Cuffed By Your Love

Chapter 1

As I sat in the small, stiff, hospital waiting room with fluorescent lights flickering like they were mocking me, pulsing in rhythm with the chaos inside my chest, the linoleum tiles beneath my work boots felt like lava, burning with the realization that my life had taken a nosedive into a pit of humiliation.

My hands were trembling, but my face was cold.

I had no more tears left; there was only fury, confusion, and a heart full of unanswered questions with no one brave enough to answer them.

I stared at the speckled walls, as if they held the answers to rewrite my fate if I looked long enough.

My thoughts were a whirlwind of disbelief, spiraling like dirty laundry in a spin cycle.

How the hell did I end up here?

I wasn’t out here wilding; I clocked in, did my job, kept my head low, and walked in love, as the pastor’s sermon advised.

I was loyal to a fault. I gave when I barely had anything to spare.

I fed strangers and comforted women who were bruised by the world when I volunteered on the weekends at women’s shelters and homeless shelters.

I didn’t ask for anything in return, not even a thank you.

I created my own lotions, body butters, bath bombs, and natural haircare products in the comfort of my home. I minded the business that paid me.

Even at work—a whole ass jail—I didn’t talk down to people with criminal records longer than CVS receipts. I believed in showing respect and expected it to be returned to me like a boomerang. I embodied the principle of “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

That was too much like right because life threw me a gut punch wrapped in betrayal and sealed with audacity. I thought back to the encounter that led me here, and all I could do was shake my head in disgust because if folks had nothing else, they had the fucking nerve!

Three hours earlier

“Boss lady, let me get a sweet thang from a sweet thang, mama!” an inmate called out at the intercom, his smile radiating confidence as he playfully licked his lips, eyes sparkling with mischief.

I didn’t even flinch. I looked up slowly, my eyebrow arched like The Rock.

“Look here, Santana, stay away from my picket unless Jesus Himself told you to file a grievance. You also know how I am about my respect. Don’t be calling me no damn sweet thing. You are not Chaka Khan, this ain’t no ’80s music video, and I am not in the mood for your bullshit.”

Inmate Santana chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender as if I was about to read him his rights.

“Aight, aight! Yo, you funny as hell, boss lady. I ain’t mean no disrespect, mama.

No bullshit, tho’, we short a tray, and sweet thi—honey bun,” he corrected himself.

“Can I please get ya to call down and get another one? This young buck in here ain’t made sto’ yet, and he ain’t got no commissary.

Could you please, pretty please, call down and get another honey bun? ”

His tone was syrupy, but the sincerity peeked through like the sun behind clouds. I sighed but nodded.

“I got you. I already called down when I noticed the count was off, and it should be on the way.”

“’Preciate you, boss lady,” he called out, walking away from the intercom like he didn’t just get checked by a five-foot-seven firecracker with a slick mouth and zero tolerance for bullshit.

I had a couple of hours left in my shift, and I couldn’t wait to get home and cuddle with my man.

I was super busy today, and I wasn’t able to text or talk to him like I usually did.

He probably thought I would work another sixteen-hour shift, since I usually did on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but I got the hookup for someone to work for me tonight, and I couldn’t wait to surprise him at home.

Kam and I had been together for about two years.

He proposed to me within the last year, and I was ecstatic.

My parents, however, weren’t too fond of him, and my twin sister, Jonell, said he wasn’t my forever.

My best friend, Leila, always joked that there was something about him she couldn’t quite put her finger on, while her husband, my big brother, Jason, was indifferent as long as he kept his hands to himself.

For the past couple of months, he’d been really moody, shifty, snappy, and distant.

He’d accuse me of things, come home late smelling like cheap perfume, and be very nasty and mean.

He’d been trying to move up our wedding and our timeline for having a baby together, and I was hesitant about moving forward with our engagement.

He had been showing me signs I couldn’t trust him, and I didn’t like that at all.

I chalked it up to me working so much, and I figured we just needed some time alone with each other.

I was hoping tonight we could reconnect since I’d been putting in a lot of overtime hours, volunteering at the women’s shelter, and had been accepted into the upcoming police academy, even though I wasn’t sure if I truly wanted to move forward with it, but it came with steady benefits.

I was extremely interested in owning my business.

I loved creating personalized items, whether it be jewelry, natural haircare products, bath and body oils, and lotions, candles, or car fresheners.

It was relaxing, and it took my mind off the weird space my relationship was currently in.

It would be a dream come true to have my own creative space where people could come to create their own self-care products and purchase those I’d created.

I’d worked at the Self Ridge County jail for about four years, and it was a decent job.

It paid the bills, and the insurance was cool.

Despite not being sure if the police academy was for me, I was excited about being accepted into the upcoming class.

The only downside to my job as a detention deputy was that I couldn’t stand being hit on by losers who wore orange all day.

However, most of the OG inmates didn’t bother me, and I didn’t bother them.

I came to work, did my job, and went home.

I wasn’t on any power trip shit with them, because people made mistakes, and hell, they were still human.

The only difference between them and a lot of other folks was that they didn’t get caught.

After all, some of them would get out one day, and I definitely didn’t want smoke with any of them.

Once my relief arrived, I picked up my cellblock’s outgoing mail for the night, and I passed the events of my cellblock off like a baton.

I practically sprinted through the sally port, damn near doing a praise dance to freedom.

When I made it to the front, I said goodnight to a couple of deputies I was cool with and ran to my car.

After a long day of being harassed by inmates, I was ready to get home, relax, and decompress.

The only thing on my mind was peeling out of my uniform, eating my three-piece spicy chicken from Big Bayou Bites, showering off the stench of testosterone and must from a twelve-hour shift, and crawling into my man’s arms as if I’d never left, hoping he’d be just as excited to see me as I was him.

But God must’ve whispered, “Not today, daughter.”

When I got home and walked to my front door, I found it slightly ajar.

“What the fuck?” I thought aloud because I knew damned well I closed it when I left home, so the fact that someone had the audacity to be in my dwelling while I was gone sent me to the highest level of piss-tosity.

They had the right one today, though, because Jeanette and Jonathan didn’t raise no scary woman at all.

I recovered my Walther PPQ from my hip and quietly eased into the house.

No lights, just the glow of the moon and a sense of rage.

I moved like a shadow through my house and followed the trail of sin—a breadcrumb path of clothing that led to my bedroom.

Clothes were scattered like guilt on the floor: boxers, socks, and a bra that didn’t belong to me.

I know you fucking lying, was what I thought as I neared the bedroom.

I tiptoed through the trail of disrespect, already feeling my heartbeat thudding in my throat.

That was when I heard it.

Moans. Loud, guttural, unmistakably masculine. The bed squeaked like it was trying to rat them out.

Then a familiar voice, a female voice, growled. “Let me fuck you harder, Kam. Stop running from this dick, baby!”

I was in shock because the only Kam I knew was my fiancé, and I knew he didn’t have the gumption to be fucking another bitch in my house, to be getting fucked by another bitch. I just knew that wasn’t going down right now.

I swore to God, time stopped. I didn’t knock, nor did I wait. I flung the door open like on those cop shows when they were busting in on a perp during a raid, and there it was.

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 the fuck!” 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 are twins! 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 wedding off like 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 out now!”

“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 eye puffed 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 from Soul Food wannabe 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.