Page 122 of Cuffed By Love

I standstock-still staring into the icy blue eyes of the only man that has the power to cripple me with fear. My heart thumps painfully in my chest; the music, the chatter of the people in the bar all suddenly seem deafeningly loud. The mic slips out of my hand and hits the floor with a loud thump. I blink, and he disappears like he was never there. But he was. I felt the chill of his gaze pass through me. I turn and run off the stage while my legs could still carry me. I push the back emergency door and race out of there before my lungs cave in.

Just as I round the corner, I feel a strong pair of arms wrap around me, and I let out a shrill scream. “Peach, it’s me. It’s me.” Through my panic, my mind registers Wyatt’s voice, and I fall into his arms as if someone had taken the floor right out from under me.

“I saw…Wy, I saw…” I pant breathlessly. Wyatt lifts me and spins me so I could face him.

“Mira, hey, look at me. Just breathe peach, breathe. You’re okay. It’s just a panic attack.” I shake my head quickly.

“No, no, no, I saw him.” I sob helplessly. “I saw Scott standing right there. He was looking right at me.”

“Mimi?” I hear Ayla come up beside me, looking worried. “What’s wrong?”

Wyatt takes my face into his large hands and looks into my face. “Peach, listen to me. Scott wasn’t in there, okay? He’s in prison. He’s locked away, babe.”

Ayla rubs my back soothingly. “Mimi, it’s just your anxiety and mind playing tricks on you. There was no one there. Have you been taking your pills?”

I close my eyes, willing my heart to stop beating like it was about to give out on me. “He was there Ayla, I saw him! I’m not fucking crazy. I saw him standing there looking right at me. Oh God, he’s back, isn’t he?” I sob into Wyatt’s chest. My entire body was racked with fear, shaking uncontrollably.

“Mira?” Through my sobbing, I hear Devin’s concerned voice. “What’s going on?” He comes over to Wyatt and me and looks at Ayla for an explanation.

“It’s nothing, Devin; we’ve got her. Just go back inside.” Wyatt tells him.

“What do you mean it’s nothing? Look at the state of her. She’s fucking terrified of something. I’m not going anywhere until someone tells me what’s going on.” He demands, looking over me worriedly. “Mira…”

“Dev, she’s just having a panic attack; she’s fine.” Ayla tries to pull him away, but he shakes his head and tugs his arm out of her hold.

“Nah, bullshit. She said I saw him. He’s back. Who did she see that would get her into this state?” He presses, walking around Wyatt to get closer to me, but Wyatt pulls me away. “Let me see her.”

“Devin, just go back inside. I told you, I’ve got her. You’re not helping right now.” I can hear the bite in Wyatt's voice, and if I don’t do something, they’re going to fight.

“Wy, it’s okay.” I pull back from him and look at Dev. “I’m fine,” I tell him with a sniffle. Devin shakes his head, the concern in his eyes is overwhelming.

“You’re not fine, Mira. Please, babe, don’t shut me out. Talk to me, tell me what’s wrong?” I lift my trembling hands and comb them through my hair. I nod up at Wyatt, and he backs away from me just as Devin steps in and pulls me into his arms. I close my eyes and sink into his strong and protective hold.

“Wyatt, who is she talking out?”

Wyatt rubs the back of his neck and exchanges glances with Ayla. “Her ex-boyfriend Scott. She thinks she saw him in there, but he’s in prison, has been for the last two years,” he tells Devin, who looks back at him, then down at me, stunned.

“In prison?” He intones sharply. “Why is he locked up?”

“Because he was beating on her. The lunatic put her in hospital countless times and almost fucking killed her.” Wyatt gripes agitatedly. Even the mere mention of Scott sets him off.

Devin looks down at me, horrified. His arms tighten around me instinctively. “Jesus Christ. You all knew, but no-one thought to mention this to me?”

“This was two years ago, Devin, and talking about it doesn’t exactly help her. Why do you think she’s so anxious all the time and scared of confined spaces?” Ayla explains, looking over at me worriedly. “Because of him. The bastard locked her in the boot of his car for over two hours because she threatened to leave him.” My eyes drown in tears at the memory of waking up in the boot of his car after he punched me unconscious. The fear was unlike anything I had ever felt. I woke up to pitch-black darkness, gasping for air. I damaged my vocal cords from screaming so loud for someone to help me. I knew at that point that there would be no escaping him until I either went to the police to tell them what he was doing to me, instead of lying to cover it all like I had been because I loved him, or he killed me—which he almost did, if it wasn’t for Wyatt walking in and saving me.

Devin looks down at me when I tremble in his embrace, stuck someplace between reality and reliving that moment. “It’s okay, baby, you’re safe.” He whispers, pressing his lips to my forehead. “I’ve got you. Do you want me to take you home?” I gasp. The thought of going back home sends a surge of panic through me. Scott knows where I live; if he’s out, that’s where he’ll go, and I won’t feel safe there.

I shake my head, “No, I can’t. I can’t go home. What if he’s there?” My voice quivers, and I look pleadingly at Wyatt.

“You can sleep with me tonight, peach.” He tries to reassure me, but that doesn’t comfort me at all.

Noticing my apprehension, Devin lifts my head so I can look at him. “You can stay with me tonight. If you don’t feel safe at your place, or I could stay with you.” He suggests kindly, brushing away my tears with the back of his fingers. Devin’s place is far safer than my place.

“I’ll stay with you. If you’re sure, you don’t mind?” Devin cocks his head to the side and gives me his signature a ‘don’t be so daft Mira’ look.

Ten minutes later, I’m in Devin’s car staring out of the passenger side window, unable to shake the dreadful feeling gripping my gut tight. I feel Devin squeeze my hand that’s resting on his thigh while he drives. “Tinks, are you okay?” I nod in response, not bothering to look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me about him? What he did to you?”

“Because I just wanted to forget everything that he put me through. It wasn’t even the physical abuse; it was the mental abuse that screwed me up. Scott was a master manipulator; he somehow managed to twist what he did and make it seem like it was my fault, like I deserved every bone fracturing punch, every bruising kick, every demeaning insult he threw at me, and I was foolish enough to believe he still loved me.”

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