Free The Broken Parts Of Us by Ker Dukey

all the paperwork, so I wouldn’t need to worry, and paid me in cash.” She takes a step towards me. “He was a handsome young man, seemed pleasant. Is he okay?” 
    An uneasy chill races up my spine at the name Evan.
    “Can you describe him?”
    “Blond, handsome features, about your height, in his early thirties if I was to guess.”
    It could just be a coincidence, but the cold ice flooding my veins and the description told me it was Mya’s ex, Evan. Could he be behind this?
    The memories of Mya's death and the circumstances leading up to her suicide fill my head in a torrent of images and a painful ache of grief on the drive back to the station. Evan was Mya’s first and only love. He was older than her, and he was controlling. First was her image; she would no longer wear skirts or dresses. They were replaced with sweaters, even in the summer heat. I noticed she became timid, nothing like the outgoing girl she once was. When I first saw her bruises by chance when she was pulling on a sweater, the brother, man, and agent in me knew straight away what was happening. She finally broke and told me these weren't the first marks he had left her with. The brother's rage won the battle and I confronted him with threats. If he ever came near her again, I would kill him. He punished her for telling me by sleeping with her best friend, filming it, and sending it to her. The thing about love, especially first love when it’s with someone who abuses you, it makes it hard to see that you’re in fact a victim of a crime. It’s not always the violence that does the damage. It’s the physiological effect it has. It clouds judgement; the abuser infects you like a virus, pollutes your mind, and takes away your rationality. They corrupt your thoughts by making you think you owe them, that to love them means accepting them, standing by them why they try to change. They convince you that you must have done something wrong to make them abuse you in the first place. They’re a poison that strips you of everything you once were. Despite all he had done, she was brainwashed into loving him. That video crippled her, broke her fragile psyche and heart, making her take her own life. She plunged to her death from a cliff's edge. I was on duty the night the call came in. I remember driving there, feeling sorry for the family of whoever this person was, to have to tell them that this person killed themselves when all they would hear was that their loved one had gotten so low, had nowhere to turn, that rather than go on living, they threw themselves off a cliff. When I pulled up to other squad cars and yellow tape, a friend and fellow officer rushed towards my patrol car with tears in his eyes, shaking his head. A hole opened up in my chest. I stepped out to be pushed against the car with force by him.
    “It’s Mya, man. Oh, God. I’m so sorry, Der, it’s Mya.”
    I remember the words and my pushing at him to let me pass, but more officers hands gripped me, holding me back.
    “It’s not fucking Mya! What are you talking about? Let me pass! It’s not Mya. She wouldn’t. It’s not my baby sister, you bastards! Let me pass!” I screamed until my throat was raw, my legs buckled and grief attacked every part of my soul. No physical pain can compare to the emotional pain of grief. Our mother blamed me for her death. She blamed me for interfering with Evan. She couldn’t even look at me at Mya’s funeral. Evan dropped off the map. I was informed by Mya's best friend that she was heartbroken. He broke her down and made her end her life. I wanted his life in my hands. I wanted to feel his pulse slow and fade to nothing as I ended his life. I never saw him again.
     
    * * * * *
     
    I find Hans in my office when I get there.
    “You know it’s a conflict of interest, having her stay with you.”
    I throw my keys on the desk and scowl at him. 
    “Why would you think she's staying with me?”
    “Peters, the officer who staked out her