Margaret Falk

ENGL 2270-001
Short Story
22 February 2017

Cuff Me

Old habits die hard; Elaida Vyalitsyna probably knows that better than anyone. And I

know Elaida better than most people do. So believe me when I say that if that woman wants to

get rid of a specific habit, she does it with the precision, preparation, detail, and vigor that a

master assassin uses to eliminate their target.

The details of her past are dark, and sometimes even pitch-black. But she assures me that

it wasnt really a problem for her back when she worked for herself, hopping from job to job. In

those days, nobody ever checked up on her, so she had all the privacy she needed and no reason

to have to make up some lame excuse to justify why she couldnt fall asleep unless one wrist was

enclosed by a handcuff and the other end locked around whatever post or frame that was situated

conveniently close to her sleep-space. She understood the awkwardness, the potential

vulnerability it created, but she went with it because it was all shed ever known and it was

simpler to merely carry on as she always did.

Anyway, it never mattered how many times she told herself that she was her own master

now because the nature of her job meant that in a lot of ways, she was no more free than when

her violently abusive uncle had oppressed her every move, every breath. So why should she be

physically free when she wasnt psychologically? At least, thats how she explains it to me. Im

not sure I completely understand how her reasoning works.

Things changed when she met me, I guess. The Mongolia 89th precinct of the NYPD

busted her for selling cocaine to a bunch of stupid freshmen at Columbia University. I led that
team of cops. Not very ideal circumstances for a first meeting, I know. But she ended up taking a

plea bargain and helped the NYPD crack a larger city-wide drug case. Shes the precincts best

asset, now, in my opinion.

When she joined the NYPD after a few years of college as an analyst, she went from

fighting for her life every day and living in the streets to living in her own apartment; an

individual space that no one else could go in. But when she was suddenly surrounded by so many

people who were going ordinarily about their lives without being chained both physically and

symbolically to their past to get a few hours of sleep littered with nightmares, it became painfully

obvious how deep her scars ran. Even now, she absolutely refuses to be damaged goods.

So, with profuse amounts of Scar-Away cream slathered on the scars of her wrists,

innumerable restless nights where she preached to herself under her breath about how pointless

the restraint wasnights that extended on into days until finally, she was so fatigued that her

body had no choice but to surrender to sleepshe destroyed the habit until only its ugly shadow

was leftand then, only in her mind. She tossed the handcuffs into the depths of a proverbial

river.

For the longest time, the handcuffs were her secret and hers alone. Even when she

gradually opens up about it to me now, there are just some things you dont talk about.

Until you do.

I cant quite pinpoint exactly when the change started to happen, or what brought it about,

but at some point, I became privy to the shadiest secrets of Elaidas past. I dont judge her for

any of the things that have happened to her, its not my place even if I am a cop. So she likes to

confide in me. From what I can tell, when she decides to open up to me, its like bleeding poison

from a wound because with me, she knows she wont find judgement or fear. Only understanding
and compassion. The handcuffs, however, are just a small fragment of the entire mess, one of the

little things that doesnt bother her anymore.

Until it does.

Elaida asked me to sleep over tonight. She always seems to sleep better when Im here.

Im one of those things that she refers to as an anchor, something that keeps her grounded and

brings her back to reality when it seems to be crashing down. I consider it an honor, even though

some people would consider it trivial. Being that lifeline to her has given me a sense of purpose

that no amount of police work could ever do. Most nights, Elaida sleeps fine because after years,

she has managed to compartmentalize her past enough that she can sleep. But something is off

tonight, and I think I know what it is

Sometime in the earliest hours of morning, one of her psychological walls caves in under

its own weight and unexpectedly, shes reliving the most awful parts of her childhood in North

Dakotaher parents dying, the first night she spent as a prisoner to her uncle, the

punishments, the beatings, the vicious things her uncle forced her to do, the rape, the drugs,

being handcuffed to the bed while sleeping so she couldnt run away, and the time she made her

uncle taste gunmetal and eat the bullets in self-defense because she couldnt take it anymore. Her

uncle was a real piece of work. She hated him; still hates him. All the memories steam hot inside

her mind, like glowing coils, and she shoots straight up out of a dead sleep, anxious, with beads

of cold sweat forming on her forehead. Her whole body is in a defensive position, just waiting

for the danger to strike so she can protect herself.

Im already awake so I shoot up a half-second later, my body synchronized to her after all

the time weve spent together. I slowly get up from the sofa at the foot of the bed and make my
way to sit on the bed next to her, making no abrupt movements and being sure to keep my hands

where she can see them at all times.

Elle? You okay? I ask, making sure my voice is low and calm.

But she doesnt answer me. She cant. The floodgates of the past have been blown to

smithereens and it all comes smashing back over her. In this instant, its all too much for her. She

reverts to her earliest learned instinct when faced with agony and uncertaintyshut up and shut

down. You become the most rudimentary functions of breathing lungs and beating heart where

everything else doesnt exist. You are an entity of nothingness, you fold in on yourself and stay

there, hoping that whatever it is passes. You do what it takes to survive.

Elle, I say again with a gentle tone, but this time adding warmth to my voice,

attempting to reach the part of her thats still there, concealed behind all those walls of terror and

self-defense. Elaida, I repeat. Laida, its Elias. Youre safe here. Its just the two of us and

youre safe. I promise, Elle.

It takes a couple of minutes, but I gradually break through to her and her eyes start to

focus again, landing on my face, glinting with dim recognition. Eli? she asks with a tight throat

and a broken voice.

Yeah, I say tenderly, very slowly placing a hand near her on the bed. An offer, if she

feels secure enough to take it. Yeah, its me. You alright?

Her gaze flicks down to take in my extended hand and she accepts it, sliding her fingers

between mine. She licks her lips nervously, looks around with eyes darting from corner to corner,

and then looks back at me. We both pretend not to notice her trembling. I cant sleep, she

confesses roughly. Not without- I think I need-, She motions awkwardly from herself to the
bed post and I know exactly what she means. She looks ashamed. That part of her pastthe past

that haunts herit seems will never be forgotten or repressed deep enough.

I lightly squeeze her hand. Okay, I say, nodding, comforting her. Alright.

Ive seen her tie her wrist to the bed a few times previously, using whatever she had on

hand. But even though I know why she needs it and how it helps, it still kills me inside to see her

this way. I reluctantly let go of her hand, get up off the bed and walk around to her side. She

looks puzzled, and a little upset at first like Im just walking away. But I kneel on the floor

beside the bed and reach up to stroke my fingers through her dark hair and gently cup her cheek.

Lie down, I tell her softly.

Hesitantly, she does, tear-filled eyes fixated on me the whole time.

When shes lying down on her side and facing me, I scoot over so Im sitting on the floor

next to the bed and get comfy. I calmly reach up, and place a hand over her wrist until its

entirely enclosed by my fingersMuch warmer and considerably softer than any handcuffs.

Elaida manages to give me a feeble, insecure smile. You cant sleep like that, she

whispers. You cant stay like that all night.

I pull her hand to me momentarily and press my lips to her knuckles in the softest of

kisses, and then rest her hand back on the bed beside her, fingers still securely around her wrist.

Watch me, I say in a teasing way, but also underlining it with solemnity to prove to her just

how serious I am and how much I mean it.

I sit and she lays, we look at each other for lengthy minutes that seem to stretch on into

infinity, until at last, her eyelids start to droop no matter how she fights them.

Its okay, Elle, I whisper. Ive got you.

 Little by little, she accepts it and lets go, her eyes closing down and body going limp

from the release of all the strain and fear.

As she sleeps, I sit here in the dark of the night, reflecting on everything that has

happened. I hold her wrist just tight enough to remind her of what had been, what conveyed to

her that she was permitted to sleep, but loose and light enough to remind her that it was different

now and that Im not holding her down.

Im helping her hold on.