Session 33

Chapter one

'Cause baby, I'm caring 'bout you Ain't playing no games 'bout you I'll go to hell and jail 'bout you, boy

Summer Walker's lyrics hit different.

She didn’t just write songs—she wrote confessions. Every lyric felt like a blueprint for loving someone so deeply, so recklessly, that you’d risk everything just to be near them. You could feel the weight of her words, like she’d poured every ounce of herself into them, like she lived every moment she sang about. stringing out her pain and her hunger, her wild, until it was impossible not to feel it.

I wanted those feelings for myself. All of them—the pleasure, the ache, the surrender. But I also wanted a soft life that included long nights in bed, receiving deep strokes that left me breathless. A man who could press his lips to my skin and quiet the ache beneath it.. A man who loved me so hard it blurred the line between devotion and obsession.

I sighed, letting the book in my lap fall shut. It couldn’t compete with the lyrics, with the yearning. The story was good—some romance about a broken woman finding herself through the love of a man who was equally broken—but I wasn’t in the mood for that kind of fantasy tonight. Not when reality felt this heavy.

I left the book splayed open on the coffee table, the pages catching the glow of the lamp. My feet carried me to the window, where I pressed my forehead against the cool glass and looked out at the city.

What would it be like to be so gone over somebody that you’d risk your freedom for them? To love someone so deeply that you’d face anything just to stay close. Would it be like a raging fire, wild and exciting, or a steady flame that never stops burning?

What would it be like to look into someone’s eyes and see your whole future together? To have someone care so much that every goodbye hurts and every hello feels like coming home. Would it make everything easier and less lonely?

I closed my eyes, trying to imagine it. Warm arms wrapping around me from behind, a whispered "I love you" against my neck, the feel of someone else’s heartbeat matching mine. My throat tightened at the thought.

But instead, here I was, easing back into the reality of another Friday night, where I did nothing but lounge on my plush leather sofa. I was depressed. Loneliness had me in a chokehold.

I scanned my living room, my gaze drifting over the sleek black furniture and bold red accents that gave the space a chic, modern vibe. My 65-inch TV was mounted neatly on the wall above a minimalist console filled with gadgets that I barely touched. My three-bedroom, two-bath condo was curated down to the last detail—a testament to my success.

On paper, I should have been on top of the world. Managing one of the largest accounting firms in Florida, making six figures, and debt-free. But there was no warmth here, no laughter filling the empty corners. Just me, trying to convince myself that a perfectly curated life was enough to make up for the silence.

Tomorrow would be much of the same. I’d clean my already immaculate house, handle some errands, dive into another book, and then hit the sack by 10. Sunday wasn’t looking any brighter, with plans to eat lunch alone and spend the afternoon catching up on shows I’d recorded throughout the week. By Monday morning, I’d be back at my desk, facing another week just like the last.

For years, I tried to shake off the weight of the loneliness pressing down on my chest, but the more I tried to ignore it, the more it settled in. When ignoring it didn’t work, I started venturing out, seeking connection. I tried online dating. Going to bars. Letting people I worked with hook me up with this or that family member, only to end more disillusioned. It was hard to meet someone when most of my peers were tangled in their own dramas—family, kids, or still figuring out their paths.

But truthfully, I’d been keeping people at a distance long before I started dating. My daddy had a temper, the kind that made him explode over the smallest things—burnt toast, a misplaced pair of shoes. Out of habit, I kept people away so they wouldn’t see the cracks in my life. So they wouldn’t hear the yelling, the breaking dishes, or the way my mama’s voice would get smaller and smaller as he wore her down. I got good at making myself invisible, at pretending everything was fine, at living inside my own head where no one could touch me.

That habit followed me into adulthood. I kept people out because it was easier. Safer. Until I didn’t have anyone to let in

My reflection in the glass caught my eye. I stared at myself.

Thick chocolate thighs, a flat stomach, full breasts. My hips carved wide enough to birth babies I wasn’t sure I’d ever have. Standing five-eight and tipping the scales at two-hundred-ten pounds, I was all curves—soft in the places I wanted to be, solid in the places I needed to be. My skin was smooth, glowing from my religious skincare routine. After years of yo-yo dieting and picking myself apart in mirrors, I’d finally embraced the way I looked.

But loving yourself is a lonely thing when there’s no one to do it with you. The men who did approach me—if you could even call them men—looked at me like I was a challenge to conquer or a distraction from their real lives. They weren’t looking for me, not really.

I sighed again. I needed to stop thinking, stop dwelling. Exhausted from the sameness, I retreated from the window and headed to my bedroom. My bare feet skimmed the cold tiles, the chill crawling up my legs as if the house itself was trying to remind me that I was alone. I wrapped my arms around myself, seeking warmth, Seeking comfort.

When I climbed into bed, the tears started, like they always did. I was tired of crying, tired of feeling like this couldn’t be all life had to offer. With the TV playing low for background noise, I shut my eyes tight, squeezing out the last of the tears, and whispered a prayer into the dark. "Dear God, just send me someone—a whole man, a piece of a man, hell, even some friends who make the silence less loud. I’m not asking for perfection, just someone who’ll see me, hold me, and stay."