I followed my therapist down the hallway toward her office. Due to her aversion to formality, from the first visit she’d insisted that I call her by her first name, Cameron. She led me in as always and I took a seat. She sat across from me, looking distinguished, yet carefully plain, dressed in a navy pin-striped blazer, white shirt, and matching skirt. Still she was attractive even while trying to take attention away from her looks. Her shoulder-length locks were dyed at the tips, framing her strong-featured face. Looking away from her eyes I scanned down and found myself next trying to avoid staring at her ample bustline. The blazers she wore to tone down her cleavage, and the glasses, were supposed to make her seem more like a doctor. I figured that she wanted to look the part and eliminate anything that might be disruptive to the doctor-patient relationship.

She needed to embrace that she was not only a licensed therapist. She was very good at what she did. The fact that she knew what she was doing made a nonissue of the fact that she came off as both sexy and confident.

At Cameron’s hands I’d been able to shed a lot of the hatred and anger that dwelled within me. For as long as I could remember I blamed every bad thing that happened to me on two women: my mother and Frannie. After I was abandoned by both, there hadn’t been anyone around for me to project that on. With Cameron’s help, I’d been able to see that all the time I thought that I was dogging women out, hating them, I actually had been hating myself. Afraid to love, because I never felt worthy of receiving it. According to her, I had given myself the right to believe this because I had faced the terrible fortune of never feeling valued by anyone.

I also came to get help because I had recurring nightmares of being molested. I’d wake up panting for air many nights, thinking that I was being raped all over again. I wouldn’t see myself as a little boy in those dreams though, which was weird. I was a grown man, yet I was still defenseless.

I’d been in therapy for two years off and on after the relationship with Kristen, a girl I’d dated just before I met Rorrie, came to an end. In a terrible incident, I’d punched the girl in the face. She didn’t understand why in the middle of the night when she reached out to hold me, my reaction had been to throw a hard right jab that broke her nose.

I tried to explain and believed that she understood when I said she’d startled me. I was shocked when two days later I found out that her friends had convinced her to press charges against me. We parted ways and to avoid having any criminal record I was ordered to counseling. Shortly after, I found Cameron and the whole thing proved to be a blessing.

I’d never been able to make any real progress until I met her.

“So how are you, Khalil?” Cameron asked. She had a way of making me feel as though I was in grade school even though she insisted I call her Cameron and she wasn’t even ten years older than me.

“I’m fine, I guess.” Cameron never asked what was troubling me. She’d wait for me to get comfortable with her. I don’t know if it was the fact that I’d come to value the opportunity to talk with her or having another human being that I could spill my heart to. Being in her presence usually prompted me to open up, immediately. I fidgeted in my chair a little and then spit it out. “Cameron, I cheated on my fiancée.”

She didn’t respond. Instead she simply looked at me with inquisitive eyes, her hands flat on the desk. The office was dead silent except for the air blowing through the vent. I waited to make sure that she was blinking.

“I met her on a flight back from Miami. There was something about her the moment I saw her. I’m not sure why though, because I see beautiful women all the time. I had just spent a weekend in South Beach and the thought of cheating hadn’t entered my mind so it was more than the fact that she was beautiful and sexy.”

I paused and she offered an “Okay.” I could have predicted what she asked next before the words came out of her mouth. “So how do you feel about it?”

“I’m not sure how I feel about it.” Before I thought about what type of insight I could offer about my feelings, Honey’s face popped into my head. Then I was surprised that instead of her chocolate skin, hazel eyes, her perfect grapefruit-size breasts, I thought of her voice and the things we talked about on the plane. I remembered that in the midst of whatever she was going through, she’d been able to make me laugh. She was witty and smart. But then just as quickly my mind drove me into the depths of what I viewed as my own depravity as I reminisced on how good it felt to be inside of her. There was no denying that she was incredible in bed.

“Well tell me what you believe you might be feeling about it? The first thing that pops into your mind,” she said, now sitting back.

“I can’t stop thinking about her. I feel bad because in spite of the guilt, I want to see her again. And it’s more than sex. I feel like even though I don’t know her, I want to. I almost need to. As if we have some type of weird spiritual connection.”

“Have you been speaking with her?”

This is what was driving me crazy. It had been two weeks since I’d dropped her off at the hotel and I’d been by the hotel every day since then spending an hour or two parked out front hoping to see her coming or going. I didn’t share this with Cameron. I knew it was crazy. “No, I don’t have a number for her.”

“If you did would you call?”

I nodded yes. “I know where she lives and I stopped by there to leave a note, but I could tell that she hadn’t been past her house.”

“How?”

“Fliers and junk mail jammed in the door. She hasn’t been there.”

“Did you leave your number or a note to let her know?”

“No.”

“So what do you want to do in regards to your relationship?”

I sounded defensive when I said, “I do love Rorrie. I know I do, but I’m having a hard time concentrating on what we have. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just a thing I’m going through.”

“A thing? Be more specific if you could.”

“I mean…maybe it was just me getting caught up in the excitement of someone or something new. I’m sure it’ll pass, especially since I can’t contact her anyway.”

“Well you can. You said you know where she lives, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So do you think you’ll go back there again looking for her since you have no other way of contacting her?”

I wanted to tell Cameron that the day I’d dropped her at the hotel I’d sat in the truck for a moment before going into the lobby after Honey. I wound up practically begging her to give me her number. She’d told me basically that she thought I was confused and that by the time I had it all figured out everything would fall into place. At that moment it seemed that I didn’t have a chance with her and even if I did, I didn’t even know what I wanted a chance to do anyway.

I answered her question: “I don’t think so.” I paused and thought about how I was feeling. “I want to be able to let it go. I just don’t know how. I don’t want to hurt Rorrie, but I don’t know if I can trust myself not to.”

“Well there’s nothing wrong with being confused. It shows that you’re attempting to process some very conflicting emotions.” She had a pencil in her fingers that she twirled a bit back and forth. “Let me ask you this, Khalil. What do you think will happen if you can’t get over this? If you can’t stop thinking about this woman or what you did with her. Will you proceed into a future with Rorrie?”

I shrugged my shoulders and bathed in the shame that her question brought me. We continued to talk about my dreams and my anger for the next forty minutes. I left my session feeling extremely heavy. Rorrie was due in this evening and I knew I’d be taking my bags of guilt to the airport with me when I picked her up.

My cell rang at a quarter past six. “What time you picking me up?”

It was my buddy David. He was getting married in the morning. Along with the other groomsmen, I was taking him out for his last night on the town as a single man. “Around nine thirty. I’m on the way to the airport to pick Rorrie up.”

“Don’t be late,” he barked. We’d had the rehearsal dinner the night before, which worked well with all that I had to do.

“I wouldn’t do that to you, partna. Hopefully this is the last time you do this.” I laughed, referring to the fact that he was on his third crack at marriage and he was only twenty-nine.

“That’s real funny, man. Just make sure your comedic ass brings plenty of ones, because I’m leaving my wallet at home.”

I laughed, because I knew he was dead-serious.

I arrived at Reagan National Airport and pulled around as I searched for American Airlines. As I crept up toward the walkway just outside of the baggage claim I saw her. She was dressed in a pair of scrubs as she wheeled her one suitcase to the curb. I quickly stopped and climbed out to lift her bag, as she looked exhausted. She smiled and we embraced. For the first time I felt no electricity, only awkwardness.

“Hey you,” she said. We climbed in the truck and the first thing she did was turn down my stereo. I turned it back up from the steering wheel. I loved that feature. Nas’s Street’s Disciple CD was pumping through the speakers. “Baby, could you please?” she asked in a tone laced with irritation.

“Headache?” I asked.

“Just don’t feel like the noise. I’ve had a hell of a week.”

I looked over at her as I turned the music down and a bout of fear swept through my body. She was staring straight ahead and didn’t notice my careful gaze. I took in her profile, her hair and the trademark ponytail, the mole on her cheek, her bright white teeth, finally even her well-developed bustline. Just that quickly I’d judged her like a prize poodle in a canine competition and come up with a chilling verdict. For the first time I didn’t see the beauty that had always hypnotized me.

The sight of her didn’t move me at all; neither did her voice or her presence. My heart started to pound as I began to dread the thought of how I’d spend the next forty-eight hours sharing space with her while trying to come up with words to keep her from realizing that we had a problem.

A serious problem, because I needed to feel something for her as I always had, but I didn’t. I glanced at her once again to confirm that there was nothing left about her that would bring me to my knees.

The condition of my heart had been just as it was since the day I’d left the lobby of that hotel, begging for a chance to get to know her. Even looking my fiancée dead in the face, I could see only one woman and it wasn’t Rorrie.