Soldier of Love

Game Over

I feel like my ancestors did, shackled on a boat, squished together by strangers, not knowing whether or not they'd see their love ones again.

That's how I feel right now. Stuck in the basement of a police station in cell number 143, which has so much irony. Typically 143 means I love you, but I feel hatred right now. So at the moment it means I hate you.

I've been raped. I've been bullied. I've gone the whole nine yards, but never have I ever been so disrespected in my life by these so called officers.

I miss my daughter. I miss my husband. I miss my friends and family. They don't know how I'm doing and vice versa. I'm locked in this cell and they've treated me so long.

That chick really did set me up. She told if I killed her, I'd be arrested immediately. But she also that I need to be checking in on my daughter. That set me off. Nothing went right. Not only am I arrested and facing life in jail, but my beautiful baby girl almost lost her life.

Being a soldier of love ain't cracked up to what it seems to be.

My body felt weak with every blow that it encountered. Sweat dripped from my body as I hung loosely from the shackles that were hung against the wall. Blood and dirt covered my body as if I'd been rolling in dirt. A week without a shower and pure torture can do that to one.

"So, are you ready to tell us what really happened now?" One of the officers asked. He sat squatted on his knees, looking me dead in my eyes. Sweat dripped from his short, black hair. Scars from previous encountered covered his pale skin.

I sat back, ignoring his question. When he noticed that I wasn't going to respond, he slapped me. The pain hurt, causing me to squeeze my eyes shut. However, I was becoming immune to the pain. In response to the blow, I spit in his face.

He smirked, wiping off my saliva and hit me again. "You think you're tuff, huh?"

"What type of cop tortures his inmate?" I asked, cocking my head to the side.

"The kind that wants information." He retorted.

"Well," I started, standing straight up in the shackles. "You ain't gone get any hitting on me like that ain't gone get you know where."

"Look, Naomi," the cop said trying to reason with me, "I know you're educated, lets use proper English."

I thought long about what my next response was going to be. I say up straight again, holding my head high. In a snotty voice, in attempt to make my voice a facsimile of his, I said, "Well, Mr..." I looked at the cops name tag, "Hernandez, you aren't going to get any information out of me. I've paid my bond, now let me to before I report everything that's been happening for the last week. Trust me, the judge won't be too happy when he or she finds out the pain I encountered. I'll be seen as not guilty for sure."

"That's if you even make it to court." Hernandez challenged, pulling out a pocket knife.

"What do you plan on doing with that?" I asked, smiling innocently.

"I plan on slitting your throat and watching you bleed to death." Hernandez said with a wicked smile.

"I promise you won't even get close to it." I said cracking my neck.

"You poor, delusional child. What could you possible do in those poor shackles?" Hernandez said stepping closer to me. He ran the blade of the knife across my neck. The coolness of its blade sent chills down my back, however, I must not show any fear, for fear can be ones worst enemy. "I know you've killed others, but you won't get anywhere with me. I've been in the force for twenty plus years. No one has escaped my doom in the last ten years."

Hernandez turned his back towards me, ranting on about how he's killed so many people and how I'll be another hopeless inmate to add to his list. As he talked and talked, I slide out of my shackles, breaking then in half to get out of them. I quietly walked up behind him, and snatched the blade out of his hand.

He turned around frightened.

"Game over, baby boy."

Before he knew it, his throat was slit and a large weight had been lifted off of my shoulder. I grew weak and slid down the wall, watching him bleed to death as I cried.

I haven't cried in so long. All of this fury is inside of me and I'm frustrated. I don't want this. I never have and I never will. I'd much rather move on with my life.

I just sat here, crying for a long while. Letting everything out that I hadn't been able to get out before. Being a hit man requires great strength, and I don't think I'm cut out of it. I don't know how Cataleya did.

I sat up, pulling my hair into a high pony tail. I pulled my shoes on and stepped over Hernandez's lifeless body. Part of me felt bad, the other part of me couldn't feel bad for someone who tortured me.

I snuck out of the back door of the station and walked 10 miles back home. No food, barely any clothes, no money and phone. Everything with me had been confiscated upon my being arrested.

I walked through the door of my home, exhausted. To my surprise, my home was no longer in a state of catastrophe.

"Welcome home, beautiful." Jacob said, peering around the corner. Despite me being sweaty and dirty, he hugged me showed me affection. But the only thing that was on my mind was Nala.

"Where's Nala?" I asked quietly.

"Upstairs in our room."

I nodded and walked up the stairs to our room. There she lay, quietly sleeping. I kissed her forehead and walked into my bathroom. I stripped and took an hour long shower. I was able to clear my mind of any and everything, which reminded me of my favorite poem titled, "The Party," by Raymond Carver.

I stepped out and stood in front of the mirror. I examined the scars on my petite body. Jacob walked inside, wrapping his arms around me.

"Words can't express how proud of you I am." He said.

I turned around facing, "physically, I feel like I could lift a tank, but I'm mentally drained. I want to quit, but we've come to far to give up now. I know I'm going to jail. I killed a cop today."

Jacob sighed, kissing my lips. So sweet, so soft, so gentle he was. I knew exactly what was thinking. He was telling me not to give up. He was telling me that Hernandez tortured me because he's one of the "guys." Me killing him eliminated one more person from his list.

But the fact still remained,

I'm tired.