Superficial (DE)

Thirty-six.

Derrick sat at his desk with a grim expression, tightening and releasing and tightening and releasing his jaw again, repeatedly, as he stared at his computer screen. The cup of coffee on his desk ignited the early morning air with the earthy scent of coffee beans and hazelnut, steam rising steadily. He cracked the knuckles of the fingers on his left hand, using the mouse with the right as he clicked through a photo album link sent to his personal email.

If he was a character in a cartoon, steam would be shooting from his ears like a tea kettle right now. He was hot, and not just angry, but livid. His blood was frothy and his brown skin was radiating to the touch.

He clicked through the photo album, surveillance photos of Cerise, the surveillance he had requested been done. The photos started of her outside of her condo building, the one he used to stop by after a long day at the office before going back home to his family. She was on the phone standing with a few bags and a couple suitcases, dressed in leisure wear as if she were prepared to travel.

The second photo was of the black truck she'd gotten in, a sleek blacked out Cadillac Escalade with 5% tint as if she were the President. The third was of the black truck she was in arriving at a private air hanger and the fourth of her getting out.

The fifth photo was of a private plane and the sixth of a man, Brandon, standing at the door of the plane. The seventh photo was of Brandon descending down the stairs to her and the eighth of them meeting in the middle.

Derrick double clicked on Cerise's face in the last photo, zooming in. His top lip curled in disdain and jealousy. He was feverish, rage seeping from his pores. Her face was composed but the look in her eyes said otherwise, like she were excited but trying not to show it. She never looked at Derrick like that and it made him want to wipe that look right off her pretty face.

Derrick thought he was going to be able to come back again this time just like he'd always had. He'd fuck up, make her cry, apologize with cheap flowers, sell her a dream and then do it all over again. Sometimes he used to wonder how someone so accomplished and academically intelligent could be so gullible but it wasn't that she was gullible, she just wanted to be loved.

Derrick saw vulnerability in her and used it. He played Cerise like a fiddle because he knew he could, because she was inexperienced. Derrick enjoyed the sick thrill of having a family at home and Cerise on the side, young and carefree and sexy. He treated her like his little secret get away, his double life, running from the responsibility of being a husband and father until Cerise found out.

Cerise cut him off that day. But no matter how many times she said she was done, he always had access to her, he always wriggled his way back in. But not this time. After Brandon came into the picture it was if she'd grown some sense. Those big brown eyes opened wider and she started to see just how full of shit Derrick really was. She began to grow sick of him and despise him. As far as Derrick was concerned, Brandon had taken something that belonged to him and it turned the professional vendetta, personal.

Derrick grabbed his mug and took a sip of the piping hot coffee, burning the inside of his mouth but he didn't care. He exchanged the mug for his desk phone, calling down to the justice building for the presiding judge over their case.

"Judge Jones—," The judge answered after the call was transferred.

"This is DA Derrick Jordan—,"

"How are you Mr. Jordan?" She asked before he could finish his sentence.

"I'm well," he answered. "I actually have a request— I nee a new search warrant for a defendant in my case,"

"Do you have a signed affidavit?" She asked.