Chapter 37 #2
“So look. As you already know, I’m paralyzed from the waist down, yeah.
For the first two years after the accident, I felt nothing down there.
But when I got with Chi? He still got in there and put in the work…
and I let him. Not because I was trying to be brave, but because he looked at me like I was still a whole woman …
like I was still his. So I moaned. I performed .
Not fake, but like… spiritual. I did it for him, myself, and the possibility. ”
Dessign took a sip of her wine, then continued, unbothered.
“And then one day… I felt it,” Dessign began, her voice dipping like she was about to narrate a romance movie trailer. “A twitch. A spark. A grind.”
She paused, eyes wide. “Girl, I damn near cried. Actually—I think I did. My eyes definitely leaked.”
We laughed.
“Girl, I knew right then my nerves were reconnecting. And baby , when I tell you it’s been on since !”
Dessign leaned back with her wine like she was testifying.
“Wheelchair or not—that nigga throws me around like a ragdoll. I got favorite positions too—legs over the arms of the chair, bent forward on the edge of the bed. Sometimes he picks me up , sometimes I slide under him like a mechanic on a mission—we get creative .”
I laughed under my breath. “Not the mechanic!”
“Oh yes, girl!” she beamed, winking. “I’ve been under the hood, baby. Wrench in hand, name tag and everything! Greased up and focused!”
I giggled, nearly spitting my drink.
Meanwhile, Dessign just grinned wider and powered on.
“See, people assume because I’m paralyzed that sex gotta be boring or gentle. But Chi? He doesn’t baby me; he be in it like I got full mobility and two backup spines.”
I stared at her, part shell-shocked… part inspired.
I yearned to be that freaky… one day. And being with a man like Imanio? Something told me I wouldn’t be waiting too long.
“So next time you got a question? Don’t whisper it… ask it!” she chuckled.
“Yes, ma’am.” I laughed along.
Dessign arched a brow and leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming with mischief.
“But since you wanna know what goes on in my bedroom… let’s flip it,” she challenged, her tone curious but warm. “How does your condition affect your sex life? Do you have like… wild outbursts when y’all get busy?”
I sighed, sinking back into my chair a bit. I didn’t usually like talking about that. Hell, I barely thought about it out loud . But with Dessign, it felt safe. We’d already peeled back layers, and she’d given me honesty without holding back, so I owed her the same.
“I do,” I admitted, voice low. “Mainly when I… when I have an orgasm.”
An outburst punched through my chest right after—loud, sharp, and out of place.
“Pineapple explosion! Flip the mattress!”
Dessign’s eyes widened slightly, but not in judgment—just respect. She nodded, waiting for me to go on.
I sat up a little straighter, switching into that more clinical voice I’d learned to use over the years—the one I leaned on when I needed structure and to sound like I was okay.
“Tourette d-doesn’t disappear just because I’m in an intimate moment,” I explained, another smaller outburst hovering at the back of my throat.
“In fact, intense stimulation—physical or emotional—can trigger a flare-up. So yeah… during sex, my tics can get stronger. I curs. Twitched hard. S-sometimes it’s loud, sometimes it's all in my body. But I’ve learned to talk my way through it… or ride it out.”
Dessign paused for a moment, giving me a slow, thoughtful nod.
“Damn. That’s wild… and kind of sexy in a 'real life ain’t perfect but we embrace it' type of way.”
Another burst of frustration broke the silence.
“Don’t even think about touching the thermostat, Gerald!” I exclaimed, my tone incredulous.
I blinked in surprise and then smirked playfully.
“G-girl, I don’t even know anyone named Gerald!”
We both erupted into laughter, the tension easing as humor filled the air.
“Does my brother ever treat you like sort of delicate flower when y’all have sex? Fragile, to better put it?” she asked with narrowed eyes.
Her question took me for a loop.
“Actually… no. He might not be as wild as Chi is with you,” I smirked, “But he’s rough. Your brother doesn’t cut me any slack just b-because of my condition.”
Dessign’s lips curled into a mischievous grin, her eyes sparkling with intrigue.
My voice softened, though, and I could feel the truth rising in my throat, ready to be spoken.
“Imanio makes me feel like… like nothing about me is broken. Even when my body’s twitching or I curse mid-k-kiss, he doesn’t jump or stares…
he just stays. He makes me feel like every part of me still matters …
still works . Like Tourette’s isn’t a flaw—it’s just a piece of me and he holds that piece just like all the others. ”
“I love that for you,” Dessign said. “For us . That we have men who don’t just tolerate our differences, but show up in the middle of them. Men who hold space, not pity. Who still see all of us, even when the world swears we come with a warning label.”
I nodded, heart swelling. “I love it for us too.”
“Now you’ve asked all about my sex life, but aren’t you a bit curious how I got in this damn chair in the first place?”
“I mean.. y-yeah. But I figured you’d tell me when you were ready… or maybe Imanio would one day just out the b-blue.”
Dessign didn’t reply immediately. The playful sarcasm she wore just a moment ago faded and was replaced by something quieter… more real.
“You know what? I respect that you didn’t ask sooner,” she said, taking me by surprise.
“I mean, I knew you were curious—I mean, who wouldn’t be?
But you let me come to you when I was ready.
That’s real. You didn’t even ask my brother…
that’s rare. Most bitches be dying to know, like it’s fuckin’ entertainment. ”
Dessign twisted her straw slowly between her fingers, eyes drifting to the sky.
“I was in love,” she began with a sigh, almost like it tasted unfamiliar.
I set my fork down and gave her my full attention.
“Like… stupid, dramatic, dress-in-the-dark-to-run-away kind of love. My ex and I were on our way to elope in Vegas. I didn’t tell anybody… not even Imanio.”
Her smile was distant—nostalgic but pained.
“We got to the chapel, and I suddenly remembered that old tradition— something old, something new. I had everything but something new. Silly, I know. But I wanted it to feel real… like it mattered. So I left him there and jumped back in the car to go grab something. I had a bracelet at our hotel that I’d made the week before. ”
Her hand hovered over her straw, not sipping anymore—just moving, like she needed something to do.
“I was happy… giddy, even. The kind of high you get when you really believe everything’s finally coming together. And then…”
Dessign collected herself with a slow breath, holding back whatever was about to break loose.
“An eighteen-wheeler blew through a red light. Hit my car on the driver’s side,” she revealed.
A knot curled low in my gut, tight and sudden. I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t interrupt.
“I don’t remember the crash… just the silence afterward. I couldn’t feel my legs, couldn’t move, and everything hurt—but somehow, not enough to distract me from the panic.”
She finally looked at me.
“It wasn’t my fault but I paid for it anyway.”
Damn.
My chest tightened. I knew that feeling too well—the kind where life takes a swing at you, and somehow you’re the one left apologizing for bleeding.
“W-what happened to the person who hit you?” I asked, my voice soft. “Did you have a lawsuit?”
She gave a humorless laugh. “He just lost his license and can never drive again. Imanio and Chi wanted to kill him, but I needed their focus on me, not getting revenge.”
Dessign leaned back, adjusting the way she sat, like she was balancing pain and pride.
“As for if I got paid?” She cracked a grin, full of fire and survival. “ Big time. We sued his insurance, the city, the tow company, and the pothole that started it all. Girl, I’m basically sitting in this chair with equity.”
I chuckled. “G-good. You deserve every penny.”
“Yeah.” She continued her tone, shifting to one of somberness. “But the real cost was in everything else I lost. During my recovery, that same man I left at the chapel, he treated me like I was a burden… like I’d ruined his life just by surviving.”
Dessign’s smile twisted, more pain than pleasure, like she was laughing at a wound still bleeding.
“I used to be known for my fashion; not just the way I wore clothes—but because I made them. I had a following before the accident. But after? It exploded. People were sending me flowers, letters, hell, even donations. My page grew overnight, and my story made headlines. Meanwhile, he was using me for clout.”
“Oh, wow! H-how?” I quizzed, blinking rapidly while my arm jerked upward.
“He began posting photos… acting like he was this perfect, supportive partner. But behind closed doors, he was cold, distant, and emotionally manipulative.”
My heart broke for her. “H-how long did that go on?”
“One year too long,” she said it without emotion, like the words were just facts she no longer felt. “On year of pretending I was okay. One year of hiding bruises that weren’t always physical.”
“H-how did it end between you two? What was the final straw?” I interrogated.
Dessign’s sighed, the tension leaving her body like air from a balloon.
“ Naji, sometimes we have to decide that this is the last time that these people will make me feel this way, and stand on it… and I did that day. I just woke up one morning and realized who the fuck I was. Oh, and… I finally told Imanio.”
I hesitated, then asked the question sitting on the tip of my tongue.
“W-what did he say?”
Dessign scoffed. “You mean, do ?”
She looked at me with a slow, knowing smile that said more than any confession could.
“Let’s just say he hasn’t been a problem since,” she replied, her tone light, but final. “And he won’t be again.”
She didn’t go into detail, but the shift in her voice said enough.
I understood immediately.
“Let me leave you with this piece of advice… although you’re already married,” Dessign said, her voice dipping into something gentler—like she wasn’t just speaking to me, but to the version of me I hadn’t met yet.
“ Be careful who you date and marry. The biggest prison is a home without peace. And whatever you tolerate while dating will multiply times two in a marriage. Marriage doesn’t fix dysfunction; it reveals it all.
Don’t ask me how I survived; ask me what song I played on repeat when I thought my whole world was over . ”
And just like that, my mind went quiet.
My thoughts drifted backward to that day—uninvited but undeniable.
The career to which I dedicated everything dropped me without warning.
I was left in silence—long, heavy silence—and the ache of being discarded by something I loved.
So when Dessign said, “ Don’t ask me how I survived, ask me what song I played,” I realized I’d never found mine.
But maybe… just maybe, love could be louder than what tried to break me.
“When did you and Chi get together?” I asked gently.
“After everything went down with my ex, Chi stepped in. At first, he was just there to make sure I felt safe. Drive me around. Stand behind me when I couldn’t stand up for myself.”
Dessign paused and smiled—really smiled that time.
“But you know how that goes. Time passes, and people show you who they are. Three months later, we weren’t just bodyguard and client; e were us.”
“And your mom? How did she f-feel about it?” I asked carefully.
Dessign rolled her eyes. “Against it from day one. Thought I needed someone more ‘appropriate.’ She didn’t care that I was happy… just that it didn’t fit the picture she painted.”
“And now?”
“She still feels the same way,” she admitted.
“But Chi’s never flinched. Not once. No matter what mood I’m in.
No matter how hard the days get. He makes me laugh even when I want to throw things.
And when I break down—’cause yeah, I still do—he doesn’t panic.
He just sits with me… holds me… and listens. ”
The moment hung suspended—brittle and waiting to break.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve him,” she resumed. “But I thank God I got him. Actually, every day I am reminded how blessed. Even if my circumstances aren’t ideal. I have so much to be thankful for. So much to give God praise for.”
I reached for her hand, just barely grazing it. She hesitated, surprised—but then flipped her palm over and gave mine a quiet, steady squeeze.
“Dess, in two years, you’ve been the only female—my age—that I feel safe around,” I confessed. “You know what it’s like to carry p-pain that people romanticize but never actually understand.”
She nodded, eyes glistening—but not with tears, just truth.
“Likewise.”
And in that moment—no spotlight, no men around, no dresses or drama—just two women the world didn’t always know how to love.
We celebrated that we’d found someone who did.