Page 11 of Cuffed By Your Love
In that moment, I felt like a mixtape of contradictions: faithful but furious, exhausted but restless, empty but heavy, beautiful but battered. I looked up at the sky as if maybe God would blink back at me.
“Why?” I whispered. Not just at Him, but also at the world. At Kam. At Taleah. At myself.
Why did I let myself believe love had to come with bruises, just because they weren’t always on the skin? Why did I keep ignoring the gut feeling in my spirit that told me something was off? Why did I stay? Why did he do me like that?
I didn’t have answers. I just had pain, and it was loud.
I finally stood, shaky but upright, and wiped my face with the sleeve of my hoodie. My lashes were nearly hanging on for dear life, and I didn’t care. I didn’t feel stronger yet, but I felt lighter, like grief had peeled off one layer. And that was going to have to be enough… for today.
My eyes were still rimmed in red, a tender ache that burned with every blink. My nose stung from the rough scrape of my hoodie sleeve because I’d rubbed against it so many times it felt raw enough to bleed. My soul felt wrung out, twisted until nothingwas left but damp scraps, hung on some invisible clothesline for the world to mock, then stomped flat by muddy boots that didn’t care what they destroyed.
Still, I walked back into Self Ridge Memorial like I hadn’t been split in half, like I wasn’t unraveling thread by thread on the inside. That’s what people say, right?Fake it till you make it.
The problem was, I didn’t have the energy to fake anything. My chest was heavy, my heart sagging low like a half-deflated balloon clinging to the corners of my ribcage, wheezing with each breath. Every inhale squeaked against my lungs; every exhale felt like surrender.
I kept my head up, though, forcing my body forward past the nurse’s station. The receptionist gave me a polite nod. I nodded back, like we were two actors trading lines neither of us believed. I rounded the corner, bracing myself for the weight of memory waiting behind the next door, only to stop cold.
Elias.
He was there again, leaning against the wall like it had invited him. He didn’t just stand there; he shifted the whole atmosphere. The sterile hallway didn’t feel as harsh with him in it. His presence was gravity, pulling me toward him without asking permission.
His signature black T-shirt was stretched across his chest, badge clipped low on his waistband, and jeans hugging his thighs like both a threat and a promise. His beard was lined to perfection—sharp, precise—with not one hair out of place. And even from a few feet away, I caught the faint scent of sandalwood and something deeper, something steadier, something that whispered of second chances I wasn’t sure I deserved.
When his eyes found me, his face softened. Just like that, his edges melted into warmth, which slid over me like butter melting into cornbread, no effort, just pure comfort. It wasn’tpity. It wasn’t pressure. It wasI see you,and for a split second, I almost crumbled from the relief of it.
“You good?” he asked, stepping forward a little, just enough to make me feel seen, but not trapped. The way he carried himself made it clear; he wasn’t trying to corner me. He was offering space I didn’t even know I needed.
My feet stalled. My body betrayed me, too unsure to keep moving. “I’m getting there,” I muttered, tugging my hoodie sleeve down over my hand like fabric could erase the shame still clinging to my fingertips.
His eyes studied me gently, and Lord, that gaze was dangerous. Not nosy. Not judgmental. Just observant, as if he were cataloging bruises no one else could see. He nodded once.
“I came back to sign off on the statement,” he said, his voice pitched low, like he was trying not to break the air between us. “I saw your name again and figured I’d check on you.”
I raised an eyebrow, using sarcasm as my shield. “You making house calls now, Detective?”
The corner of his mouth lifted. That smirk unraveled me. “Only when the case feels… important.”
Whew.Sir. The way my body betrayed my lips twitching, my chest loosening, I wanted to roll my eyes, but a smile crept out before I could slam the door on it.
“You’re flirting with me outside my mama’s room?” I asked the words lighter than I intended. My voice betrayed me the same way my smile did.
He chuckled, deep and easy. “Nah. Just stating facts. You have a heaviness about you, but it doesn’t dim your light. I noticed it the first time you walked past me.”
I blinked. The compliment landed with the weight of unexpected piercing, and somehow truer than anything I’d let myself believe lately. My throat closed up, and I turned my head,swallowing against the lump rising fast. “Do you always talk like that?”
“Only when I mean it.”
He didn’t press me, didn’t poke at the wound, and didn’t ask for details I wasn’t ready to hand over. He just stood there, steady and patient, like a porch light burning after midnight, reminding you you’re not alone in the dark.
“You don’t have to talk now,” he said, folding his arms loosely, his tone smooth as vinyl spinning low in the background. “But if you ever need to,… I listen for a living.”
I nodded slowly. The weight of my silence was loud, but he carried it with me instead of filling it.
“Jonay,” he added, saying my name like it was a psalm. Sacred. Unrushed.
I looked up at him, startled by how much it mattered to hear my name said like that.
“You have people around you who love you. Don’t forget that. And don’t let some weak nigga’s actions make you question a strong woman’s worth.”
