The badge is an honor. A privilege. A symbol of duty, of service, and of sacrifice. He wears it on his chest, over his heart, the light glancing off the silver sheriff’s star regardless of his angle, damning him no matter where he turns.
He remembers putting it on for the first time, the way it had seemed to force his shoulders back and square, like a stern hand pressing against his chest and guiding him toward something he’s not and could never be.
It jabs one blunt finger into his flesh and tells him he’ll never live up to the Sheriff’s expectations because he’s a fucking fraud, only wearing the badge and uniform for the badge-bunnies and free pussy. Chicks dig a uniform, how’s that for protect and fucking serve?
There are days when Staci Pratt just wants to kick down the Sheriff’s door and scream, “why the fuck am I here? I’m not fucking qualified for this shit! I didn’t even finish college!”
Had a full ride to fucking Vanderbilt for baseball and went for two whole semesters before dropping out. Couldn’t cut it. Too much pressure, too much work, just too much. He moved back home with his mom, who’d just shook her head and told him he was always too smart for his own damn good, and became a fucking cop as if that wouldn’t be everything that college had been and more.
Too much.
Too much to ask for a quiet county to stay quiet. Too much to hope he’d never have to draw his weapon on another human being. Too much to think that he’d never have to do his fucking job.
Should have stayed in college. Should have just picked liberal arts for his major and played baseball until he went pro. Could have done it, too. He’d had a few scouters sniffing around the games, asking the coaches who the hayseed was who swung a bat like a hall of famer and ran like a racehorse. But oh no, he’d had this stupid idea that pre-law would be fucking fun. A nice fallback in case he didn’t make it, that way he could take care of his mother and bang all the court groupies he wanted.
It wasn’t even like he wasn’t smart enough to do it. He’d never had much motivation to start with, had always thought that if something was hard he could just drop it and move on; skate through on the bare minimum and a winning smile. But skating through had only earned him academic probation and a season-long suspension from the team. No team, no tuition, so he’d just said “fuck it” and went home.
He should have went to the community college in Missoula, but he never did quite get around to it. The Sheriff’s Office had been hiring, so Staci had once again said “fuck it” and submitted an application. The day he signed his contract and received his badge, gun, and uniform was the same day an actual fucking cult rolled into the county like they owned it and set up shop.
Signed his fucking death warrant, but hell, maybe he deserved it. What he gets for doing something stupid like becoming a deputy sheriff just to get lucky and avoid school.
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