The first time was real.
The second, third, fifth and seventh not so much.
This time would mark the eighth time I tripped the alarm. The eighth time I would get to see her. Feel her presence near me. Everything about her I loved. From her brown curls to her muscular calves. I only knew she was so muscular because every Tuesday she went on a run in Cunningham Park. The sweat that rolled down her face and the way her lips frowned in determination did things to me.
I sighed as I sat in my car. Was this really worth it? Was she really worth all the trouble I could get into? I already knew the answer to the question before I thought it. Turning the key into the ignition I eased out into the street adjacent to my craftsman home. I turned the radio up loud so that I couldn't think. My guilt was beginning to show and I was afraid she would pick up on it. She is a detective, and a damn good one.
As I pulled into the parking lot I took a deep breath. I saw her before she saw me. Something was off. She was bent down observing the pieces of broken glass outside of my shop door. She stiffened when she saw me, I parked quickly and hurriedly exited my car.
"Detective," I greeted.
"Onika..," she sighed. Her eyes searched mine for what seemed the longest. I bounced on my feet holding onto my purse as I awaited her next words.
"Did you set up this break-in?" she asked. She avoided looking at me.
Worry, and anxiety, coursed through my veins as my mind went through a roller coaster. Should I tell the truth? Should I lie? I hated this. I hated that this was the only way I could see her.
"No," I went for confidence but the short word came out cracked and shaky.
She pulled her cap down over her head, "Raise your hands slowly."
"What? Why?" I rose them slowly into the air and over my head. She went behind me and cuffed me.
"You are under arrest for Obstruction of Justice and for Filing a False Report. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you."
She began to walk, tugging me along roughly. She wasn't the gentle Beyonce I knew but the cop criminals did. Shit! She thought I was a criminal.
"Please, you don't understand." I cried out. I was going to jail. My jumbled thoughts made it hard to understand what was going on. The lights flashed violently making it hard to see, and hard to focus on Beyonce's orders. I was pushed into a police car and strapped in by her.
"You don't understand..." I mumbled before---
-------
Cool air formed bumps on my skin, as I woke up. Looking around I realized where I was. I was in an interrogation room. The ones in the movies. You know, with the black window in front of me and the entrance behind me. That's what it looked like.
I tried to wrap my arms around me in hopes of warming up but they were tightly cuffed to the table.
Was I a criminal? I didn't think so, I think I'm just a girl who went to the extreme for her feelings. I whined as the cuffs bit into my wrist.
The door opened and shut with a sharp click. Footsteps followed until she sat down in front of me. A sigh escaped her plump lips as she plunked down a manila folder in front of me.
Opening the folder she pulled out some photos of me.
I was caught.
Two of the pictures captured me following a oblivious Beyoncé as she jogged through the park.
