A Thin Line Between Love and Hate

“So you are not going to do anything?” I was slowly getting more pissed by the minute. Here I was trying to lodge a formal complaint against my stalker ex-boyfriend, and this guy was staring me down like I had two foreheads or something.

“Ms. Thomas,” I don’t see anything that he has done. Maybe called you a few too many times, but that is no different than a telemarketer. I need to see a history of threatening behavior or some indication of your life being in danger.” This is the response from the desk sergeant who is taking my statement. This guy looks about nine months pregnant, with twins, teeth badly stained from cigarettes and years of coffee drinking, and looks like the type of man who hasn’t had a woman since Clinton was in office, the first term. For guys like him, women are probably only good enough for the few moments of pleasure that he can muster up, which is why he is not taking me seriously.

“So I am supposed to wait until he actually kills me, and then have my ghost come down to the station and apply for a restraining order?” I massaged my throbbing temples to try to diffuse the headache that was creeping up and also to keep myself from reaching across the desk and wrapping that much too short tie, around his fat, almost nonexistent neck.

“Don’t think we are not taking you seriously Ms. Thomas. Just keep documenting your interactions with…