Chapter 2

Cassandra

Seven years later...

"Tarra, we have to go!" I yell, knocking on the door of our shared bathroom.

I hear the click of the lock and Tarra opens the door. "Alright, alright. I'm ready, let's go." She says with a big grin, her right hand resting on her hip while her left-hand grasps the doorknob.

She steps out of the bathroom in a cute, white, patterned chiffon dress that rests just at her mid-thigh, brown wedges, a brown belt around her tiny waist, and a denim jacket to complete the look. Her hair falls to the middle of her back in loose waves.

"How do I look?" She asks me, a small smile pulls at her lips as she spins on her heel.

We finally start to leave and I grab my keys from the key rack that hangs just to the right of our front door to our apartment.

"Good, as always. Now can we go?" I grunt, frustrated with the lack of time we have left and her procrastination.

"Oh, wait, Cassandra! I almost forgot something!" Tarra yells out and I refrain from groaning.

Instead, I roll my eyes and exhale in frustration, looking at my watch. Twenty minutes left to get to my graduation. I cross my arms and start tapping my foot as I watch Tarra scurry down our hallway and turn left into her bedroom.

My eyes drag over our small, thin-walled apartment where pictures of our family litter the gray paint. After skimming over the pictures of our parents, smiling and happy, my eyes land on the round wooden dining table that rests in our dining room. It is the one piece of furniture Tarra and I kept from Dad's estate.

I glide my finger over the small scratch that is on one end of the table, and close my eyes, remembering the day Dad made it. He had been in a hurry to get to work. He had finished drinking his cup of coffee and went to pick up his gun holster, dragged it along the freshly waxed tabletop, and left a mark.

"Fuck, not my favorite table," he had muttered.

Tarra and I never bothered to repair it since this small scratch holds a memory of him.

Moments later, she emerges from the dimly lit hallway, holding something wrapped in what looks like Christmas wrapping paper that is probably leftovers from last year.

"You ready?" I scowl, arching my brow and removing my finger from the table.

"Yes. Now you can stop rolling your eyes behind my back, Sis."

"What's with the present?" I gesture to the reindeer decorated papered gift that rests on my sister's lap. I glance at the time on the dash and press on the gas a little more.

The harsh Arizona sunlight was beaming through my windshield, warming my fingers that are on the steering wheel. The humidity drapes the atmosphere and I already feel myself sweating. I turn up the air conditioning to help the sweat and to keep from feeling sticky. Then again, I could be sweating from the nerves. They have been going haywire all morning.

"You do realize that after today you'll be a cop right? So no more speeding, Missy." Tarra mocks, pointing her accusing finger at me, and I stifle a laugh.

"Anyways, this thing here-," she says, lifting the box and giving it a small shake, "is for you. But you have to wait until after the ceremony to open it."

I exhale dramatically. "You know I hate waiting. Can't I get a hint?" I giggle as I turn into an empty space, parking my black Toyota Tacoma.

This truck has become my baby. After busting my ass to buy myself a vehicle, I almost went with a small car, but then my eyes set on this beauty. I call her Darth Vader. I like to say I got her because I can do more with it in the desert, but in reality, I think I got this truck because of how big it is. I was always made to feel small in school, and in this beast, I feel on top. It brings me a sense of comfort each time I drive it.

Tarra puts on a mischievous grin and shakes her head. "Nope, nope, nope. Must wait, you shall. Impatient, you are." She laughs, impersonating one of the characters from my favorite movie series.

Star Wars, of course.

I shake my head, laughing as I hop out of my truck and make Cassandra the rear to meet Tarra.

She struggles to hop out, her dress lifting up from sliding amongst the chair and revealing her underwear, or lack thereof. I start laughing as she quickly fixes herself with a grunt.

"I don't know why you insisted on having to take your damn truck instead of my car. Mine is much more accommodating. I practically need heels to get into your truck."

I arch my brow, giggling when I say, "Well in my case, I need a ladder." My hand raises and I point my index finger down towards my head, "Hello, five-two over here."

We both laugh and she puts her hand out to straighten my tie. "So, you ready to do this or what, Sissy?"

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and nod.

It's time.

My heart races as I sit with all of my fellow cadets, waiting to receive our badges. All twenty of us are exhilarated by our new sense of purpose and accomplishment. This badge symbolizes all of the blood, sweat, and tears that we have had to endure. The honor of wearing and receiving one means we made it, after months of pushing ourselves constantly, we made it.

Never did I think I'd be sitting here, about to receive a badge and become a patrol officer like my father had once been. I certainly never thought I'd get pepper-sprayed one day or tasered for that matter, but that's something we had to do in order to carry a firearm and to know how to properly use it if the situation should ever occur. Luckily, I already had plenty of firearm experience, thanks to my dad. Sure, at eleven years old, it wasn't every little girl's dream to learn to shoot clay pigeon targets, but I enjoyed the experience.

Just like every cadet's face I see in the crowd, I imagine mine wears the same accomplished expression. I have earned this. Ever since that dreadful day of my freshman year in high school, I worked hard and never gave up. I made a promise to myself that day when I sat in absolute solitude.

Physically, I cried. I cried so much that it literally shook my core. Always my protector, Tarra had brought me home and I drank hot tea to sulk my sorrows. For days I didn't eat or talk. At first, my dad feared I was on drugs until Tarra and I explained what happened to me and why I was like the walking dead.

I remember how it felt to have my heart shattered publicly and having the ground beneath me cave in, sucking me whole. I thought death would feel better than how my peers made me feel.

Once my tears stilled and my body felt beaten down, suddenly, the fighter within me came out. That girl, heartbroken by her evil crush and his cruelty, promised to never cry in front of those people again. I promised myself to be a better me, and only for me. My focus shifted so I could move on and live my life under my direction, and so, I have.

My chest fills with a deep breath, I exhale and rub my slightly sweaty palms against the velvety smoothness of my uniform pants when I realize that I'm next. With the thundering ovation roaring in the auditorium, each cadet stands with pride, and tingles of nerves inside me spike, causing the small hairs on the nape of my neck to lift.

I have to give a speech... in front of all these people.

I bite my lower lip and glance at everyone sitting out in the audience. My fellow cadets all anxiously waiting to be called upon to earn their badges. I'd much rather be sitting with them than up here on the stage.

"Without further ado, I now introduce Cadet Porsse, who graduates today at the top of her class." Our instructor boasts over the microphone, my nerves rise even higher.

Each step matches the loud thud of my heartbeat as I walk up to the podium and pull the microphone down so that my short ass can be heard. My right-hand my left wrist as I scan the sea of people before me. I really only know the cadets I graduate with today that live out of town, with their families filling all of the remaining seats. There are two people I wish could be found within the crowd. Oh, how I miss my parents and hope that right now they are looking down on me with a proud smile.

I am grateful my sister is here for me, being supportive of me as always. My eyes land on her as her big, goofy smile widens. Somehow she got a seat up upfront though we weren't early enough for her to get a seat like that.

Power of persuasion, that one.

With a slight lean sideways, I subtly clear my throat away from the microphone, and my lips part to speak. My hands, still damp from nerves, hold the same position and my eyes analyze everyone. Instead of looking into waiting eyes, I fixate on the audience's eyebrows. That public speaking trick gives off the illusion that I am looking directly at them and am capable of delivering this speech.

"Today we leave behind the title of the cadet to wear the title of a police officer. What we must remember though, is what comes with this title. You may have situations where you will need to protect, to bleed, to fight, and yes, unfortunately, maybe even die for someone that isn't exactly grateful."

I watch as all of the cadets, including the instructors, nod their heads in agreement.

"We as cops, are never officially off duty. We will constantly be looking over our shoulders, checking our six because that is how we were trained, how we survive. There are people out there who will tell you they don't like you because of the piece of metal that we will now carry, our badges...our shields. But, we should be proud of it. Be proud of what you have accomplished and what we stand for. We are police, the thin blue line, standing between good and evil, and protecting the victims."

"Never let anyone put you down, or make you feel that you simply can't achieve anything in life. Take me for example. I was known as the fatty in school, suffering from an eating disorder, and weighing two-hundred and fifty pounds. Granted, my height never budged, but after being bullied, I stopped being a victim. I lost a hundred and forty pounds and now weigh one-ten today." The crowd starts clapping, which I acknowledge with a smile but put out my hand to quiet them down so that I can finish.

"I'll end my speech with this. There are five things you can't recover in life. One, an oath after it's said. Two, an occasion after it's missed. Three, time after it's gone. Four, trust after it's lost. And lastly, a life once it's stolen. Live this life every day as if it was your last. Love the career you've chosen and don't become complacent."

"Be the heroes I know you can be. Congratulations my brothers and sisters, we did it!"

After the ceremony is over, I rush out to find Tarra with my badge in hand. Excitement, honor, and accomplishment pour out of me as I grasp onto the piece of metal that I received. My finger grazes over my last name that has been engraved.

"Well, Dad, there is officially another Officer Porsse in the world," I say to myself.

I spot Tarra and wave my badge in the air. "Can I have my present now?" I shamefully beg her, my lips pouty.

Her hazel eyes flash knowingly. "Uhm, can I get a hug first, Officer?"

We both smile at each other and she pulls me in for a tight hug.

She sniffles and whispers in my ear, "Dad would be so proud of you. Mom too."

She pulls back from the hug, keeping both hands on my shoulders to meet my eyes. I don't cry in front of anyone, including my sister. Even though our parents are always a touchy subject, I battle back the tears until I'm alone. Dad died two years ago after being shot while on duty.

He's why I wear this badge today. Why I made the choice to try and save lives as he did.

Tarra reaches in her purse, pulls out the same reindeer wrapped gift she had this morning, and hands it to me.

"You may open it now, Officer." She giggles, brings both hands together and touches her lips.

"You don't need to call me that every time, Tarra." I snort. "Only when I'm pulling you over in that box on wheels you call a car."

I observe my sister as she rolls her eyes and folds her arms over her chest. "Just open the gift already."

A laugh escapes my mouth as I tear the decorative paper apart and reveal a small box.

I hope this isn't one of those pranks where it has several smaller boxes within this one.

She got me on that last year. I pull back the tape, open the flaps of the box, and lift the beautiful watch up.

The watch's silver flashes in the sunlight against the black face of the clock. A thin blue line, which represents the thin line Officers face daily between life and death, crosses the face, along with the small quote, 'Heroes don't wear capes, they wear police uniforms' in white lettering. I flip it over and run my index finger over the back of the watch, where the words say, 'Love, Tarra, and Daddy' are engraved. The message fills my heart full as soon as my eyes pass over the words.

"He said he knew you were going to be here one day. He was right."

"I love you, Tarra. This means the world to me." My voice cracks and I look down, my eyelids rapidly blinking to prevent the tears from spilling out.

As I begin to fasten the watch around my wrist, she says, "I love you too, Sissy."

To anyone outside our little family unit, it may appear silly that we still call each other Sissy. But, given what has happened in our family, it's nice to have some consistency.

My gaze looks up to hers and my lips pull into an awkward smile. Without saying the words I already know are in her thoughts, how she knows I'm battling my own tears, one falls from each of her eyes.

"How about a beer? I think we need to celebrate." She offers, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yes, please," I immediately answer with a loud sigh of relief.

A cold one is much needed.