Lies Left Unsaid

Detective Martìnez

My father was the greatest guy in the whole world. That's what my mom would always say. She said she snagged one of the good ones. But to me, he was more than just a good guy. He was my hero. I idolized him, feared him and had an unrelenting desire to please and impress him, all of which came from him doing absolutely nothing other than loving and believing in me. He always had faith in me, no matter how many times I screwed up, and he never punished me for my mistakes. He simply told me he was disappointed. And that's all it took for me to feel ashamed and for me to want to never do again, whatever it was I had done to displease him. 

My desire to gain his respect and make him proud of me only intensified as I grew older. Every step I took, every decision I made, was guided by my need to be as great as my father, which is why I was completely rocked when I found out about his cancer diagnosis. What would the world be without my dad? Who would I be without my dad? 

I sat with him countless nights, wiping his mouth after he vomited from the chemo. It was beyond painful to see my father that way, but I could tell it paled in comparison to the pain he felt being that weak and vulnerable in front of his son. I knew he hated it. It killed him in some ways more so then the cancer. He didn't want his family to see him that way. He didn't want to be a burden, which is why he decided to stop treatment when he found out his chances of survival were slim. I wanted to beg him to continue, but I knew he wouldn't and I knew he would be disappointed in me for asking him to. He was a strong proponent of assisted suicide. "It should be each individual's choice when and how he or she exits this world," he would say. Not even the sobbing cries and pleas of his grown son would change his mind. 

It was towards the end, in his near catatonic state, that I found out the truth about the stolen pain meds. He whispered it to me as I sat next to him in the early morning hours, feeding him ice chips and gently brushing the remaining thin wisps of hair he possessed across his forehead. Towards the end of his career, when he had been diagnosed, but was still practicing medicine, rumors had surfaced around the hospital that he was stealing pain meds. I never believed the rumors. I never doubted his innocence, not for a second. He was an easy mark for Terry though. I can see that now: a sick old man with cancer in need, or want, of additional medication to manage his pain. And my father was too proud, and too tired, to fight it. He said those that knew him well would know he was innocent, and in the end, he said only my opinion and my mother's mattered to him. He said that if we believed he was innocent, then he would die happy, which only made me love him more. He always put us first, which was what I decided to do, not only to avenge the heinous crime that Terry subjected him to and clear his name, but to focus on my own family: the one that Caitlyn and I were now beginning.

I know how it looks, but let me explain. I'm not some sort of perv. After all, we're only a few years apart and she was technically of legal age. I think when you hear my side, you'll understand. 

I met Caitlyn in the fall of her junior year of high school. I was on duty on a Friday night, stuck on the quiet streets near Thomas Jefferson High, waiting for a possible drunk teen trying to hook up with her boyfriend in public or an obnoxious underage boy trying to piss out the remnants of his Natty Light onto a storefront. That's when I saw her black BMW 325i driving down the street, swerving back and forth. I wasn't a fan of dealing with drunks. Sometimes I was tempted to just let them keep driving so that I wouldn't have to deal with their belligerent ramblings, but boredom got the best of me, and of course my desire to stop the driver before someone else got injured. In truth, I was glad to finally see some action. The night, as usual, had been long and slow. 

I remember that moment when I approached her car so well. Her beautiful hazel eyes glowed in the darkness like a cat in the black of night. I had to blink to make sure what I was seeing was real. Her long black eyelashes batted in the glare of my flashlight. She held up her hand to block the light and asked politely if I could turn it off. I obliged her in a way I had never done before. She was in control of me from that very moment. Those eyes had cast a spell on me, and her every wish was my command.

I asked if she had been drinking and she let out a hiccup and didn't lie, which only made her more endearing. I asked her to step out of the car and when the door opened, her long tanned legs swung out and landed gently on the asphalt. She was wearing thigh high brown suede boots and I spied a glimpse of her red panties under her plaid school issued uniform skirt as she tried to raise her tiny drunken teenage body from the car. Her ankle rolled and she fell into my open arms. "Sorry," she said, looking into my eyes and licking her glossy pale pink lips. "I don't feel well. Can I sit down?" She asked. 

I threw her arm over my shoulder and she drunkenly hobbled over in her boots as I guided her to the curb. I sat down next to her and watched as she placed her hand on my thigh, just above my knee and uttered the words, "I think I'm gunna be sick." I held back her hair as she tried unsuccessfully to puke in the street. I should have been disgusted, but all I could think about was her hair, her silky auburn hair with golden highlights that ran through my fingers. When she sat up, she looked directly into my eyes and the world stopped for a minute. The intensity of her stare burned through me. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before and I could hear my heart beating in my chest. And then, just when I thought something I might regret would happen, she slumped over on my shoulder and asked if she could rest a minute. I should have gotten up. I should have initiated the sobriety test. I should have moved her hand, that rested mere inches from my now throbbing cock, but instead I sat there with her on the curb and brushed the silky soft wisps of hair out of her face. 

When she was ready to move, I escorted her to my car. I drove her to the 7-11 and bought us both a coffee and some snacks. We sat on the hood of my squad car, talking for hours as she sobered up and the more I got to know her, the more I realized, I was already in too deep. I knew it was wrong. It wasn't like I was a pedophile. But she was mature beyond her years and besides, I figured, there's no harm in just talking.

I dropped her off at the school and told her this time I would let her go with just a warning. "This time?" she asked and raised her eyebrows in a suggestive manner. "Does that mean I'll see you again?"

"Uh, you better go get some rest," is all I could muster. My pants grew tight and I adjusted them as I watched her walk away, her skirt lifting slightly in the cool night breeze.

I didn't intend for anything to happen with Caitlyn and it didn't for a very long time. It started merely as a friendship. I couldn't help but check up on her after the incident. I wanted to make sure she was okay. We met for coffee a few times, but then a few times turned into weekly meet ups which turned into daily get togethers. I couldn't get enough of her, but I kept my distance physically. I wasn't going to initiate anything, but I knew if she gave me even the slightest opportunity, I would take it.

As we got to know one another, I found myself opening up to her in a way I never thought possible. I hadn't felt that happy, that alive, since before my father had died. I shared everything with her: my thoughts, my feelings, and unfortunately, my weaknesses. 

That's when things took a turn. Would I say I regret what I did? Yes and no. That answer is complicated, almost as complicated as Caitlyn herself.