Cuffs

by Loki Renard

  “Make this place look liveable and maybe you'll find out.”

  The carrot proved to be far more effective than the stick. Less than an hour later the apartment was spotless and Jerry was reporting to the bedroom for her promised loving.

  “I've missed you so much,” she said, kissing the intoxicating curve of Lara's neck and shoulder.

  “I've missed you too,” Lara said, smiling as she unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall away to reveal her trim body, pert breasts presented in black lace.

  “Oh my god, you're killing me,” Jerry groaned, letting her tongue trail down to the soft skin of Lara's breast. No woman felt like Lara felt, a mixture of softness and strength. Jerry could have spent all day nuzzling her breasts, exploring their curves and hard nipple peaks. Black lace gave way to her attentions and soon Jerry had covered every inch of Lara's skin in urgent, loving kisses.

  “I can't believe I almost lost this,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “You're so fucking beautiful.”

  “So are you,” Lara replied, easing her hands over Jerry's shoulders and down her sides. She lifted the hem of Jerry's shirt, but before she could raise it, Jerry slapped her hands away.

  “No,” she said. “That will really kill the mood.”

  “What will kill the mood is you hiding from me,” Lara said, her brow twitching. “I want to feel your skin against mine. I want to be naked with you.”

  “Well you can't be,” Jerry said. “Because I'm a monster now.”

  “You're not a monster,” Lara said. “And even if you were, you'd be my monster.”

  The words were enough to make tears well in Jerry's eyes all over again. “You're too damn good to me, Lara.”

  “I'm about to be,” Lara agreed. “Can we take this shirt off?”

  “If you don't mind losing your lunch, sure.”

  Gently, Lara lifted the shirt over Jerry's head, easing it off her body. As usual, Jerry was not wearing a bra. Lara ran her hands over her neat, pert breasts, soothing some of the tension out of her lover.

  “God,” Jerry groaned down at her once toned stomach. “I look like Frankenstein.”

  She did not look like Frankenstein, though she did have two rounded wounds on the left side of her belly. They were noticeable, but hardly grotesque, at least, not in Lara's eyes.

  “They'll heal up over time,” Lara reassured her. “We'll put Vitamin E on them.”

  “Vitamin E doesn't heal bullet wounds,” Jerry said, holding back tears. “I look like a lead pinata.”

  “You look beautiful,” Lara said, pressing gentle kisses under Jerry's breasts. “You'll always be beautiful to me.”

  “Don't lie to me.”

  A sharp slap to her jean clad bottom cut the self-pity spiral short.

  “Listen to me,” Lara said. “Looks don't last. One day we're both going to be wrinkled old prunes. Those scars won't even be visible under the saggy folds of your belly skin. And I'm still going to want you.”

  Jerry burst out laughing. “Saggy folds?”

  “Saggy folds come to us all.”

  “Oh my god, I love you so much.” Jerry put her arms around Lara and squeezed her tight.

  “I love you too. Now get those pants and panties off.”

  That was an order Jerry had no problem following.

  Their first time making love after the incident was gentle, slow and tender. Every touch was precious, every moment treasured, for they were both so keenly aware that had things gone ever so slightly differently then that languid afternoon betwixt the sheets would never have come to pass. The session ended when they fell asleep in one another's arms, just as they had on their first night together.

  *****

  From heaven to hell, Lara woke to her lover tossing and turning beside her. Jerry was panting and whimpering, her brow soaked with sweat. For a brief, frightening moment she thought perhaps Jerry had picked up an infection from the hospital, but as sleep cleared from her mind she realized it wasn't a fevered dream. It was a nightmare. A bad one.

  Jerry had been prone to them ever since the shooting. During daylight hours she was all bravado and spunk, but the moment the lights went out and sleep claimed her, the daemons came for her too.

  “Jerry, sweetheart,” Lara said, shaking Jerry gently. “You're having a nightmare.”

  “FUCK!”

  Jerry woke up with a shriek and sat bolt upright, staring ahead with wide, frightened eyes.

  “Baby, it was a dream.” Lara kept her voice low and soothing.

  “Oh. I know,” Jerry lied. “I'm fine. Go back to sleep.”

  “You're not fine.” Lara said, reaching out to pull Jerry closer. “You're having those dreams. About the... incident.”

  “I'm not. I was dreaming that they stopped selling burgers. That's what I was dreaming about.” Jerry tried for a smile, but it sort of froze on her face. The fear was still pumping through her veins.

  “I really think you should see a counselor,” Lara said gently, running her fingers through Jerry's soaked short hair.

  “Sure, and then I might as well shoot myself all over again for all the good that will do my career. I'm fine, alright?”

  “You do remember who has to sign you back into active duty, don't you?”

  “Yeah, you,” Jerry said. “So go back to sleep. I'm fine.”

  There was no getting back to sleep in the sweat sodden bed, at least, not for Lara, who very much doubted Jerry was going to sleep either.

  “Why don't we grab a shower?”

  “It's 3 am,” Jerry said. “You've got work in the morning. Go back to sleep.”

  “It's 3 am and we're both covered in sweat. Let's take a shower.”

  *****

  Jerry eventually agreed to the shower. She also agreed to the thorough, but gentle washing Lara gave her, soapy loofah traveling up and down her back and neck in a hypnotic stroking motion that slowly but surely made the clenched up feeling in her stomach begin to go away.

  By the time they got out it was almost three thirty in the morning. Lara changed the sheets on the bed and then they both went back to sleep.

  Jerry had almost forgotten about the incident entirely, until Lara came home from work the next day. She stepped through the door and smiled at Jerry just as she always did, but something was different. Intellectually, Jerry had known that taking care of a wounded partner was hard work, but she'd never seen it written on Lara's face quite so plainly. There were dark circles under her eyes, her pale skin seemed more sallow than porcelain and there seemed to be deeper wrinkles carving their way across her forehead. If Jerry wasn't very much mistaken, she was making Lara old before her time.

  “Hey,” she said, searching for something, anything to make it better. “I decided you're right. I'm going to see the shrink.”

  “I'm glad to hear it,” Lara said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Let me get settled and I'll put dinner on.”

  “Nope,” Jerry refused. “I'm doing dinner tonight.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart, but I don't really feel like pizza.”

  “Not pizza,” Jerry said. “Real food.”

  “I'm too tired to go out.”

  “I will cook real food, myself,” Jerry clarified. “I can do that. You go relax.” When Lara gave her a dubious look, she repeated the order. “Seriously. Go and relax already.”

  *****

  Lara attempted to relax. It was sweet, really, Jerry trying to look after her for a change. The problem was, Jerry wasn't really the domestic type. She showed her care and her love in other ways. Lara offered to help with dinner a dozen times, but each time Jerry shooed her out of the kitchen, saying she had things under control.

  Watching out of the corner of her eye, Lara had to restrain herself from going to Jerry's aid. The woman really didn't know her way around the kitchen. When black smoke started rising from a pan, Lara decided she'd hung back enough. She reached around Jerry with a pan lid in her hand, dropped it on top of the now more than charred
ribs and pressed a kiss to Jerry's cheek. It wasn't until she tasted tears that she realized something was very wrong.

  “Jerry, don't worry about it. We'll get take out.”

  “I'm useless to you,” Jerry said. “I can't cook for you. I can't... I can't do anything.” She burst into sobbing tears that made Lara's heart break for her.

  “Jerry, sweetheart, please. It's okay. Shhh. It's going to be okay.”

  “It's not going to be okay. I'm a fucking nutcase. I'm scared of everything. I don't want to see a shrink because I don't want to leave the house. I don't feel safe anywhere but here.”

  The confession came tumbling out, sodden words laced with pain.

  “It's normal to feel that way,” Lara reassured her. “You've been through a lot, Jerry. Give yourself a break.”

  “And who is going to give you a break?” Jerry looked up into Lara's face. “I can't do this to you. I can't be a burden.”

  “You're not a burden. I love you and I want to take care of you. You're mine, Jerry. Mine.” Lara cupped Jerry's face in her hands and pressed kiss after kiss to her cheeks. “The only thing I'm afraid of is losing you.”

  “Well you won't lose me, because I'll be stuck in here, a nutty shut-in,” Jerry mumbled.

  “No you won't. There are medications for that.”

  “Great,” Jerry said. “Just what I always wanted, drugged up to the eyeballs just to get through the day.”

  “Your body experienced a trauma and you didn't have a problem with the medication they gave you for that. Why would you have a problem with taking medication for the trauma your mind experienced?”

  “Dunno.” Jerry shrugged. “I guess... I guess it's because my mind is me. I can lose a leg and still be me. But if I lose my mind? I'm not me.”

  “You'll still be you. I promise.”

  Chapter Nine

  Jerry tried to hold on to Lara's promise, but sitting in a creaky leather chair and looking at a woman who seemed to be made out of creaky leather too, she was beginning to have her doubts.

  “So, Jerry, you've been having nightmares.”

  Jerry scowled at the therapist. The woman was in her early sixties by the look of things, all gray hair and tweed. How could she possibly know anything about being a vice cop? How could she possibly know anything about anything that wasn't maybe crochet and jam.

  “Some,” she said, picking at the knee of her jeans. She would have gotten up and left if she didn't know Lara was outside, waiting for her.

  “You don't want to talk about them?”

  “I don't want to talk about anything,” Jerry said. “I'm not the talking type. I'm the doing type. Talking is a waste of time.”

  “What sort of things do you like to do? You have hobbies?”

  “Well no,” Jerry said. “Not really. I used to work all the time. But then I got shot.”

  “And you're waiting to be restored to active status.”

  “Yeah. I'm not good for anything though, aside from some desk duties, which I'd rather stab myself in the eye than do forever.”

  The therapist nodded and made a note. “Would you rather fight a horse-sized duck, or a hundred duck-sized horses?”

  “What?” Jerry looked at her askance. “What are you talking about? I thought I was the one who needed the crazy pills. Have you been getting high on your own supply, doc?”

  “Just answer the question, if you can.”

  Jerry flung her hands in the air. “A horse-sized duck, I guess.”

  “Why?”

  “Because kicking a hundred tiny horses seems like an asshole sort of thing to do.” Jerry shrugged. “What does this have to do with anything?”

  “Some people like a multitude of small challenges,” the therapist said. “Other people need an Everest. Or a horse-sized duck.”

  “Okay. Is this going to make sense any time soon?”

  The therapist shuffled her papers. “You've filled out all the tests I've asked you to complete and you're scoring normally, aside from some depression which appears to be largely linked to a sedentary lifestyle and the shrinking of your world. The nightmares are also of concern, of course.”

  “So you're going to drug me up? What am I going to be on?”

  “I think we should speak further with your partner in the room,” the therapist said. “I understand she wishes to be part of the process.”

  “Must be going to get the really heavy stuff,” Jerry mumbled on her was across the room to call Lara. “Maybe you're going to lock me away.”

  Lara joined the meeting. Jerry couldn't help but notice that she seemed nervous too. Did Lara think she was crazy? God, was she crazy? Jerry felt her pulse begin to spike and her palms start to sweat. It took everything she had to sit down next to Lara and act as if it was perfectly okay to be discussed like some sort of specimen.

  The therapist started the conversation. “Ms Ashcroft, Ms Schwartz and I have had a very informative conversation...”

  Jerry snorted. “She asked me about ducks.”

  “Shhh,” Lara hushed her.

  Jerry scowled. She was in the wrong line of work. Who knew you could make three hundred dollars an hour asking people silly questions and then putting them on silly pills.

  “It is my opinion,” the therapist said, “that it isn't the trauma of the shooting that is giving Ms Schwartz trouble. It is more likely linked to a loss of status and a loss of stimulation. I would recommend returning her to active duty as soon as possible.”

  Jerry's jaw dropped, then she let out a little squeal of glee. “Fuck yes!”

  Lara also looked shocked, though her reaction was not nearly as positive. “Are you sure?”

  “As sure as any therapist ever can be,” the woman said. “A slow escalation of duties is advisable...”

  Jerry stopped listening after that. She was going back to work. She was going to get her life back. She would have leaped up and hugged the woman if she wasn't worried it would count as some sort of episode.

  *****

  “So are you going to sign off on me going back to work?” Jerry began the nagging the moment they left the therapist's office.

  “Not yet,” Lara said. “I want you to stay on light duties for a while. Desk duties. Maybe we'll work you up to some street work in time.”

  “Oh great,” Jerry said, her face falling. “So the doctor clears me, and the physio already cleared me, but you're still not satisfied. You're going to have me picking up trash until I retire.”

  “We'll talk about this at home,” Lara said. She'd gone all thin lipped, the way she did when she really didn't like what was happening.

  They rode back to Lara's place in silence. Jerry's frustration was close to boiling point when they got inside.