Page 102 of Cuffed By Your Love
Her head lifted, eyes locking on mine. That look, the one that always stripped me raw, had my throat working overtime.
“Elias…” she whispered.
I smirked, but it cracked at the edges. “Don’t get it twisted. I ain’t out here being poetic. I’m deadass. You make me wanna be softer than I thought I could ever be. And that scares the shit outta me ’cause once a man like me gets soft, he doesn’t survive long.”
She slid her hand over my beard, thumb brushing slowly across my jaw. “Or maybe,” she said, voice steady, “once a man like you lets himself be soft, he finally gets to live, baby.”
My chest damn near caved. I kissed her palm, lingering, tasting salt and skin. “Leave it to you to flip my whole head around in one sentence.”
Her laugh was quiet, but it filled the room. “It’s ’cause you let me. And I’m not letting go, Detective Fine Shyt. You’re stuck with me.”
I chuckled, pulling her closer so she couldn’t see the burn in my eyes. “Stuck. Trapped. Handcuffed. Guess I can live with that.”
Her grin curved upward, sexy. “Good. Now hush and let me show you what happens when a deputy takes charge after hours.”
I didn’t even realizeI was holding my breath until the door to Dr. Scott’s office closed behind me.
Her space smelled like sandalwood and peace, that rich, earthy warmth that clung to the air like a hug from somebody’s favorite auntie. There were books everywhere, floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with Black authors, mental health journals, and poetry anthologies. She had a quote painted across one wall in bold golden script:You can’t heal what you won’t reveal.
Dr. Scott stood when I walked in, a regal Black woman with rich, brown skin, waist-length sisterlocs pulled into a bun, and eyes that looked like they’d seen generations. She didn’t smile like a therapist; she smiled like kin.
“Jonay Jacobson,” she greeted, offering a hand before gently wrapping me in a hug. “You have been carrying too much for too long. We are going to dive into that, baby.”
Damn. I wanted to sob right then.
We sat down. I curled up on the burnt-orange loveseat like a child in timeout. My hands wouldn’t stay still. My voice was somewhere stuck between my throat and my trauma.
Dr. Scott didn’t rush. She didn’t prod. She poured.
“What you survived was not your fault. Let me say that again. What he did to you isn’t a reflection of your worth. And the guilt you feel about surviving? About still being soft in a world that tried to harden you? That’s grief masquerading as shame.”
I sat there, stunned.
She handed me a small stone from the tray on her desk. “Smooth that over in your palm every time a lie tries to rise up. This is your grounding rock. You get to take it with you.”
I rolled the cool stone between my fingers and whispered, “Thank you.”
“This first session isn’t about fixing everything. It’s about telling your truth out loud. When you’re ready, we will go deeper. But today, I just want you to name what hurts.”
The floodgates opened.
I told her about Kam. About the betrayal. The mental exhaustion. The way my body still flinched when shadows moved too fast. The guilt that gnawed at me for involving Elias and EJ in my chaos. And that quiet little voice inside me that whispered I didn’t deserve this kind of love.
She let me cry. Let me rage. Let me pause.
And when I was quiet, she leaned forward and said, “Your softness is not a liability, Jonay. It’s your superpower. And we’re going to sharpen that softness into a sword.”
When it was time for my second session, I walked in lighter. Not healed. Not whole. But lighter.
Last time, I went in dragging chains. This time, I walked slower, heavier but more intentionally, like the load was still there, but I’d decided not to let it bury me alive.
Her space was unchanged: sandalwood in the air, golden goddess steady on the wall, books stacked like testimonies. But I was different.
She handed me a mug of chamomile tea and nodded to the stack of affirmation cards. “Pull one before we start.”
I shuffled and picked one at random. The words broke me open all over again.I release what does not belong to me.
It felt like the universe was clowning me.
