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“Hell. No,” he repeated. “Bilan, that’s my body. It’s been branded by me and my child. You think I’m going to spend a moment giving a fuck about a scar and pooch? That shit is mine; all of it.” “It’s horrid.” “It tells the crazy muthafucka who tries after me that I demolished your ass, and his demise would follow soon after.” His arms moved fluidly to keep him afloat. Another sign of his confidence. “You’re mine, Bilan. I’m sorry to say. That scar is proof of it, baby girl.” “You don’t mean that.” “You’re marked. By me.” His declaration was final. “Now get your ass in here.”
sagacious
It’s something I learned in those intense therapy sessions on the retreat. Relationships in life are relatively about parameters. Parameters in friendships, marriage, with relatives, and even with your children. They’re key in defining who you are as a person and how you govern yourself while functioning within them.”
“His mother pulled me aside one day when visiting his place while I was over.” Sofia shared. “She said, ‘When a Black man loves you, he protects you. The prize for a Black man is finding a woman who understands and appreciates his plight because she, too, has one akin to him.’
