Something Wicked 🏳️‍🌈 (bxb)

18: I seriously fucking hate Christmas

MARÍA POLICE DEPARTMENT, December 24

Twenty minutes of tinkering with a powerbank, a series of relays and a tangled thicket of cables, and Debs's wheelchair was finally equipped with a string of programmable—and fucking annoying—Christmas lights.

"Oh! It looks so awesome, Jay!" Debs did a little wheelchair-donut in the center of the office, her lurid lights bouncing off the walls like we were chilling in the VIP room in La Perla Negra. "How did you get so good at electrical stuff?"

I switched the program from epilepsy mode to constant illumination. "Used to steal cars."

Debs's eyebrows almost hit the ceiling. Her pen lid fell from her slack jaw into her lap. "I keep forgetting you were a..." She fixed her eyes onto the clipboard in front of her.

Thief? Gang member? Murderer? Guessed I'd been spending so much time in María PD offices that everyone kept forgetting I wasn't a cop.

"We should get back to it." Debs slid her pen down the edge of the clipboard, counting under her breath. "Question five. Did you use a condom? Were you at risk of contracting an STI?"

I slid my hands down my face. "Yes, we used condoms. And spermicidal lubricant. And we'd shower before. And—"

"OK OK!" Debs put her hands up like she was warding off a punch. "I'll just check that box."

"Are we done?"

"No. There's a few more questions. Did she threaten you? Or imply that something bad would happen if you didn't—"

"Why couldn't the counselor do this?"

Debs looked up at me like she'd just been slapped. She replied in the tiniest voice, "The counselor went home for the holidays. There's just me. I'm sorry."

I was being a total asshole. Neither of us wanted to be here talking about dark shit on Christmas Eve. "You're doing great, Debs. I just don't think that sexual assault can be added to the list of charges against Mira al Assad."

"Let's just get these questions over with, and leave it to Sylvia to decide, OK?" Debs reached over and nestled her freckled hand into mine. "So, did she ever threaten you?"

"No. We just..." I waved my hands in the air, lost for words, "...got to it."

"So, you didn't give explicit consent."

"I gave consent when I took my clothes off!"

"Jay, you can't give consent if you'll be killed for refusing." Debs squeezed my hand, her clipboard forgotten in her lap. "You know that, right?"

"It wasn't like that." I shook my head. I needed Debs to understand, but I couldn't find the words. "I didn't wanna do it. Didn't wanna be anywhere near her. Didn't wanna touch her. Hated her so fucking much. But, she was different in bed. Like a normal woman. Not like her. I can't explain."

Debs's pen raced across the clipboard in big round loops. It was down to Sylvia to take apart all the shit I'd said and rebuild it into a coherent set of charges. And then everyone in María PD would pore over it. Juries, judges, maybe Leila and her lawyer buddies, maybe the whole of María would take a good fucking look at all the dirty messed-up vile shit I'd done.

My phone began to vibrate across the desk with a call. I eyed the screen with a groan. Leila. Why the fuck was she always calling me?

I silenced the phone, the lock-screen lighting up with a photo of Dante's face. He was caught in a surprised smile, his hair fluttering in a breeze, a gargoyle's pock-marked shoulder behind him. I'd taken the photo near sunset on the clock tower. The sunlight reflecting off Dante's eyes had made them shine bright like stars as he'd gazed at me. Of course, the picture didn't do him justice; only a hundredth of his beauty could ever be captured in photos.