Page 32 of Cuffed By Your Love
Boy, she was your whole mattress. And you had the nerve to let her strap your dignity on while you were bent over in my sheets. I was still thinking about getting my big brother, Jason, to rock him in his shit, but I didn’t need him getting into any trouble over me. He’d done enough to Jonell’s ex, who had gotten a little too handsy with her one night he’d gotten drunk.
I gripped the phone so tightly it should have cracked. I had been quiet for days, too quiet. But silence didn’t mean calm; it meant containment. And this was gasoline on an already scorched soul.
No acknowledgment of the deceit, no real apology, just manipulation dressed as memories and phrases he knew would melt me.
Ain’t nobody ever gonna hold you down like me…
Sir, that was the problem. You held me down like a weight, not like a partner.
I scrolled and scrolled. Every line felt like a slap with silk gloves, a soft tone, hard impact. That “Please” at the end was the final insult. It reminded me of how he’d whisper “baby, please” after every outburst. How he’d beg me to stay only to break me softly the next time. He was so up and down, and I didn’t understand how he was one person one minute and he’d switch personalities at the drop of a dime. I used to ask him aboutseeing someone about it, but he would only get snippier, so I left it alone.
I exhaled as if I were trying to expel the last three years from my lungs. Tears didn’t fall. I had moved past that. Crying was for heartbreak. This was heartbreak’s older sister: fed up and exhausted.
And when I say the silence that followed was divine, I mean it wrapped around me like a mother’s hug while simultaneously delivering a hood warning. I stared at that screen for a long time, my thumb hovering, not to respond, but to make a declaration.
To myself.
Deleted.
Poof.
Like the future I almost built with a fraud, like the wedding dress I almost ordered on impulse and hope, like the version of me that used to second-guess her intuition just to keep a man warm who made her feel cold.
That thread was gone, but the ache lingered like cologne on a hoodie, like perfume on a pillow, like trauma in a tongue that learned to taste lies and call it love.
I tossed the phone onto the nightstand as if it owed me peace. I pulled my bonnet down over my baby hairs like a crown and whispered into the darkness like a woman praying without scripture.
“Lord… I’m trying to heal. But I swear on my grandmother’s cobbler, if this man texts me again, I’m going to drive to his auntie’s house and return him like a lost package.”
My own laugh surprised me. It was tired, low, and slightly bitter. But it was mine. It meant I was still here, still standing, still saving myself—one deleted message at a time.
Hospitals once felt like a final destination, a somber arena where pain distilled truth and honesty emerged from the shadows. Now, they had transformed into an unexpected rendezvous point where I repeatedly encountered him, Detective Fine Shyt, Elias Edmonds. He moved with a confident stride as if fear had never touched his life, yet there was an unmistakable depth to his demeanor, a profound respect that enveloped everything he encountered, like an unseen armor shielding the vulnerability of the world around him.
Standing in the hallway, he held a little boy who was the epitome of black boy joy in Jordans, making me almost forget my business here.
At first, he had his back turned, the sleeves of his hoodie pushed up over his forearms as he cradled his son, holding him with a strength that felt soft. EJ was nestled in his father’s arms, pointing at the wall stickers as if they were valuable pieces of art in a museum.
They seemed to belong together, stitched from the same cloth and pressed in a state of peace. I should have kept walking and stayed focused, but my curiosity made me slow down. Something gentler stirred within me, opening my heart just enough to smile.
“Hey there,” I said softly, my gaze fixed on the little boy who waved at me as if I were his teacher, babysitter, or someone important in his life.
Elias turned to look at me.
When our eyes met, the entire hallway seemed to go quiet in my mind, as if someone had pressed mute on my past for just a moment.
“Ms. Jo-naaay!” EJ giggled, breaking my name into pieces like it was a popsicle on a summer day.
I chuckled softly.
“You remember me?”
“Uh huh.” He nodded, curls bouncing. “You was at the ice cream place, and you had sparkly nails and smelled like cupcakes.”
I blinked, caught off guard by how sweet that was.
“Well, you have a good memory, handsome.”
“Daddy said you a dep-u-tee.”
