Cold State Line

I woke up to the sound of sirens. The last time I heard them was two years ago after Clay had done what finally broke us. I hated to recall that night, and I couldn't believe that after all these years, the specific sound of sirens still got to me.

Rolling out of Matt's bed, I headed downstairs. I needed to know why the police were here. What had happened? Was something seriously wrong? As I trekked to the kitchen, I played the horrible what if game, imagining only the worst case scenarios.

Three police officers stood in the living room as did two paramedics. The paramedics were examining Clay, looking at his face and ribs. What had Matt done? I barely remembered telling him what happened with Clay. Had he fought the bull rider?

"Son, I need to know why you went after this man," a police officer without a chin said to Matt. "There's got to be some reason."

Matt had a faraway look in his eyes. He seemed to be on another planet entirely, blood dripping from his knuckles. I had to repress a shudder at the thought. That imagine made him look much too much like Clay had in the last legs of our relationship.

I stepped forward though, not wanting Matt to get in trouble for defending me. "Officer, he was defending me. Clay hit me a few times, and I ran to Matt's room because he makes me feel safe. I guess I asked him to go after him. After getting in the room, it's all a blur."

The officers turned to face me and took in my appearance. I knew I had bruises and dried blood on my face. One of the officers came over to me to take pictures, documenting in case this went to court.

"He has a history of this, officer. You can call Judge Ryan Lukin in Conroe, Texas to confirm. Clay isn't supposed to be around me or my friends. I don't have the order with me. It might have been temporary."

The officer without a chin wrote this all down and walked away, probably to confirm my information. The officer who had taken pictures of me walked over to Matt.

"Matt, we still need your side."

He seemed to snap out of it then and looked at me. I could see the pain and hurt in his eyes. He probably thought I thought the worst of him. And even though Matt did resemble Clay with the blood on his hands, he was far, far away from the devil in the cowboy.

"Can we do it away from the others?" Matt asked, probably not wanting me to hear the details. I appreciated that. I hated hearing about and dealing with violence, which was strange considering I was in the rodeo circuit. Violence was a part of the life.

The officer nodded and took Matt into the kitchen so they could ask him what happened. I looked over at Clay, trying to fight the instinct to flee. He sent me a grin, knowing his daddy would get him off like last time.

I hated him. I hated everything about him. There was never a time I felt this kind of rage and hatred in my life, and I loathed that he brought it out in me. He deserved to die for everything he did to me and I imagined to plenty of other young women.

"We still need to talk, darling," he said, wincing as a paramedic dabbed at his ribs.

"Go fuck yourself." I turned and left, not wanting or needing to deal with this bullshit. Why couldn't my life just be normal? All I wanted was the Vegas rodeo, and instead, God had given me Clay.

Notes

Short update, but an update! WiFi has been weird, sorry loves.

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