episode.

The other woman stands, wrapping the bedsheet back around her body, and spits on our floor.

"Hey!" That's our damn floor.

The door opens again, slamming against the wall and two officers jog into the townhouse. Ashley's attacker smiles as if she's won, but her expression falls as the first officer grabs her hands and twist them behind her back before leading her out to the front yard. He stops long enough to help pull the sheet around her shoulders but that's it. The second officer timidly approaches Ashley. I trust my friend not to attack a cop and step out of the way.

"Do you think you're calm enough to tell me what happened?" the male officer asks. He doesn't even look shocked. This is not the worst thing to come out of this complex.

Ashley nods and releases a deep breath. Then rather than telling her story she burst into tears. They track down her face and ruin her eye makeup as she wraps me in a bear hug. With little steps I walk her to the living room and help her find a spot on the couch.

"You want to tell me what happened?" the cop asks me, giving up on Ash.

Wow, where to start? I search his eyes while I think and notice he's cute. Close in age to me, he must be new on the force. A girl could run her fingers through his sandy blond hair with ease and his green eyes sparkle with excitement. He enjoys being a cop.

I shake my head still in a daze over what happened. "I came home from work and the two of them were screaming at each other in the yard. Things escalated from there." That sums up everything I saw.

"Do you know the woman in your front yard?" he asks, Officer Allen written on the nameplate above the left pocket of his blue uniform. Is it a first name or last? Last probably.

I shake my head again. "Never seen her in my life."

"But this one you know?" He points to Ashley who works on wiping her eyes and calming.

"My best friend for six years and my roommate. We both live here with her boyfriend."

"My fucking ex-boyfriend," Ashley spits the words. "I came home from a review session and found that tramp in our bed."

"And what happened after that?" He tries to keep her talking now that she's able.

"I told her get the hell out of my house, but she told me she lives here now. Do you know what I'm gonna do to Jonathan when I see him, Mackenzie? I'll fucking rip his dick off and freeze his balls."

"I wouldn't say things like that in front of me. It will have to go in the report."

Officer Allen continues asking Ashley questions about what happened and whether she's ever seen the girl before today. I debate on whether I should offer him something to drink. It's a life lesson my mother taught me. You always offer a drink when someone walks into your house. Yet, I'm feeling this isn't necessarily one situation she planned for at the time. What's the etiquette when naked women and cops are involved?

The other officer walks in with the naked woman half an hour later, still tugging her dirty sheet behind her, and allows her to go upstairs and get clothes from the master bedroom. Then he escorts her out of the townhouse but not before she stops in the kitchen and hurls more insults at Ashley. My BFF tenses on the couch, but doesn't jump up and attack her again.

"Ms. Melbourne says your boyfriend Jonathan brought her home this afternoon and told her she could stay here as long as she needed a place to crash."

"He would never do that," Ashley argues.

Officer Allen peeks at me and I nod. Jonathan's not always the smartest around, but he wouldn't be dumb enough to let a naked girl chill in our apartment.

Right?

My lips pinch together in question and Allen, I'm going to pretend it's his first name, scribbles in his notebook.

An hour of questions later, Allen directs me into the kitchen alone to discuss the situation. He leans up against the counter and somehow the casual pose makes him look sexier. Who knew I had a thing for a man in uniform? I thought I had a suit thing.

Anyway, it's not the time to be ogling the man.

"Has anyone been able to reach Jonathon?" I ask once we're far enough away I'm no longer worried about Ashley hearing.

He shakes his head. "No, the number provided isn't being answered. My partner and I talked and the stories collaborate regarding the attack, but without Jonathon we can't validate either story."

"I don't think Jonathon is cheating on Ashley." Sure, they'd had problems here and there, but you don't end a four-year relationship by having a new girl in your bed. Even he isn't that dumb.

One of Allen's eyebrows jumps higher than the other as if he's not sure. "Both women have declined to press charges so we're not going to make an arrest today."

I release a breath I'd been holding for the last hour. "Thank you." Who knew what would happen if Ashley had an arrest record before she took the bar?

"Here's my card. If Jonathon comes back or you have questions, please call me at any time."

"Um, thanks." I take the card, wrapping my hand around the thick paper and read the top line.

Office James Allen.

...

I spend the next two hours of my life listening to Ashley cry with interspersed bouts of berating Jonathan as if he's sitting next to her even though he's nowhere to be seen. The angry periods, where she tells me what a raging fucking loser asshole he is are followed by guilt-ridden sessions where she promises he would never be a man to do her wrong like this.

By the time I tuck her into my bed—there was no way I'd make her sleep in the same bed she found a naked woman in this evening—it's after ten and I'm spent too.

With no word from Jonathan, I figure he realized his screwup and is now too scared to come home. He's not a complete moron.

I tuck my comforter around Ashley's shoulder and kiss the side of her temple as she rolls over and snuggles into my pillows.

Downstairs I retrieve my phone from the kitchen island and find a pillow and lap blanket to make my stay on the couch more comfortable. It's been a long time since I've slept on a couch and I'm not looking forward to it now. Even though I'm exhausted, I need to prepare for what tomorrow will bring.

There hasn't been time to rehash my day at work. If I can't process today, how will I be ready for tomorrow?

Valiant is an enigma. I'm not sure I'll ever figure him out. If I make it the next few weeks, I'll be home free, but if I survive is the question. I push the blankets around me and lie on my side with my back against the couch after plugging in my phone. There's just enough cord I can scroll Facebook while I wait to fall asleep.

One look at my notification shows two texts.

The first from my ex-boyfriend, Henry.

HENRY: Congratulations on your first day.

I sigh reading his message. Henry isn't a bad guy, but he wasn't the guy for me. When you've dated someone six years, it's hard to say goodbye sometimes. The first month post breakup I'd been nice in my responses, but I can't do it anymore. It feels too much like I'm stringing him along. He told me before that he planned to wait me out. As if he expected me to come to my senses one day and beg for him back.

Our breakup was a well-thought-out decision. Us getting back together wasn't likely to happen. As in ever.

Yet, I feel guilty ignoring his messages. We were together six years. He deserves at least a thanks. Right?

Ugh. It doesn't seem we'll be getting out of this situation without one of us being hurt. I wish it could be me, but I figured out our relationship was doomed two years ago. I tried to make it work, but it didn't. Why he hasn't seen it as well, I don't know. Henry acted like our breakup came out of left field. He called it shocking. If one of us id suffering from a broken heart, it isn't me.

Whatever I decide, it will need to wait till tomorrow. I lack the energy to deal with Henry right now.

The second message is from a number I don't recognize until I read the text.

UNKNOWN: Wear flats tomorrow.

And a second message sent immediately after.

UNKNOWN: This is your boss.

Why were the men in my life rioting at the same time?

Was Vincent a man of few words or did he hate me? Exhaustion settles in quickly as I change his contact to VV in my contact list and set the phone on the floor. Tomorrow would be here way before I'm ready.