Diary of a Masochist (boyxboy)

July 16

Dear Diary,

Alex is still being held in jail.

A police officer stopped by our place today, and despite my refusal to press charges, he still claimed Alex couldn't be released until tomorrow. 

I had been sitting at the dining table, waiting for the inevitable knocking on the apartment door. I swung the door open to see an older cop holding a clipboard and an expectant look on his face. He followed me as I assumed my original position at the table, gripping my pen tightly as I raised my eyebrows, waiting for him to begin.

We sat in silence for a solid minute, the only sound the constant clicking of my pen, before he spoke. "You invited me in without asking my business," he noted in a gravely voice.

"I was waiting for you to state your business," I mumbled as he eyed me uneasily.

He jut out his jaw in thought before opening his mouth again. "Does your roommate say you're not allowed to speak unless spoken to?"

"Boyfriend."

"You didn't answer the question."

"He's my boyfriend."

He looked at his clipboard before pressing it onto the surface of the table and running his hands down his face. "Listen--Brett, is it?--I've read your files. Both of your files. I know what's going on here, you don't have to pretend you're okay," he eased.

I furrowed my eyebrows, squinting at the badge pinned on his uniform that identified him as 'X. Jones' before raising my eyes to meet his. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

He pulled a plain green folder from his bag and slid it across the table, gesturing for me to open as he continued. "I know you think you love him, but he doesn't love you," he said as I flipped the cover open to see a page that read, 'Controlling Partners and Abusive Relationships.'

I growled, slamming the folder shut and throwing it off the table. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" I demanded as I balled my fists onto the wooden surface.

He closed his eyes, pulling a grim smile on his face. "I understand your resistance, but listen to m-"

"-No, you listen to me, Officer Jones. You have no right to come into our home and accuse my boyfriend of what? Being abusive?" I spit as I stood up, pointing a finger over the table. "You can't even begin to understand our relationship, you don't even know us and you think you get what's going on? There's nothing going on. You're full of absolute shit."

He put on another pathetic smile and continued in a collected voice. "If there isn't, then answer these questions. Does he let you have friends outside of him? Does he constantly check up on you? Does he ever intimidate you to get his way? Is he irrationally jealous? Does he ever physically hurt you?" the officer pushed. 

My jaw locked as his questions rolled through my head, threatening memories of us with the incredulous idea that he's even remotely abusive. "Fuck you. You don't know us," I mumbled, sitting back down and crossing my arms over my chest.

"Brett, there's a center you can g-"

"-I'm done sitting here having you attack my boyfriend. Is this all you came to talk about? Because if so, you can show your way out," I hissed.

The officer squinted at me, his dark eyes searching my face for a few prolonged seconds before letting out a sigh and leaning back in his chair, reaching in his bag once more and laying a thin stack of papers between us. "I think you should press charges," he eased. I scoffed, ready to retort, but he raised his hand to stop me. "Listen, I know what you're about to say. But forget the 'I love you's and get down to the basic facts. He hurt you. Again. You called the police for a reason. Now let us do our job. We just want to protect you, and maybe the best thing for your relationship right now is spending a few months away from each other."

His eyes pleaded as I continued to glare at him, chewing on the inside of my cheek. "Get out," I concluded, abruptly standing up and walking towards the front door. I heard the officer groan behind me and a shuffling of papers as he gathered up his stuff and followed suit. "I want Alex home today," I demanded, pulling the door open for him.

"The paperwork will take time to filter through the system. He'll be out by tomorrow," Officer Jones sighed, walking out of the apartment. He stopped in the doorway, spinning around and placing a hand on the door so I couldn't shut it. "How long have you guys been together?"

"Eight years," I carefully answered, confused at his sudden question.

"Why haven't you guys gotten married yet?"

"What?" I questioned.

He repeated himself.

"Uh, I-I'm not sure," I stumbled.

He waited a second before prodding, "Why doesn't he want to?"

I shrugged. I didn't know. I don't know. His hand dropped from the door and he took a step backwards into the hallway, finally allowing me to close it.

I try not to mention marriage to Alex. I've only brought it up a couple of times in our whole relationship. I've never known why he gets so angry about it, because it's obvious we want to spend our entire lives together. Maybe it's because I've always expected him to propose to me, when actually he wants it the other way around. Either way, I'm determined to make him see marriage like I do: the ultimate declaration of 'I love you.' Which isn't as different as he thinks it is, considering we love each other more than possible anyways.

Brett