So now we sat with our backs to the wall. Marianna, yeah that was her name - but the way she lit into me, I would've thought her name was Fury - had run out of steam.

We sat watching the clock. Only thirty minutes had gone by.

I wondered if this was how therapy felt. She made me look her in the eye, call her by name and agree that I was the worse kind of stalker and rapist. That was after she made me define what a rapist and a stalker was.

That was after I tried to explain to her that I had come in through the open window and got into bed with her, thinking she was Ashley. That was after I'd told her that I'd been drunk and before she slapped me.

Why the hell did I think this was gonna be a good idea? Marianna is right. Maybe keeping to myself too much has made me warped. She said that's a Monday morning problem - as in Monday, I better find myself over to the Uni clinic and find a therapist to talk to... after getting myself screened for STDs. She wants proof that I'm clean by Tuesday, or she'd be calling the police.

I looked over at the posters on the wall, below the clock. A man and a woman running along a beach. The word 'Jamaica' under their feet. They looked happy. Why couldn't I have that?

I had wanted that with Ashley, until Marianna told me that Ashley had a boyfriend. She wasn't coming back this weekend, as she was off meeting the family, and probably accepting his proposal.

"I'm never going to drink so much again."

"That's the best fucking idea you've had in the last 24 hours," Marianna chuckled.

"How's your head?"  Yeah, she had cussed me out, then brought me a glass of water and an aspirin. She'd said I'd need it, because she wasn't done with me yet.

"So so. More important, how's your stomach?" That's what we were waiting for.

She and Ashley had an emergency stash of the Morning After Pill. We were waiting two hours to make sure she didn't vomit it back up.

She let herself fall over onto her side and curled up. She grabbed a pillow and groaned into it. This wasn't good. What the hell should I do? I curled myself up behind her, fitting myself behind her. I rubbed her arm and told her over and over how sorry I was.

I couldn't help putting my nose up against her neck. She had taken off her scarf and put her hair into a bun on top of her head. Her hair smelled like coconut, and her neck smelled like mangoes. I shouldn't have done that, because I could feel myself getting hard again.

I started to roll away from her, I didn't want to be the guy to ruin her life. I'd just had thirty minutes of how hard it was for black women to succeed and how this was her chance to pull herself and her family up. I didn't want to be the bad guy. I wanted to fix it. This pill had a 89 percent chance of working. But only if it stayed down. If it came up, I'd have to go get another one and we'd start all over again. And that other eleven percent? Well, we'd know in another two or three weeks.

"No, stay," she murmured. She put her hand on my hip. I stayed.

"Do you want me to rub your feet again?" Yeah. She made me rub her feet with something called Mango Butter. I would have rubbed it on for days, if she would forgive me. Plus her skin felt so warm and smooth.

I tried to ease my crotch  away from her butt, but she pushed back on me, as she mumbled, "No."

We lay like that for a while. I could hear her taking deep breaths.  I propped myself up on one elbow and looked down at how we looked lying there. Her long silky legs looked sculpted out of milk chocolate, beside my pale denim-clad legs. I thought back to last night. I had been inside her - soft, hot, wet and tight.  I was getting harder by the second.

Down, hombre, I scolded my cock, there is no way you can get away humping on this girl after all that's happened. With my luck, she'd probably throw up the toast and juice we'd had for breakfast all over me.

When Marianna spoke again, I thought I hadn't heard her right. I asked her to repeat. She took my hand that was running up and down her arm, pulled it under her T-shirt and put it on her breast.

"Distract me."