The One After the Previous One

Jane turned off the water and reached for her towel. As she dried off, she examined herself in the bathroom mirror. 5’8”, nice C cup, hair so black it was nearly purple, warm brown skin just a shade darker than caramel, a nice, round butt (thank you squats, she thought), and an athletic, toned frame. I'm not gay,but if I was… She laughed at herself. She was, as the saying went, “strictly dickly”.

She was friends and coworkers with a number of gay and lesbian individuals and had no issue with their personal choices. She had questioned her sexuality for all of 5 seconds in high school and had concluded that she was straight as an arrow and hadn't looked back.

Looking back at her reflection, she gave what she saw a more critical look before shaking her head and laughing at herself. “Jesus. First date you're going on in what? 2 years? And you're acting like a nervous 9th grader!”

She looked at where her bush used to be. A little optimistic, aren't we? God, how long since I've gotten laid? She laughed again. “No harm in looking presentable just in case this guy manages to not be the disappointment that I've grown accustomed to. “

It was the age-old dilemma. Or, it was her dilemma; men said they wanted a strong, independent woman, but then, when a strong, independent woman comes along and sits on their face, all of a sudden comments about settling down, and having children, and hanging up that badge and embracing life as a barefoot and pregnant homemaker started getting made. Okay. Maybe that last bit hadn't been said, but it had certainly been implied. Shit, it took how many years to be seen as more than some piece of ass? How long to be seen as a competent, professional PEER? She had known going in that pursuing a predominantly male profession would have its hurdles. She'd known that she'd have to work three times harder than the guys in order to be taken seriously. She'd expected to have to struggle to establish respect while on a scene. Surprisingly, this last concern was largely unfounded. She laughed as she remembered her primary instructor from police academy and his favorite saying: “Remember rookies. You can get further with a kind word AND a gun than you can with a kind word alone.”

“You were right, Instructor Stone”, she said to her reflection. “You were right.”

Pulling herself back to the present, she saw she'd missed a text from her partner, Brewer. “Fucking got voluntold to work over because nights was short. Wtf happened to seniority? I swear he's fucking with me to put me in my place or some bullshit because he got promoted and I didn't. What a bitch move.”

Jane winced. The problem was, Brewer wasn't wrong. It was known that she and Brewer were good friends in addition to being partners at work, but even still, whispers still made their way around the station. Say what you will about the gossiping abilities of high school girls, but they got NOTHING on a bunch of cops… These assholes will gossip about anything!

She fired off a conciliatory reply to Brewer and asked how he was doing. Ever since his bitch wife (ex wife now, dammit) had filed for divorce, Brewer had been struggling. It didn't help that the rumor mill had all kinds of stories detailing how Brewer's wife's attorney had some kind of access to the chief and had done more than a little whispering in the chief's ear, poisoning the well for Brewer's immediate career aspirations. Something like the lawyer was a niece or goddaughter or some shit. Then that bitch had made what was probably the only misstep in her strategy to utterly destroy Brewer: she had made some allegation that Jane and Brewer's relationship was anything other than professional. Professional isn't quite right though, Jane thought. Friends. Good friends. Extremely close friends. But NOT romantic friends. Jane thought about the bond she and other law enforcement shared. The connection that is forged when people run into danger to fight bad guys with you. Some intangible link that is only forged through a mutual struggle towards a common goal. Jane was familiar with this feeling. She imagined the military experienced a more intense version if this, just as the comeraderie from sports teams was a similar, if lesser, version of the bond in question. Thanks to her genetics (Native American, Black, and Hispanic),she had a complexion that was hard to put an age to. During her time working Vice with Brewer, she had used her looks to pose as underage bait for would-be predators. Oftentimes, she was in the greatest danger, as she was in a hotel room with a sexual predator with nothing but her wits. Yeah, backup was in the next room waiting for the takedown signal, but there was no telling which of the perps was armed or wanted to “sample the merchandise” before the deal was struck. It never failed though, that Brewer was always the first one through the door when the go signal was given.

Brewer was handsome, she supposed. Tall, in shape, calm under pressure. But boyfriend? Or fuckbuddy? Nah. She'd as soon sleep with her brother. And she was pretty sure he'd feel the same way.

Snap out if it! she chastised herself. She had just managed to get her underwear on when she felt a surge of fatigue wash over her. Blinking her eyes, she looked at her reflection. The last thing that her eyes registered in the reflection was instead of her bathroom, the mirror showed only her and a black void. And then she blacked out.