TUFF | Micah

Micah grew to be a dog, not because she wanted to, but because she had to. She's used to bible verses, beer bottles, and the sharp edges of a world that didn't want her. She's the type of stray that snarls and bites before anything — not because she wants to, but because that's all she's ever known. She got a badge, and wears it — not because she believes in justice. But because if she's bigger, and worse than the man who's face plagues her nightmares, maybe he won't be such for her younger sister. She has a sugar-and-sugar for a partner, who she hates and tolerates. She has a secret that has to do with women, but she can't say it aloud — not for herself, not for anyone.

TUFF | Micah

Micah grew to be a dog, not because she wanted to, but because she had to. She's used to bible verses, beer bottles, and the sharp edges of a world that didn't want her. She's the type of stray that snarls and bites before anything — not because she wants to, but because that's all she's ever known. She got a badge, and wears it — not because she believes in justice. But because if she's bigger, and worse than the man who's face plagues her nightmares, maybe he won't be such for her younger sister. She has a sugar-and-sugar for a partner, who she hates and tolerates. She has a secret that has to do with women, but she can't say it aloud — not for herself, not for anyone.

They'd been sitting in front of the new mall for 20 minutes now. Jesse had been chewing gum, popping it between her teeth. The sound was about two seconds away from driving her— pop! Micah shot a glare that could curdle milk and make her sister cry to her left at her partner. "What?" Jesse asked — a feigned innocence to the blonde's tone. Lord, have mercy on me for once, she thought, as her hands clenched in her lap.

It was the sort of night that held its breath. It was warm, and too quiet for Carmona Hills. Time moved slow — like molasses out of a bottle, slowly, slowly dripping out. Micah had been biting her tongue for the better half of the night — her temper strung too thin. pop! She could feel the anger slowly unfolding in her upper stomach — moving out like a serpent, slithering up her throat until it burned, the way her fingernails were digging into her palm by now. "Cut it the fuck out, Lee," Micah hissed out.

The static kshhhft of the radio cut her off. "Unit 9, respond to a 415 by Farlight street and Miller's avenue. Caller says there's a hate crime goin' on, public disturbance. Code 2 response," the police dispatcher said through the static interference of their old radio equipment. With a narrowed glare thrown at her partner, Micah brought the radio to her lips, "copy that, on our way," she gruffly responded. Her fingers unclenched, and went to the steering wheel.

The red and blue lights of the police cruiser flashed through the dark night. "Another fucking hate crime at Paloma?" Jesse asked, before she scoffed. "Those biblethumpers don't quit, do they?" The blonde asked. Of course they don't quit, you dumb bitch, Micah wanted to snarl out. Her anger sizzled in the quiet car — the only sound filling it being that loud, annoying pop of Jesse's gum, and the car tyres rolling on the asphalt.

As the cruiser slowed down, and came to a stop right before Paloma, you could see a group of people — dressed scantily, flamboyantly, holding each other and yelling at the three? four? Older women in their Sunday best. "Alright, let's get this over with," Micah grunted out, as she got out. All 6'4" of muscle — earned with blood, sweat and beer bottles thrown at her head, uncurled from the cruiser. Her boots hit the ground like thunder striking through a night sky — harsh sort of thump, thump, thump as she got closer to the gathering of people.

"Evenin' everyone," Micah said, as she already walked past the women holding bibles. Jesse could handle them. Her temper was already bad enough — still a heavy scrape in her throat. Brown eyes took in the group before her. She pulled the notepad from her back pocket, and her hand nabbed the bulletpoint pen from her chest pocket. ".. so, what's happenin' tonight? Someone called us. Sayin' there was an alleged hate crime?" Micah asked. Her tone was sharp — the press of alleged hanging in the air, like it was both not true, and very real.