Page 97 of Man Cuffed
“Now tell me how you’re going to fix things with Meg?”
This again. “I can’t fix them without becoming a different person.”
“So do that.” She shrugs.
“Rosie!”
“Look, Mac. We’re all sympathetic. You don’t like to take chances with your heart.”
“I can’t,” I explain. “It’s just not how I’m built.”
“Hmm,” Rosie says, looking thoughtful. “Humor me for a moment, would you? There’s something I want to show you. Try this: stretch both arms over your head. And take a deep breath.”
I hesitate. “Is this, like, a yoga technique?”
“Something like that.”
I consider my options. On the one hand, my sister brought me coffee and donuts. And she obviously cares. So I should humor her. On the other hand, this is a bunch of bullshit and I’d like to get on with my day.
My day full of moping.
“Mac. Come on. Just lift up your arms, you stubborn macho bonehead.”
With a sigh, I set down my coffee mug and slowly raise my arms overhead.
“Good job,” she says. “Stretch! Take a deep breath and hold it. Arch your back a little.”
Huh. Yoga is getting weirder all the time.
Rosie lifts herself onto her knees and takes my wrists in one of her hands. She eases them closer to the metal bed frame. “You’re doing great. Hold it right there.”
Hold it right there. That’s something a cop would say right before he...
Something cool slips around my wrist.Click. The sound of a handcuff closing makes me jerk that wrist. “What the—”
Click.
She’s got the other one, too! “Rosie! What the everloving fuck?” I yank on my wrists, but they’re cuffed together with my iron bedrail in between. “Are you shitting me right now!”
My sister smiles. “Calm down, Mac.”
“I WILL NOT CALM DOWN.” I can’t lower my arms. She’s cuffed me to my own bed with... “Are these myownhandcuffs? This isn’t funny at all.”
“It’s not supposed to be funny. It’s supposed to make you uncomfortable.”
“I AM VERY UNCOMFORTABLE, CAPTAIN OBVIOUS!”
“There is no need to shout.” She crosses her arms. “Let’s just take a few breaths and observe ourselves with curiosity, but not with judgment.”
“Oh, I’m full of judgment!”
“For me, sure.” Rosie shrugs. “But let’s focus on you. Describe your discomfort. Do you feel vulnerable?”
“Yes, dammit. Congratulations. Now get these off me. Where did you find these, anyway?”
“In your sock drawer.”
“You evil…” I bite my tongue, because I cannot insult the person who I need to set me free. “Where’s the key?” Oh, God. If she lost it, the boys at the station will never let me live this down. Lance will show up here and take fifty photos before he lets me go.
