Crimes & Punishment-(Closed)

[Roxanne Ballard (DELETED 7623)]

This RP is backdated to December 30th 2009

I survived. I remind myself of that as I open the refrigerator door and find that bottle of wine that was supposed to go with the Netflix standing still where it should be. I put it there and given that I live alone while the kid is away overseas for school. So why else would it move if I didn’t make it happen? If my mother waited to call a little later than she had perhaps I would be picking it up but I avoid it and reach behind to pull out the leftover lefse behind it. The last of my mother’s holiday care package will be going to a good cause. The wine in the bottle is safely seeing a New Year. It will get older and so will I.

Once the door is closed I find my way to the living room and indulge in the luxury of not caring about diving into my sofa. I reach for the remote and find my relaxation is short lived. Dead batteries. I click again. For some insane reason I think I may actually get the response I am looking for. Sort of like reality will not apply to my remote, the supposed batteries within or the television set that all of the above are linked to.

Of course, I know why there is nothing lighting up on the big screen ten feet away from where I am now wiggling into sitting up. I pull off the back of the remote and it is confirmed. Just as I thought. There are no batteries to find within. They are in my bedroom in my nightstand safe and snug. Yes, the pink rabbit in the drawer died the night before and the only source I had left to bring it back to life was my television remote batteries. **** it.

I intend on getting them and watching t.v. when I stand up to make my way to the bedroom. I really am. It is too early for getting sucked into bed. Just to make sure I flip on my living room light before I leave the room. That is when the phone rings. Imagine that. Another solid reason that I can count on watching television instead of calling it a night.

I answer the call on the way through the hallway without looking at the screen. The pink rabbit is in my hands and being pulled apart as I wait for an answer. Thank God smartphones have not become smart enough to allow the person on the other end of the call to see what you are doing unless you allow it. My mother would have seen things she probably would not forgive me for...like forever.

[Lucas Ballard]

The phone is in my hands as I consider. My fingers dance over the buttons while I think about whether I should. The phone rings while I debate. Her voice flows into my ear and everything is great. She says hello. I get right to the point. It’s old times as the years between that first time I asked her to go steady with me back in high school and now fall away. The distance between her and I now, both emotional and physical fall away in my mind and I can see her standing there, me with her hands in my own and looking into her eyes nervous that the cutest cheerleader in school is going to burn me cause I’m a wide-receiver and not the quarterback. Amazingly enough back then she said yes. Back then I was better at catching things than throwing them away. Hoping that might be the case once again.

“I’d like to see you. Maybe tomorrow night. You know, like a date. I had this thing going on, but it fell through.”

Ok, I know I score about a zero on the whole romantic department and the “thing” I had going on was sitting in my apartment looking at crime scene photos. I also don’t do holidays purposefully working through them because I don’t see the point and I think they are all commercialized ******** designed to make the rich richer at the expense of the poor (like cops). Still, I wanna see her.

“I wanna see you.”

Well, that was easy. Easier than swallowing the pride that it took to say it.

I know me. I know the way **** goes. See, most people can happily whip out their genitals, mash em up against another person, bust a nut and then go on about life like that **** never happened. I have a problem with them. I like the aftermath. Maybe more than that I like to do it a few times. Call me a romantic. I dunno. I do know that Roxanne and me haven’t spoken since Christmas Eve and that the last exchange we had was her looking at me like she wanted to cave my skull in while I wiggled a condom at her that should had contained the spoils of her efforts for the evening but didn’t.

Hella good effort though. Gotta say.

So now I’m holding the phone to my ear after setting myself up to get burned by a woman cause hey, that’s the story of my life and I’m stickin’ to it.

“I got Avatar from a buddy. He said the special effects are awesome…”

Yeah. There we go. Irresistible. Any chick who can cut open bodies all day, figure out exactly what killed them, pull out their organs, put em back, throw out a careless “tag it and bag it” and walk off like it was roadkill they were just looking at could be labeled as “cold” or maybe even “heartless”. So of course I’m going to be the rocket surgeon that throws themselves out there for her to take their heart in their soft hands and caress it and cherish it and definitely not weight it and figure out what’s wrong with it and label it fucked up and toss it back into the thoracic cavity and…

Calm Down Luc. Jesus Christ calm down. Even if she burns you on a date for New Year's Eve you’ll live. ****.

“... wanna watch it with me?”

[Roxanne Ballard (DELETED 7623)]

I am seriously stunned to hear the voice, the words and to be looking at my vibrator in my hands at the same time. It is one of those things that happens that you can’t believe is really happening but the click of the plastic battery cover fixing back in place says it is what it is. What the hell. I toss the over-priced adult toy into the bedside table drawer and hip check it shut. I am going for another what the **** moment before I can think twice. All the irritation aside I meant what I said back in the hallway when I last saw him. Part of me still wants to kill him...sort of.

Nothing has changed in twenty years now that I think about it. Except the fact my toys now stay where I leave them instead of being tossed out in a moment of ranting over not getting any when he seems to feel entitled. At least I don’t come in my door after a long shift to find him sitting on the sofa in his shorts with that cheeky grin that I fell too hard for two decades back asking me if I want a ‘hungry man special’. This uninvited move is typically followed, of course, by his trademark suggestion that when all is said and done I can make him his ‘sammich’. Yes, he feels my true claim to fame is I have mastered the man’s sandwich how he likes it. I pulled it off while somehow still finding the time to get my PHD. Yes, go me. Lucas will never change. He will carry around his caveman club mentality until the end of time.

“Sure.”

My voice answers while my brain is still registering the invite. Something fell through on his end. I was the back-up plan. Most women would just hang-up right there but he knows me too well. It isn’t that I couldn’t have plans. Lucas knows I very well could. Neil is out there over the ocean wondering when I will get over this ‘twenty year itch’ as he refers to me and the legal spouse. He is right. I know Lucas and I could both do better than eachother. I am secure enough to admit it. It doesn’t take anything from me as a woman or Lucas in general as a man. This is a long standing routine I finally learned I am wasting energy trying to fight. We are meant for eachother. Anyone else that ever tries to get involved ends up regretting it. Perhaps we are the ***** to the others bad karma.

I don’t overly think on how or why this time he got up the nerve to call me. It can only be a couple things. We have done everything for every reason that most couples do over two decades of shared time. Chalk it up to one of those heat of the moment deals influenced by copious amounts of booze perhaps. It is a great idea when it is happening but long term could cost more than the extra five minutes an average human usually spends on daily flossing.

Drunk or not I was glad to see he still is obsessive about it. Flossing and the whole oral hygiene deal. It is one of his high points and then I remember why. I hate my dentist. I am pretty sure Lucas has fucked her too. More than a few times. I can see it in her eyes when she asks if he is coming back anytime soon for his routine cleaning and checkup. I hate the ***** for asking but she is the only dentist that takes last minute appointments. With my messed up hours it is the convenience alone that keeps her digging in my mouth.

Fine. Outside that I want to see him again too. Somewhere beyond a hallway and on the clock for the coroner’s office. It doesn’t make sense like it should for someone like me. But there is the simple fact that Lucas doesn’t require pushing a button and reaches places other things don’t. I am just as human as anyone else. We have slept together on and off since high school and the sex is off the charts. I don’t have to call the next day or feel obligated to make excuses why I can’t meet him every free moment I have. So what will one more time hurt besides our sober egos the following day? If all else fails I can always use it as an excuse to go out on the frigid night to the only convenience store and pick-up more batteries on the way back. Without another word said I hang up.

Lucas Ballard is a smart guy so he will understand why the line went dead. He has been trained well to figure things out. He is a cop and does it for a living. Anticipating every move a person is going to make next is one of those skills, right? If so he can tell when I am going to show up. He is the one with the gun and the badge. I am the one who travels with a crime lab in a tote over my shoulder. Between the two of us if anything happens one of us will be able to deal with it. The other will never be blamed. Win-win. Only if we didn’t have the kid between us that would inevitably end up fucked up over the mess. So far we have done the right thing when it comes to what matters most. The kid.

[Lucas Ballard]

There’s been a couple years where we haven’t been together at the holidays. The first was when we split the first time. I guess the only time really since we seem to more or less be together when it matters to either of us and hate each other in between. That year was almost my last. I sat down against my wall on the floor of my apartment and loaded a single round into my gun. My service pistol. See, Harper Rock cops, like most cops anywhere are issued a handgun. Those are the guns used while on duty. No substitutes allowed, reason for that is the same as everywhere else… liability. An officer who replaces department issued gear with something he liked in a catalog puts lives at risk if untested equipment fails at a critical moment. Something happens and someone gets shot due to a mechanical oopsie, department is liable. Detectives get to bend this rule. I’d imagine that’s one reason why the uniforms call us “dicks”.

Anyway, I’m not big on glocks. I prefer the good old-fashioned feel of the Colt M1911 .45. That year was bad. I damned near blew my brains out on my floor. Phone rang right when I had committed to ending it and was about to pull the trigger and of course it was my daughter. Guess I knew who it was when it rang cause I stopped to answer it. I didn’t lose my nerve because of the call. Instead I steeled my resolve and trudged on through the **** that was my life.

Never told Roxanne about that. ***** would have chalked it up as a win at the time and God knows she would have still been throwing it in my face to this day. Everyone is entitled to a few skeletons in the closet, a couple toys in the attic too I guess. Not sure which one a suicidal moment falls under, maybe both. Either way it’s one of mine and mine alone.

Right now though I’m mulling this over as I work in the kitchen. This is kind of a tradition. I cook on New Year's Eve when I’m not trying to kill myself. Technically by cooking I guess I could be tried and found guilty of trying to kill us both. I tend to eat out a lot. When I do cook I follow someone else's recipe to the letter. I need the numbers for how much of everything to use, I don’t know how much is in a dash, a pinch or what “to taste” means. Not sure I have tastebuds left. I’m a crime scene investigator. Specifically homicide. A lot of the guys I work with, the other detectives, take up smoking to deliberately destroy their senses of smell, going for the foulest cigars they can find. Others rub mentholated muscle balm like Icy Hot under their noses or, if the body is near a kitchen, burn a pan of coffee grounds on the stove. I smoke a ton of cigarettes and do the coffee grounds thing. Over the years my sense of smell and taste has gone from hero to near zero.

Kind of like my love life. Ha ha! Not really. I think about it a lot though. You know, where I went wrong. Where ~we~ went wrong. There’s really no one spot that I can point to. Other than me ******* that first chick in college, or maybe her ******* that one dude. That one dude of course happened to have been my best friend. Neil Hurst. He ended up becoming some fancyass overseas traveling big shot businessman. He keeps trying to come back and take Roxanne with him. Wants her to divorce me and marry him. He doesn’t like me much anymore. I broke his nose and arm when I found out about them. She ended up visiting him in the hospital and giving me the cold shoulder for the whole time he was “laid up”. Really though, that might not have been the deal-breaker. I think it was when we kept going. I screwed her friend, then her dentist. Then she screwed a rookie detective. I got him transferred to Toronto. The more I think about this **** the more noses and arms I wanna break. There have been a few on both sides. I never busted any of the rest up though. She tends to side with them when I get mad.

Then again, looking at this dish… maybe it was when I cooked for her that was the deal-breaker.

The movie, Avatar is in the DVD player and ready to go when she arrives. I hope the food smells good. It’s a pasta casserole, meant to be good. Got cheese and mushrooms and squash and other stuff in it. Was meant to have some weird pasta with a “c” at the beginning. I used macaroni cause well… I’m not an Eye-talian. Macaroni worked for Yankee Doodle Dandy and it’ll have to work fine for Roxanne. Maybe she won’t even know. I wouldn’t have if it was served to me.

[Roxanne Ballard (DELETED 7623)]

I am in my closet approximately ten minutes when I realize I should not be putting a whole lot of effort into choosing what I will wear tonight. This is Lucas. It is New Year's Eve. We are watching a movie so it is going to be casual. I slip into what works and leave the room before I change my mind like it matters. Yes, it does but I still try to make myself believe it doesn’t. I feel bad about it. I do until I remember the **** he pulls then I kick my own *** for doing things like grabbing my keys and walking out the door like I am currently to head to his place. I pause at the door after I lock it. I unlock it and step back inside and open up the refrigerator. My hand curls around the neck of the cold bottle of wine. I am sure that one of us will make use of it before the night is over.

Arriving to his apartment door was approximately twenty minutes from my door. I would have arrived sooner but I stopped at the store and picked up chips, salsa and batteries. I know that he is in the kitchen while I stand there looking down into the paper bag that holds the chips and salsa. I can hear him. He was cooking this meal himself. I look down again at what I am wearing while I shift the bag in my arm. I curl up my hand and watch it knock on the door in front of me.

My pocket vibrates while I wait there. I look down and the screen glows enough I can see the last four numbers of the call that is coming in. It will wait. I am actually off for once and there is no need to give Dillion a walk through the software that I already gave him an hour of orientation in using. My hand goes into my pocket and presses down to shut off my cell. Work will wait for once. I glance at my watch. It was six hours until midnight. Hopefully we could manage to get along through it. I would like to. I decide to be receptive to such a possibility coming to fruition. I look at the closed door in front of me and wonder if I should knock again.

[Lucas Ballard]

I’m not a chef. I’m not even a good cook but I have to say I think I’ve outdone myself with this. After a rocky start everything seems to have pulled together well. I’ve got the table set and that’s when the knock comes. Roxanne. I quickly shell out the plates and set them down before walking to the door. I check the peephole (habit) and then open up to let her in.The smell of the food has permeated the air. Mostly vegetables since the cheese and pasta don’t really have much scent. At least not to me. I can barely smell the veggies. I hope it smells good.

She looks great as usual. I feel a pang of regret for all the **** I’ve done, all I’ve put her through but then I remember she’s doled out the punishment just as well as she got. “Come on in,” I tell her, moving to the side to let her through the door, closing it behind her and sliding the lock home. “Dinner’s on the table and the movie is ready to go.”

I take her coat for her and hang it up in the closet next to the door. Once that’s done I make my way to the kitchen/dining room and pull a chair out for her likely while she is still getting her boots off. I’m hoping we can get through dinner, the movie and maybe even a hot sex session without one of our famous holiday blow ups. I know it seems like I’m resigned to this on and off situation but it’s not that I’m resigned. I’m in love with her. Deeply. I want to be with her. The fights, the other people, that’s all just situational. Roxanne could have left years ago. She could be a rich man’s trophy wife lounging on a beach somewhere sipping whatever high class drink is all the rage. Roxanne and me, we are similar machines though. We have the job, ever present and all-consuming. We have each other. Ever present and always threatening to either pull us in deep or explode with all the force of a splitting atom.

I look at the two places at the table and it’s a painful reminder that it should be three. I look at my little apartment and it’s a painful reminder that time is marching forward and we are staying the same. We need to fix this whole thing. I should get us a house and straighten up. Treat her like she deserves. Should tell her what she really means to me. I won’t though. Wounds are still fresh. How can I pour out my heart to her when it’s still hemorrhaging from our latest round of betrayal? ****. We’ll get it right. I have faith.

[Roxanne Ballard (DELETED 7623)]

I am minus my coat. I listen to his movements as he goes through the process of hanging it up but I am distracted. I am absorbing the atmosphere and the scents that have greeted me. Lucas really went all out with this and I can tell as I look around at the proof that is waiting for me to notice. He cooked and it smells great. He used vegetables. The table setting for two reminds me of the distance between Harper Rock and where she resides for school at Cambridge. Sometimes ...times like this, it reminds me it can be too far. She loves the holidays and we love spoiling her. The distance between us as a family doesn’t make it easy for that to happen as often as we would like.

“Did she call you yet?”

I feel like I should feel guilty for asking but it is Lucas. He isn’t going to have any room for judgement. He is her father and agreed to the option of her getting the education she deserved overseas when the opportunity came up. His sister is making sure she is safe with her family there. She excels at everything she does. Meanwhile we spend every year acting like the idiots she is genetically tied to who refuse to finally act like the adults we are supposed to be. I sigh.

Maybe I should be the bigger one in this situation that has dragged out far too long and apologize or call it for what it is. I find him pulling out a chair like the gentleman he can be and it reminds me how much I miss him even if the connection we share is always there. I really do. I still love him and hate myself for it. Except at moments like right now. I sit down and ignore the urge to ask if we can finally make things right before one of us ends up in bad enough shape that they can’t finally agree.

“Thank you.” I am already failing at being honest with myself. I take the easy route for the moment and express my appreciation for his efforts to make this a casual and comfortable arrival to the New Year that is fast approaching. “You look great.”

Lucas does. Then again he always has. Every feature is in the right place, in the right amounts and he has dimples that counter the intent behind his grin. I can still look at him and it is enough at times to have my common sense fly completely south to where the fires for him continuously burn. There is a reason why my dentist chasing him like she is going up in flames and he is the one to save her. She likes the action. I will not sweat it more than I do. Why?

I am still in love with the guy who can’t remember the date that he proposed on or that I hate scarfs and I look dead to the world in yellow. Lucas seems to like both enough to buy me that exact gift in that color every year. I get that and I have been sharing his last twenty years. Everything else is trivial at best. A painful distraction at the worst. Either way as I look over at him while he takes his seat I want him but like usual I don’t tell him. I look to what is steaming on the table between us instead and use it for a diversion.

“So does the food.”

[Lucas Ballard]

“You always look amazing.”

We’re seated. There’s food, there’s banter, questions, chit chat and drink. Wine for her, beer for me. There’s a small bar under the counter for the stuff we’ll likely move on to shortly. When you see what we see and do what we do day in and day out, beer and wine doesn’t cut it. Sometimes I’m surprised we don’t get into acid and heroin. Obviously we must enjoy seeing fucked up **** and growing numb to the world.

I tell her that yeah, our little girl’s been in touch. She is doing great, my sister is still the bee’s knees as far as Andrea is concerned. Jennifer and I never got along well as kids. She was kind of a girly girl and a *****. She was popular, guys loved her and she loved the attention. She pretty much ignored me outside of the holidays when we had family time. We got along then. Now that I think about it she is a lot like Roxanne. Funny how that works out later in life when you look back.

My folks are great, still married after all these years and still (like my sister) telling me to switch to a profession that will let me be a father. One that will give me time to be a husband. They always ask the same questions. How is Roxanne? Are you and Roxanne settled down yet? Is Roxanne there? Roxanne is such a nice woman. You two would be great together if you could be good to her and be there for her. Why can’t you treat her right and be there for her? *** and her husband are doing so well! Why can’t you be like that? You know, the type of questions that never get old. I tell Roxie I spoke with my folks too, that they asked after her and I told them she was doing great.

I leave out the part where they forgot to ask how I was doing. I’ve already vowed on most of the past NYE’s never to badger Andrea like that about a boy. I’ll leave that to mom. They can have girl time.

“Yeah that Skype thing is great. Picture wasn’t great but you know, it’s a long way those little pixels gotta travel.”

I eat slowly. The casserole really is pretty damned good. Kudos to whatever Southern Belle whipped it up. Maybe it was really an Eye-talian dish, but I doubt it. I figure it’s likely one of those American Eye-talian things at best. Like Dominos. I refill Roxanne’s glass a couple times. I’m not trying to get her drunk enough to take advantage of. I figure as long as I don’t **** up, sex is a given. I’m getting enough drinks in her that she doesn’t wanna drive anywhere after the movie. I need her with me tonight. Don’t know why but I need that connection with her. Might be guilt. Maybe I just don’t want her hooking up with anyone else. I don’t know if she’s aware Neil is in town and I don’t plan on bringing it up. Still amazes me she rejected his offer to turn her into a rich man’s wife. Maybe she couldn’t fathom being away from me. I chuckle at the thought then realize I laughed at nothing. Oops. Oh well, I’ll blame the beer and a good mood if she asks.

[Roxanne Ballard (DELETED 7623)]

The first glass was perfect. Lucas always had the ability to pick the right wine to compliment any meal. Me, not so much. I have a few flaws. Okay, so I have several. One that stands out is my lack of knowledge on what wine goes with what meat or whatever. When we met I believed Boonesfarm Strawberry Hill went with everything including popcorn. We were in college so it was basically that for dinner or Macaroni and Cheese for the better part of nearly seven years.

I look at him over the rim of my glass as I take a drink and reflect on the first Christmas I played Santa Claus and stuffed his stocking with a wine and cheese guide. Who knew he would actually take it to heart and make use of it to the degree he has. After the dishes are clean and the second glasses history I begin to wonder if he even remembers or still has it.

“First Christmas what did I put in your stocking?” I question out of the blue like I am known to do. I can be so random with Lucas and he generally gets it without me having to explain why I am asking. “Do you remember?”

The third glass is full in my hand while I watch him and wait. I wait for a lot of things when it comes to life, to my profession and to the man that is staring back at me.

[Lucas Ballard]

Deer. Headlights. For an instant I’m there. I get it. The “oh ****” moment where you have no clue what is happening or why. Then it clicks. All at once. She’s asking ‘cause she wants me to know and I do because of the selection I made. Yeah. Calm ******* sailing. I got this. “None of it goes with popcorn.” I’m getting the movie situated. By that I mean looking for the remote I swear I left on the table when I set the whole evening up and yet can’t find now that I need it. It’s the proverbial missing sock in my life. When I go to the laundromat I always end up with an even amount of socks. When I get home though, my remote is gone.

Even during football season I can hold the remote to flip back and forth between Pack and Bears and it still manages to disappear. I’m pretty sure my place is haunted. Or the remote is alive. Something.

“Riesling, lambrusco or a grenache for your Kraft Dinner. Yeah, I remember. I do give more of a **** than you give me credit for.” I can’t find the damned thing. I don’t get it. How does an inanimate object disappear constantly? “I lost the remote again. I’ll life the couch, you look under it?” This isn’t our first rodeo. We both know the drill. I lost the remote long before we knew each other. I lost the remote when we lived together, I lose the remote now that we are whatever the **** we are.

One day they will have a T.V. that doesn’t need a remote. One you can just tell it to turn on and it will. That would be awesome. After we have the T.V.s squared away, women are next.