Chapter 12 #3
We pulled up to the Self Ridge Police Department.
It was on the corner of Broad and Lakeview, a squat two-story red-brick building with weather-worn steps and a parking lot full of tired cruisers.
It looked like it’d been through too many storms and not enough sunshine.
The windows were tinted and lined with blinds, like the place had secrets it didn’t want the sun to see.
Even the flag out front looked exhausted, barely flapping in the thick July air, hung low on the pole like it knew peace wasn’t on shift today.
A busted cruiser sat lopsided in the corner of the lot, and even the automatic doors opened slowly, like they didn’t wanna witness what was walking in.
Elias pulled into a reserved spot marked Detective Edmonds. Before I could even reach for the door handle, Elias was out of the car and at my side. He moved like a man on a mission, circling the hood like he was reclaiming me from the mess, as if he was erasing Kam’s touch just by being near.
“Nah, baby. Let me,” he murmured, opening the door and holding his hand out. “A queen shouldn’t have to open shit but her mouth to speak her truth. They get carried if it comes down to it.”
I took his hand, warm, calloused, safe. The grip he had on my hand reminded me who I belonged to. He lifted me from the seat like I was breakable China wrapped in gold. My knees were wobbling, but it was his arm around my waist that kept me from crumbling into dust and sorrow.
As I stepped out, his other arm slid gently around my waist, steadying me like I was made of memories and glass.
He walked me in slowly, shielding me with his whole body like I was some treasure he dared the world to touch.
Every step we took together was deliberate, like he was counting them in his mind to keep from breaking down.
The inside of the station smelled like strong coffee, government-grade cleaning supplies, black ink, and anxiety. That cold, institutional air, cheap and recycled, hit my skin like I was walking into a flashback, the air that never quite got rid of the scent of stress.
It was cold, not physically, but spiritually. Like all the trauma ever spoken between those walls was still floating around like dust.
I felt myself shrink, and Elias noticed.
“You alright, baby?” he whispered.
I nodded. “Just… feels like we on an episode of First 48.”
He cracked a sad smile. “Ain’t no case to solve. I know who did it, and if the law didn’t exist, I would’ve handled it already. That ass whupping he got wasn’t nearly enough… bitch ass nigga.”
We walked past desks cluttered with reports and day-old doughnuts, officers nodding as Elias passed by. Some recognized me. Some didn’t. All eyes said the same thing: that’s her.
He led me down the quiet hallway to the Special Victims Division. Elias didn’t speak. He just kept glancing at me, squeezing my hand, pulling me close every time a noise made me flinch.
The door creaked as it opened into a small interview room with four tan walls, a dusty window, and one of those metal desks that looked like it remembered every confession it ever heard.
There were two chairs, a box of tissues, a whole lot of tension, and a single pitcher of water trying to pretend this wasn’t where pain came to testify.
Elias didn’t just pull my chair out for me. He kissed my temple and crouched to look me in the eyes as I sat. “You good, baby?”
I nodded and lied again. “Yeah.”
His tenderness didn’t match the fire in his eyes. He poured me water with a hand that looked like it knew violence but was gentle enough to cup my grief.
“Say the word, I’ll shut all this down. We can go home, we can sit in silence, or I can lay hands like God ain’t done with me yet.”
Detective Alverez walked in not long after. He was maybe in his mid-40s, Latino, with weary eyes, and a voice like a man who’d seen too much and felt too little, the type of man who could eat a sandwich over a body and still sleep at night. He nodded respectfully at Elias, then looked at me.
“Ms. Jacobson, I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances. I’m going to ask you some questions, but you can stop me at any time. You ready?”
No.
But I nodded again. “Yeah.”
My voice was trembling, and Elias noticed. He slid his hand under the table, lacing our fingers. “You got this, baby. I’m right here.”
He started slow. Name. DOB. Every detail of what happened at The Nourish Nook came out in fragments. My words came out shaky at first, like a baby deer trying to stand, but Elias held my hand under the table, his thumb drawing soft circles into my skin, reminding me I wasn’t alone.
When I got to the part about Kam hitting me, the words caught in my throat like splinters.
“He said I embarrassed him… He kept yelling. He hit me in my face first, then my stomach. I tried to reach for my weapon but… he twisted my wrist and—”
Elias let out a low, angry breath beside me, and his grip tightened. His knee bounced like a loaded trigger.
“It’s okay, Ms. Jacobson,” Alvarez said gently. “We have enough witness statements. You don’t have to say more if you don’t want to.”
But I needed to.
I nodded, swallowing the ache building in my chest.
“I thought I was gonna die, and the only thing I could think about was… who’d pick up my Mama’s calls if I didn’t make it.”
The detective’s pen stopped moving. Elias leaned in and kissed my hand.
Elias reached into his jacket, pulled out a small notepad, and scribbled something down. He passed it to Alvarez.
“She’s filing for a restraining order. Today,” he said, voice sharp, final. “We’ll also need protective custody procedures started. Kam’s unstable. I want extra patrols near her place.”
Alvarez nodded, no argument.
When the questioning ended, Elias helped me up slowly, guided me out of the room, his hand pressed gently to the small of my back. He didn’t rush me.
“Come on, baby. Let’s go to Records and get this handled.”
He walked me to a different wing of the station—Records and Legal Affairs—where a tired but kind Black woman behind bulletproof glass passed me a clipboard and said, “You’re strong for doing this, baby. Let’s get him on paper.”
Filing that paperwork was a blur of questions, shaky signatures, and hands that trembled too much to hold the pen steady. Elias stood behind me the whole time, rubbing my back and whispering things like, “You ain’t alone,” and “He not gon’ ever get this close to you again.”
By the time it was notarized and logged, I felt hollow but also a little lighter, like I’d finally started reclaiming the parts of me he tried to dim.
Back in the hallway, Elias turned to me, his hand on my cheek. “You need anything, baby? You want Leila, Nell, or your pops to come sit with you?”
As if on cue, my phone buzzed.
Leila:
We’re outside the station. You need me, I’m coming in.
Daddy:
Just heard what happened. Baby girl, I’m praying. You call me if you want me up there.
I teared up. “Lei and Jas are outside, and my daddy just texted me. I’ll give him a call later.”
Elias kissed my knuckles. “You want me to bring ’em in?”
I shook my head. “Not yet. Just… stay.”
He nodded, his eyes looking like they held oceans and wildfires all at once.
Outside the interview room, he finally cracked.
“I keep replaying it in my head, baby. What if I hadn’t gotten there sooner? What if I lost you?”
I touched his cheek. “But you didn’t. You came.”
He closed his eyes, inhaling sharply. “I can’t lose another woman I love to violence, Jonay. I won’t. I swear to God, anybody try you again… They better pray I don’t find them first.”
I leaned into him. Felt his heartbeat. Matched it to mine.
In that moment, all I could think was he doesn’t just protect me like a cop. He loved me like a soldier who came home from war and realized what he almost lost.
And I was never gonna let that go.
“Umm… excuse me? Y’all gon’ just leave me outside like a broke baby mama at a paternity hearing?”
Leila’s voice sliced through the tension like hot butter, and before I knew it, she strutted into the hallway with box braids swinging, hoop earrings dancing, and a purse big enough to hold a full set of regrets and a taser.
“You alright, sis?” she asked, already closing the space between us with a hug that smelled like SheaMoisture and lemon pepper trauma. “You look like you just went twelve rounds with God’s ghetto cousin.”
I let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “I’m hanging in.”
“Nah,” she said, pulling back to look at me. “Hanging good enough. Your brother is on ten. He said if Kam even breathes in your direction again, he putting his soul on layaway to stomp him out. Daddy lit candles. Real candles, Jonay. Not votives. I’m talking hood Santería vibes.”
Elias gave her a small nod. “Thanks for coming.”
Leila smirked. “Thanks for not catching a charge today, Mr. Detective. But keep that same energy if Kam ever thinks about popping up again.”
The station was still and heavy until Leila broke out into a full-blown DMX impression, stomping her foot like she had Timberlands on and throwing her voice rough.
“These bitches wanna ride, but they can’t—
These haters talkin’ slick—but they ain’t—
We gon’ pull up to the store—who we be!
Jonay and meeee!”
A couple of officers peeked out from behind doors. One of ’em started clapping. Another added, “She got bars, yo!”
Leila threw her hands up. “You damn right I got bars! Y’all forgot who I was? Ain’t no way I’m letting my best friend go through hell and not remind her she got a tribe.”
I wiped my tears and laughed. For real this time. That belly kind, the one that tugged at all the broken pieces and started fitting them back together.
“I love you, Leila.”
“I know. And we gon’ get through this. Just don’t shut us out, aight?”
Elias stepped closer, sliding his arm around my waist. “She won’t. Not on my watch.”