With each 988 call, I swear I get more swole.

Right now, the person beneath me is trying to shimmy up and down like a pig taking a roll in the mud. With all the tossing and turning, they might slip out of my chain-linked arms like butter. Good thing I have my needle.

With a click, the piercing sting of my hair-thin needle slips in between the folds of the man’s skin. Slowly, his tomato-red face begins to drain out to his normal color. For a 50-year-old man, this dude can kick some butt. He flops over my shoulder as his eyelids begin to droop.

Another person saved.

“There, there. We’ll get you taken care of, okay?” I say, as the paramedics take him off me and place him on the stretcher.

“Nice job as always, Winston.”

Ah, I’d know that sarcastic southern drawl anywhere. I turn to see my partner, the officer, Stephan Barry.

You could practically mistake his head for a bowling ball with how shiny it is. I think it’s stress that took his hair, not the fact he’s in his forties. And of course, give him some donuts and he could be the mascot for police officers everywhere.

Well, police officers may need one with the way people are trashing them. In fact, I can feel the "friendliest" gaze from the family I just helped directed at Stephan. He notices, but doesn’t care.

I chuckle. “All in a day’s work.”

The ambulance flashes its light like it’s trying to send Morse code to us as it drives away down the street. The family comes towards me with hugs and words of kindness, but not for Stephan. I can’t say I don’t understand, with all the controversy surrounding police officers at the moment.

That’s where we come in. Mental health officers.

We’re trained to de-escalate, and not use deadly force. Call 988, and we’ll be on the way. We’re trained in psychology and we seek the best solution for each person we help. Not to dunk on police officers, but we have next to zero deaths compared to police officers. And the people we help have a higher chance of coming out alive, which is a bonus, too.

In light of all the controversies, it’s no wonder mental health officers were created as a profession. And that’s where I come in.

I’m the yin to Stephan’s yang. All mental health officers are the yin to police officers' yang. If things get too difficult or violent, the police officer can use lethal force. Of course, we never let it get to that.

Once the family has finished showering me with praises, Stephan and I go back to the car. I can see from the corner of my eye how Stephan has practically chained his jaw shut.

I sigh. Okay. Turning my therapist mode on.

“You don’t have to be upset at the family for ignoring you. It’s just with all the incidents involving police—” I start to say.

Stephan lets out a snort. “That kind of mentality is stupid," he says. "A society will always need law and order. Society will always need someone to enforce the law. Police officers aren’t going anywhere.”

Oh, goodie. Here we go again.

“Yes, society needs someone to enforce the law," I say. "But maybe the way police officers went about enforcing the law created this antagonism—”

I nearly fly out of my seat as Stephan brakes. I swear my heart nearly flew out of my chest, too. I glare at Stephan from the side of my eye. He’s cool as a cucumber.

“You need to understand, kid. There are just some people who will not be helped by anyone. And you need to recognize that,” Stephan mutters, driving once the light turns green.

I keep my mouth shut because I know this conversation will just go around in circles if I let it.

I’m not a kid. I’m twenty years old. And I know, deep in my soul, everyone has something in them that can be helped. We were all born without judgement. Who are we to say who can and cannot be saved?

“Please come to this address, we need help, qui—”

The voice fizzes out like a shaken soda. We just finished our rounds at this house, and now a distress call?

Stephan plugs in the coordinates of the address. I look it up. A café? That’s a new one.

Stephan practically does a fast marathon, enough to challenge Usain Bolt for his title. In a matter of seconds, we’re already there. Stephan has his gun holstered, and I have mine. Not that I need it, it’s just for show for me. Mental health officers rarely use our guns.

Stephan and I open the door and step in. I try to keep a poker face, but I can’t.

Dozens of men and women sit beneath their tables, trembling like leaves in the wind. In the middle of the café is a man. He's scrawny, like a starving rat craving for flesh. His beard takes up half of his face, allowing us to only make out his mouth.

In his hand? A gun.

He snarls when he sees us. Stephan puts his hand on his holster, but I smack it away. I shake my head at him. That could just anger the man. I turn back to the shooter with the friendliest smile I can muster.

“Hey. We’re here to help, okay? We’re here to listen," I say. "My name is Winston and this is my partner, Stephan. We’re not going to hurt you. We just want to make sure you and everyone here are safe. What’s your name?”

I keep a level tone. He needs to be comfortable with us in order for him to trust us. The man gives a hearty chuckle and swings his gun in an infinity symbol around the room. Stephan tenses. My heart nearly shatters on the floor.

“Joey. But why does it matter? We’re all going to die here together! We’re all going down!” he hisses through his teeth.

I inch closer. Joey tenses.

“We don’t have to die together. We can all leave together. Safe and sound. I know this isn’t you," I tell him. "I know you want people to recognize your pain. I do. I see your pain, and I can see you’re hurting. Let the other people go and take me, okay?” My voice wobbles in the middle.

I can’t mess this up. So many lives are on the line. Stephan is ready to shoot the guy dead, but I can’t let him. I know this guy can be saved. I know he can come back from this. I’ve seen so many people make a comeback. I know he’s one of them.

I look him in the eye. “Please, Joey. Please let them go.”

Joey holds my gaze for a moment. Then looks down at the floor. And then—

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The world seems to go into slow motion. Three bullets ricochet into civilians’ backs as they scream. Some bodies instantly turn lifeless.

All the color is sucked from my vision. In the next moments, I’m not in control. Someone else is. My hand grabs my gun from its holster and—

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Three tiny little bullets hit Joey. The gun flies out of his hand and smashes down on the floor.

I did that. I just killed someone.

The rest of the civilians get up and they’re cheering. But I can’t say the same for myself. I took a life that had promise. That could have been better. Someone squeezes my shoulder.

Stephan. He purses his lips before speaking. “I know this is hard. But sometimes in life, no matter what you do, blood will be shed. That’s life, kid. No matter what choice you make, even the right ones.”

I can’t talk back. My voice is trapped inside my throat, a prisoner.

But when I look forward, I see a jarring light poking at my eyes. The cloak of darkness over me has now been lifted, bringing me out of the cave that trapped me.

Now, I can see. But the light feels like blazing fires, and now I know I can never go back.