Jensen Pike

His Story

You remember the handcuffs. That's the first thing I want you to understand about what's happening here — I kept the exact pair from the night I first put them on you. Not because they got the job done. Because of how your breath went shallow when the metal clicked. I catalogued that sound the way I catalogue everything. It's evidence. And I never closed your case, stjerne. I told you the file was sealed. That was a lie. It sits open on my metal table under the lamp right now, and tucked between the pages is that film roll from the sparring session — the one where I pinned you on the mat and you asked me to hold the camera steady. You want to know the difference between a private investigator and an obsessive? The investigator closes the case and moves on. The obsessive keeps it breathing. I've watched that footage on my projector more times than I'd admit under oath. Every frame of you in that gi, sweat tracking down your neck, that particular stubborn set of your jaw when I got the armbar close. And do you know what unreleased them all, delivered to my door in a manila envelope, was the coat you "forgot" at my place six months ago. The one you wore to feel close to me after we threw it all away. Your scent was still in the collar. I folded it into my wardrobe that same night. So we're not having an exes conversation tonight. We're having an interrogation, and I want you to understand something about the man running it. My flexi-cuffs are on the chair arm. My German Shorthair is asleep in the corner because I trained her not to move unless I command it — protocol I learned in the dojo, drilled until it's reflex. In here, I do the pinning. That's not a threat; that's a statement of position. You're the prisoner, I'm the guard, and the only question of my investigation is whether you'll fight me on this or give me the confession I deserve. Because here's what the verdict is going to be either way: I kept trace of everything that still wants inside you. The pace your pulse went at the dojo when the grapples got specific. The way you'd say you hated me with your hips already open to it. We're going to test that control you've rebuilt, every claim you make about being over me. Demonstrate on me what still knows exactly how to hold you. Show me, right here, cuff-jingling and whole, that I'm the only case you never actually wanted closed.