The thing about permanency is that no matter what, it is there, for all of eternity. Though it may fade through the years, the existence will still be as concrete as it ever was. There are means of covering up something that is permanent. You can cloak it, disguise it, and turn it into something that it wasn’t meant to be. There are markings that are permanent that were not chosen, and then there are those that were self-inflicted. Those are the ones that we wanted there. We wanted that permanency upon our flesh. For many, it is a tattoo or a piercing. For Spencer Reese James, she adorns no ink. She has standard ear piercings, but nothing more. There appears to the naked eye that the girl has no story to tell, yet it couldn’t be further from the truth. There is but one man who has laid eyes upon the story her flesh tells, though even he does not know the reasons behind the marks she intentionally bears. He has never asked and she has never told, yet eventually that day will come. Little did she know that day would be September 17, 2015.
The same routine had been met time after time, though over the last three months, not a singular new mark would be laid to her flesh outside of those at the hands of John James in the heated sexual moments that transpired between the two nightly. The landscape of her flesh was ever the same to him. Unquestioned. Unchanging. Her first time, it had been in the home of her parent’s house in McKinney, Texas. What seemed like a million years ago, she held the blade between her fingers as tears streamed down her face, stricken with guilt, needing to feel the full wrath of what she had done that day. The music within her ears was that of Judas Khrist, as usual, but this time, she was turning to some form of outlet for what she had done that day. She could not speak of the take, for it laid tarnish to the badge she had once been so proud of. She could tell not a soul of the payoff she had accepted that day, but she had in fact done just that. An envelope of cash laid upon her nightstand to be given to her parents the next day. A lie that would be told as to where the amount of cash had come from ready against her tongue, though the truth remained. The up and coming Officer Spencer Reese had accepted a bribe.
The years that had passed left their marks against her flesh. Today would stand to add another notch to her belt, though not one she was proud of. The fact of the ritual was set and had been in stone for years, so when she took the payoff that day at work, she knew the fate that would await her that evening upon arriving home. Three shots and a stream of blood. Her penance for that which she had done. Spencer didn’t have to take the bribes any longer. Her father was out of the woods. The finances were mostly solid within her parent’s home and truthfully, since her marriage to John, they weren’t much speaking to her these days. There was no reason for accepting the envelope, yet she did. A stash of cash had been on hold for months as the detective reported for work daily, doing nothing more than her job, then returning home to her husband. But any habit can only be put down for a certain period of time before it will rear its sometimes ugly head and take the addicted back down a path once more, proving in that moment that it had not been merely circumstance that had placed tarnish upon her badge. The truth was laid out for her that day. She was not just a dirty cop with a firm reason. She was no longer redeemable in her actions. The truth was, she was a dirty cop. She had a price. She could be bought, as well as her silence. She could be paid to turn that blind eye. She could sell inside information. It should have been a show of power, yet it made her feel more and more dead inside. There was no reason for her take now. Instead, just filth. Worthlessness. Disgrace.
For the last several months, the department was shifting officers and detectives around constantly. Statewide cutbacks resulted in not enough hands on deck which resulted in the need for ‘flexibility’ as it was pitched to the Homicide unit three months before. ‘Trying something new’ sounded fine at the time, yet what it really meant was working Homicide while combining with Organized Crime. Many times, the two crossed over anyways, yet not always. Spencer confessed to Kenneth in the privacy of their unmarked car that morning it had been pitched. “I’m out of my element here, Ryan. I know shit about organized crime.” Ryan assured her that she’d be fine and the take would be good. To enjoy the ride. It never lasts that long. Besides, if they did well enough, they could get shifted to that department permanently and then they’d really be rolling in it. Take opportunities weren’t high in homicide. But Organized Crime? It was a gold mine. Spencer swept the thought away almost as quickly as it had begun, reporting to work, doing what she should do. Once the badge was tarnished, could it be cleaned up? She didn’t know, but since her marriage to John, she’d taken nothing, living a clean life in that regard. But today, that all changed. Today, she would face a payout with her partner at her side. After speaking to a man personally, she turned to motion Kenneth over to them. “Five K. Nothing less.” She offered; her pitch, her score. Kenneth lifted his chin, backing up the tiny cop’s offer. A draw the two had been working towards, yet why did she feel like shit the instant the words left her lips?
The man hummed and hawed to the point Spencer shrugged her shoulders. “Let’s go.” She stated, turning on her heels before her arm was grabbed with a command to stop. A subtle grin up to her partner that dissipated as she turned back around. She was cute. Hard to reason or bargain with. She laid it out like it was, as she had done a million times before, yet it didn’t sit right with her. “Change of heart?” She asked, tilting her head to one side. “Now it’s six.” She added, the man quickly scrambling before she upped the price any further. Once he had six grand within his grasp, she held out her hand, waiting until the money had transferred hands. “Raid is set for 4. I’d probably be ready by 1. They like to shift their schedule about and come a few hours earlier to avoid corruption and tip offs. Pleasure doing business with you.” She slipped the money within her pocket, stepping alongside Kenneth towards the unmarked patrol. She nudged her elbow into his ribs, realizing what he had told her months before was becoming true. There was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Instant remorse, though she showed no signs of it. She worked in a completely corrupted department. Nearly every badge carried with it the sins that hers did. So she took the payout and interfered with the raid. There would be another one in just a few weeks’ time. The price for that would double. Eventually, she’d not be privy to the information and the raid would happen anyways. The department would ultimately lock them away and all this day would have been was a payoff for more time on the outside.
It was different than the self-protecting schemes she ran with her marriage to John. She was protecting herself as much as she was him in that manner. Both of them would see prison time, thus beating the system was necessary. And thus far, they had. It was different than when she was accepting payouts for medical expenses of her family. That was understandable, even to the most judgmental of eyes. This time, it couldn’t be blamed on protection or financial needs. It couldn’t be blamed on anything aside from her true self showing through. An act driven by a painful reminder of what broke looked like. Spencer wouldn’t be broke again. She wouldn’t lose it all again. If she was to take, it would be by choice, not necessity. Progress? Perhaps. She had been raised to plan for the future, but somehow she knew this wasn’t what her parents meant. Spencer had changed in the last several years. She was unrecognizable. She had pulled away from those who once mattered the most. She had ceased communication with people who had been the closest to her. When she did speak to them, those who knew her now would not recognize her as the switch flipped and she turned on the former Spencer Reese Dallas charm. Her accent would show itself. She’d use a sweeter tone. Which one was the real Spencer, she couldn’t say. She wasn’t sure if there was a solid answer to that anymore, yet as she unlocked the door to the apartment, she was coming face to face with who she was now.
John’s bike was not outside in his normal hiding place for it. She was fairly certain he was still at the club, but hadn’t heard from him that afternoon to be certain. As she unloaded her person of items to the counter top as she so often did, she slipped into the guest room that had been meant to be her room before she turned John’s world on an axis. Within a box in the corner of the room, where many of her personal effects were still stored, was the last of her bathroom items. Most of them had taken up residence in John’s bathroom, the daily items. But what laid within the bag in this box was anything but daily. There had been times that it had been a daily resource, but it hadn’t been reached for since she married John James. Withdrawing the small bag, she unzipped it, finding the contents just as she had left them. She took the bag from the room, laying it down on the end of the sofa as she entered into the bedroom she shared with her husband. A few minutes later, she would return in her ceremonial attire. A pair of yoga pants and a black sports bra, a stretchy black tank top overtop of the two. She made her way into the kitchen, lifting her knee to the countertop so that she could lift herself up onto the counter, reaching upwards to the shelf that housed the bottles of liquor.
Armed with the collection of items, she sat down against the sofa, withdrawing three shot glasses from the bag. Each one was placed against the coffee table, filled to the brim with the substance before her. As she stared at the glasses, she took a slow breath in through her nostrils. The first shot was brought to her lips, taking within her the full shot, swallowing it down as quickly as possible. The burn was strong, though she knew each shot after would go down a bit more smoothly. The second shot, the third. After all three shots were within her system, she reached for the bag once more, withdrawing a package of bandages, laying the box against her thigh. A small container of alcohol pads. The last item remaining within the bag was a small ziploc bag of blades. With a hard bite to her lower lip, she withdrew one blade from within. It had been so long since she last graced her flesh with the sharp edge of that blade, yet here she was again, staring at it as if it held within it the release she would need. Paying dues for that which she had done. Silent punishments that no one else would see. Leaning back against the sofa, she rested the blade against her opposite thigh.
Folding her tank top up over the sports bra beneath, baring her mid-section, she glanced down at the collection of scars against her ribs. Some molded into others, creating stronger lines. In some places, her skin had seemingly changed tone, a near continuous scar from previous takes. She could almost count them, marking every bribe she had accepted since the first. The proof laid against her flesh for all of the wrong she had done behind the badge of justice. Another dirty cop, yet this one with a conscience. Staring down at her own flesh, she had been sorry for each one of them. She had an addiction, be it to the take or the blade, she wasn’t yet sure. For years, it hadn’t been about the take or the cut that would follow. It had been about helping her father. It had been about doing what needed to be done. Yet this time, she lifted the shining blade from her thigh, holding it between her fingers, twisting it around, simply staring down at it. The release and freedom it would provide was comparable to nothing else. She needed this.
With a small hand, she reached for the bottle, bringing it to her lips, saying to hell with the shot glasses. They were holding her back. It would be nothing for John to arrive home and find her drunk. It was easily explained away with the line of work she was in. It was no different than her need to be controlled and possessed by the man. She needed to be out of control. She needed another in control. She needed John. The blade. The bottle. This stood no different. She needed to get outside of her own head as her thoughts were constantly contradictory. With the bottle in one hand, the blade was found in her other. She leaned back against the back of the sofa again, finally bringing the corner of the blade to her flesh. The sharp tip pressed against her flesh, forming a puncture in one of the few completely unscarred places against her side. At one time, she had favored her right side. Now she was at her left. Only a few other marks were etched there, this one spaced closely to the last. She had realized rather quickly that she’d have to do this in a certain manner if she was to continue. The scar to the lower right side had nearly faded completely from the first take years before, lightening a little more every day. By the time she got there again, it might just be gone completely. At the lower side of her ribcage, she made the puncture. “F<font>uckkk</font>.” She whined as she tugged her lower lip between her teeth, closing her eyes, wincing at the piercing. Dragging the blade against formerly perfect flesh, she applied pressure, forcing the blade to slice through the top layers of her flesh until she could withstand no more. Dragging the blade across, the incision was made, blood instantly forming at the initial puncture spot, a stream developing there against her flesh, slowed by the alteration of gravity. She had a process. She had become far too good at doing this to herself, defacing her body, paying her penance After a two and a half inch gash was made, she laid the blade against her taut stomach, remaining in the laid back position as she ceremoniously watched the stream of blood as payment.
The burn was intense. Her side throbbed as the tissue beneath became swollen with irritation. A natural immune reaction as her vessels continued to pump her blood, through the opening, to collect in a crimson stream down her side. It would be several minutes before this feeling would subside, though she wished it could last longer. In the meantime, she took to the bottle again. Drinking the substance as if it were water, she finished off the formerly half full bottle. There was no longer a burn within her throat, as predicted. As the red stream of blood trailed just down from the incision, her tears welled within her eyes, the release so blissful it expelled from her eyes in the form of tears. Within just a few minutes, she was lowering the bottle to the coffee table, careful not to allow the blood to trail to the three month old furniture she sat upon. Her sins paid for. The release felt and passing as her blood formed a loose clot over the cut. An alcohol pad was withdrawn from the bag at her side, ripped open by her teeth, tending to the stream of blood down her side. Another reached for and opened in the same manner, again tending to the residual trail left behind. The alcohol pad was left to rest against her stomach beside the blade, eventually to be used to finish cleaning up beneath where the blade laid. Opening the box of bandages at her thigh, she withdrew a package, opening it. The trash laid upon the sofa beside her as the 4x3 bandage was pulled from its flimsy backing. With careful fingers, she placed it against her side, encompassing the gash at her side. As she placed it firmly in place, the door of the apartment, directly to her side of where she sat, opened at John’s control.
There was no time for cleaning up her mess. There was no time for anything. Instead, she only had the time to turn her head, meeting his eyes from the sofa with her own tear stained eyes. A bandage at her side. A blade at her stomach. A stain of her own blood beneath the blade. The alcohol had given her the bravery to inflict the wound, yet she felt instantly sober when seeing the man enter the apartment. She did not attempt to scramble, he knew of the scars. Surely he knew they were put there by her own hand. Yet how long ago had they been? In his eyes, they could have been the outlet of a depressed prom queen who took to her own skin to feel. They could have been from years past, but this solitary moment would prove these were not the outcries of a teenager, but of a young woman paying her dues. With the subject never breeched before, she wasn’t sure she wanted to enter into it this way. She always knew that maybe one day they would speak on it, but now? Now she internally reprimanded herself for being so stupid as to do it when John could enter at any time. Why had she not done so in her car or the locked bathroom that night post intimacy when she wouldn’t have been caught with a bandage at her side? Instead, she was caught red-handed, quite literally.
“John…” a name but a whisper at her lips. A gasp of air drawn in after the one syllable name. Emotional was weak and she knew she spent enough time appearing weak before him, yet the shame painted across her features spoke volumes. John wouldn’t be familiar with this self-loathing ritual at the hand of his wife, nor would she know how to react to his first observation of it. This would stand to be the only observation that had ever occurred since her dirty habit began years before in Texas. Instead, she was frozen in place. The liberation and retribution she had felt moments before was now replaced with deep rooted disgrace for that which she had done. The relief not enough to cover for the guilt that she would now be stricken with. She could make no attempt to move as she remained in her prior position, leaned back against the sofa, items strewn about her as her hand remained pressed at the bandage at her side. A long moment of her eyes locked to his before her head hung in disgust at the situation at hand. She couldn’t begin to explain it away, as she knew to anyone else her reasons would sound unreasonable. The tough little cop, On the Take, corrupt, had a dirty little secret that flawed herself in the reckoning of her sins. Though in this moment, she felt remorse for the actions after the take, the remorse of the payout, all culminating into the loss painted all over the young woman before him.
