Page 2 of Cuffed By Your Love
Kam, my fiancé, was bent over like a little freak getting drilled by Taleah, my trifling-ass cousin, who was wearing a whole strap-on like she’d been training for this day her whole life.
My mouth fell open. My soul briefly left my body. I was floored, flabbergasted, all that shit. I couldn’t do anything but flick the lights off and on like I was checking for a short in the system. Taleah jumped up, holding on to her fake ass dick as Kam grabbed the sheet around him like the bitch he was.
“Oh, hell no!” I gagged, waving my pistol like a wand of righteous fury. “What in the Brokeback Mountain fuck is going on in here!” Because this was just too fucking much for me.
Kam scrambled for the sheet, looking like a shamed housewife caught cheating in a Tyler Perry movie. Taleah had the audacity to cover her strap like it had feelings.
“Baby, it’s not what it looks like?—”
“Don’t insult me,” I interrupted. “How long have you been taking dicks to the ass, Kam? Silicone or not, I need answers. Oh, my God! My cousin! Of all people! What thefuck!” I looked from him to Taleah as they looked at me.
Taleah, bold as brass, said, “We’re not even that close, and this nigga said y’all broke up months ago, fam. I didn’t think you’d give a fuck.”
Color me red because that was all I fucking saw. I blacked out. I grabbed her by her broad ass shoulder and pieced her up like the damn chicken I dropped on my way in. I popped her upside the head with my pistol’s butt until she recoiled.
“Not close!” I yelled in disbelief. “Bitch, our mamas aretwins! We got the same goddamn baby pictures! We shared a room! And now you wanna share my man’s bootyhole too?”
I repeatedly tagged her ass with the butt of my gun with all my might as she struggled to fight back. Kam scrambled to get dressed and attempted to grab me off her before I turned on his ass next. I couldn’t believe this shit was happening.
“Get y’all shit, and get the fuck out my house. You wanna be a nigga so bad, T?” I turned to Kam. “And you think you a bad bitch. Cool. Y’all belong together.”
“Baby, it was my first time doing anything like this. Please. What about the wedding?”
Did I hear this nigga correctly? I must’ve given him brain damage with the butt of my gun because I knew like hell he didn’t think I was still betrothed to his Moonlighting ass. I blinked like he’d just asked me to bake him a damn cake.
“Consider the weddingofflike your masculinity and this relationship, and get the fuck out now. Please don’t let this semi-automatic get to popping. You have the afro like him. Be like Ludacris and roll the fuck outnow!”
“Cuz, please don’t do this.”
“Naw, Cleo. Get yo’ ass outta here too. We’re not close, remember? Wait until I tell my fucking mama this shit! Get the fuck out now!”
They shuffled out, Kam in his fitted cap and tears, Taleah holding her strap like a weapon of mass betrayal, her eyepuffed and lip leaking. She looked like Martin from that Tommy “Hitman” Hearns episode.
After the initial shock and adrenaline wore off, I snatched the nasty ass sheets off my bed and bawled my eyes out. I had given my all—my love, my body, my trust—and this was my thank you? Kam liked fake dicks and real lies, and Taleah had no soul.
What the fuck did I do to deserve this? Why the hell would they do this to me? Who the fuck was he? All this time, he enjoyed getting rammed in the ass by dicks? I mean, it was a silicone one, but shit, did he like the real ones too?
I had so many questions. What did he mean, this was the first time he ever did something like this? Had he been thinking about dicks? This was a lot to take in. Honestly, Taleah wasn’t shit, and I should’ve known better with her Faith fromSoul Foodwannabe ass, but Kam really surprised me.
I guess love really was blind. It was all good. I would never let another man get this close to me ever again.
My phone rang, slicing through my grief like a blade. My daddy’s number lit up the screen.
I sighed, wiped my face with the back of my hand, and answered with forced energy.
“Wassup, Gunny?” I addressed him by his military rank, trying to mask my semi-broken heart.
His voice was tight. “Baby girl, get to Self Ridge Memorial ASAP. It’s your mother.”
And just like that, my heart dropped again.
The tears dried up. I pushed the pain to the back burner. Because no matter how broken I felt, life didn’t give a fuck. It just kept delivering blows.
The steam curledaround my bathroom like ghosts of every red flag I ignored. It clung to the mirror, fogging my vision and blurring the reflection of a woman who was once somebody’s fiancée but now appeared to be grief wrapped in good skin.
I stood there naked, vulnerable, and painfully aware of every place he had touched me, every lie he whispered while my heart believed him, and every moan he gave to her that I never received.
I stepped into the shower as if entering a courtroom—ready to wash off the evidence but not the sentence. The water hit my skin, hot enough to baptize me back into myself. But no matter how hard I scrubbed, no matter how many times I let the water scald my back as if it could boil betrayal away, I still felt dirty.
