“Welcome everyone. This is our weekly Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. My name is Bill and I am an alcoholic and the secretary of this group. Let us open the meeting with the Serenity Prayer.”

He takes a look around the room, offering a reassuring smile when his eyes catch mine. With Bill leading, the group quietly recites, “God, Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, and Wisdom to know the difference.”

A moment of silence follows the prayer. A moment that feels like eternity as I sit on the hard plastic chair, aware of every single feeling coursing through my body. Why did I do this? What if someone recognizes me? Takes my picture and sells it to the tabloids?

Before I can get too lost in my thoughts, Bill starts to speak again. “At this point, we would like for any new members to please introduce themselves.”

I look up to find eleven sets of eyes watching me. I guess this is my cue.I shift uncomfortably in my seat before standing. The old wood floor creaks beneath me as I stand. Keeping my hands stay coiled in front of me, I look around the room. Instead of seeing mocking faces with camera phones in hand, I see the caring faces of people who are here to listen, to help. The kindness in their eyes gives me the little bit of courage I need to continue.

“My name is Daphni and I’m…I’m an alcoholic.”

This all feels so cliché, like a scene ripped from a movie I've seen. But when I dig my nail into my palm, I realize it's not a dream: this is my life. I quickly sit back down in my seat. I’m nervous, clumsy and uncomfortable and I want to run away. To convince myself that I don’t need this, that I’m not an alcoholic. But I can’t keep lying to myself. There’s too much to risk now. I can’t lose Roman again and if I want to make this work, I need to get help. I need to be here.

“Welcome, Daphni,” Bill, the leader of the group, says as he presses his palms to his knees. “Now as you all already know, we are here as a fellowship of men and women to share our experiences, our success and our failures, to help others recover from their alcoholism. The only requirement for membership is a desire to stop drinking. There are no dues or fees for A.A. membership; we a self-supporting through our own contributions. Our primary purpose is to stay sober and help other alcoholics to achieve sobriety.”

After Bill asks another member of the group, Doug, to read “How it works”, Bill opens the floor for whoever wants to speak.

A woman named Cathy starts. Her chestnut-brown hair is knotted at the back of her head. Her face is worn and tired and she looks like she’s in her mid-forties. When she speaks, however, her voice makes her sound so much younger. She cracks her knuckles as she shares that she almost relapsed this weekend after seven years of sobriety. It was the anniversary of her daughter’s death, and she had a big fight with her husband. Instead of having that drink, though, she called her sponsor, who took her out for a walk. She looks over at another woman, Marilyn, her sponsor, tears brimming in her eyes as she thanks her for the support.

The group claps as she finishes her story and she nods, accepting the accolades. An older woman sitting at my side, Betty, starts to speak next. With her cropped grey hair and bright blue eyeshadow, she looks like a rocker grandmother. She has been sober now for twenty-seven years. She had been abused as a child by a close family friend and for decades carried the shame with her. She turned to alcohol to numb her pain, and ended up losing her whole family when she chose the booze over them. I feel my own eyes water as I listen to her. Her story resonates so strongly with me. Like Betty, I manipulated those around me to do what I wanted and to hide my addictions. I would take out my anger and pain on those who loved me. Without fail, I would disappoint those around me in a futile attempt to sabotage myself. I was a powder keg and I was one more binge away from losing it all like Betty had. I didn’t want that for myself. I wanted to be free of this all. And seeing the faces of support around me, I feel a new found sense of hope bloom inside of me. I’m not alone. I can conquer this.

“Would anyone else like to share?” Bill asks as he looks around the circle.

Something inside me forces me to raise my hand. And before I can pull it back down, Bill nods toward me. I take a deep breath, summoning all my strength. Some innate force inside of me wants to share my story. Hearing everyone else share their stories tonight, seeing their ability to open up and be so vulnerable, made me want to say something, too.

“I’m kind of lost,” I start. “About seven years ago, I had something really terrible happen to me. And it felt like I became broken. So broken that it would be impossible to ever put me back together again without the world seeing how truly destroyed I was. So I stopped trying and I pushed everyone away and I used alcohol and pills to try and fix it. I don’t know why. I saw how it destroyed my mother and still…I needed to not feel anymore. And obviously that didn’t work out too well. I had a few breakdowns that were humiliating, to say the least. And then today, I realized that maybe I could try and fix some of those broken pieces, put them back together again. I think I was so scared to try, because I didn't want anyone to know. I wanted the world to think I was perfect. Because if I wasn't perfect, no one would love me." I shake my head as I feel tears brim in the corners of my eyes. "But I don't care about any of that anymore. Because more than I want to be loved, I want to love myself again." I look up around the room and see eleven sets of eyes, all watching me with compassion and understanding. Marilyn swipes a tear from her cheek and offers me a warm smile.

"Thank you," I whisper to the group as my own tears begin to trickle down my cheeks.

Betty clasps my hand, offering me a reassuring squeeze. I let her hold my hand through the rest of the meeting; I’m surprised how comforting I find this stranger’s touch.

As the group continues to share, each person narrates their victories and their challenges, their proudest moments and the times that crippled them. It’s one of the most humbling experiences of my life: a moment of true connection with a room full of strangers.

The two hours pass by quickly, and I thank everyone before walking outside with Betty. Roman is waiting for me, leaning against a tall tree. I smile the instant I see him. His features are obscured by the pale light of the street lamp, but I’d recognize him anywhere. And when I see him, I feel a visceral, chemical reaction in my body. Because Roman is more than just a lover or a friend: he’s the best parts of me, and my inspiration for choosing to live life rather than just endure it.

At my side, Betty lets out a low whistle. “Damn, girl, you don't need to be loving yourself if you have a man like that wanting to love you." She fans herself dramatically. "If that man wanted to love me, I would let him love me." She tilts her face at me, winking. “All night long,” she adds, before she walks toward the parking lot.

I choke back a laugh as I walk toward Roman. As I join him, he slides his hand over mine. “How did it go?”

“It was really, really nice,” I tell him. “I think this will be something good for me.”

He leans over and places a soft kiss on the crown of my head. “I’m proud of you."

As we walk, our hands interlocked, a comforting, serene feeling comes over me. Everything in this moment just feels so…right. Thoughts of my stalker, of the label and needing to finish recording my album, of Drizzle—everything that was so important to me a week earlier—somehow feels so inconsequential and insignificant now. All that matters is this moment, this time with Roman.

We walk into the dark house, the only sounds the soft crashing of the waves outside and our breaths. In silence, we climb up the stairs, back toward his room. Once inside, Roman sits down on the bed and brings me to stand between his legs. I drape my arms around his shoulders as I look down at him. His eyes have always been so open. I can read his every thought just by looking into his ocean-blue eyes. And tonight is no different. Tonight they show me all the love he has. For me.

I lean down and I kiss him. Soft and slow, our lips join as our breaths become one. His hands reach up to my waist, under my shirt, his thumbs rubbing soft circles on my skin.

I drop my head back, my eyes closing, as Roman’s hands move upward, slip under my bra, and reach for my breasts, squeezing them. I moan as I tighten my grip around his neck. His touch electrifies me, makes me weak at the knees. I crave it. Everything from him, I crave.

As his hands move to my back, unclasping my bra, I step back. I feel a swell of power as I watch Roman’s eyes, heated with desire, follow my every movement. I want him to feel the same hopeless attraction I feel whenever he touches me. I want him to know what it feels like for me to be completely and totally owned by him.

Locking my eyes on his, I reach for the hem of my shirt and slowly lift it over my head. Next, I lift my shoulders and shrug out of my bra. Keeping my eyes on his, I skim my hands down the sides of my body until they meet at my belly. I unbuckle my shorts and then slowly lower the zipper.

With each of my movements, I can see Roman’s muscles ripple. When I slide out of my shorts and stand before him, in only my lace panties, he exhales a shallow breath. I dip one hand beneath my waistband and curl my finger, lightly pressing it against my swollen clit. At the contact, I moan and my eyes flutter.

I hear Roman swear under his breath as he unzips his pants and pulls out his heavy cock, hard with need. His hooded eyes continue to watch me touch myself as he begins to stroke the base of his throbbing cock. The head drips with need, and I feel my mouth water with a feral desire to taste him in my mouth. The thought of taking him in my mouth almost sends me over the edge, and before I come apart, I drop to the floor in front of him and take one long lick down his hard shaft. Roman’s hands drop away, falling back against the bed as he lets out the sexiest groan. Licking my lips, I bob my head and cover the head of his cock with my mouth.

With my hands, I pump the base of his cock as I continue to suck, wanting to drain him of every drop. His lusty groans urge me forward and I quicken my pace, needing to feel him pulsate inside me.

His hands dig into my hair and with one last groan, he pulls me away. I look up at him, barely recognizing the dark need swirling in his eyes.

“Daphni, please…” he says.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Did I hurt you?”

Roman chuckles, and I barely recognize the husky, raspy sound that comes from him. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “But if you don’t stop, I’m going to come.”

I pout my lips and look up at him confused. “But I want you to come.”

Pulling me up, he slides my panties off, sending them to the floor. “Trust me, I do, too. But I want to come with you.”

Sliding farther back into the bed, he pulls me toward him. “I want you to ride me, baby. Take what you need.”

His words send a trail of liquid heat straight to my core. He watches me with hooded eyes as I crawl toward him. I lift my hips, lowering myself over his throbbing, hot cock. Once he enters me, we both loudly groan. Roman’s hands reach up, and he squeezes my breasts.

“Fuck, Daphni. You’re so beautiful.”

I roll my hips and Roman’s eyes squeeze closed. His hands move down my body, gripping my ass and urging me forward. I don’t need any more direction, and I continue to grind against him, his cock throbbing inside me as his base hits my clit with each grind of my hips.

Within minutes we’re both panting with need. I lean forward, my hands on his chest as I continue to ride him, bringing us to the release we both desperately need.

“I’m coming,” I whisper as I fall down on top of him, my lips kissing his neck as I continue to roll my hips, taking him deeper and deeper inside me. A second later, I feel a sliver of electric heat course through me as I bite down on his shoulder, groaning as my walls clench down against him. Quickly thrusting his hips, Roman comes a moment later with a loud groan.

Unable to move, we both continue to lie together, our limbs intertwined. Reluctantly, I pull away and tuck myself under Roman’s arm.

“I’m scared,” I confess, whispering against his hot skin.

I feel his arms tighten around me, pulling me closer to him. “What are you scared of?”

“This can’t be real. The last time I was this happy, something terrible happened.”

Roman pulls me up so that I’m facing him. Even in the darkness, I can see the light reflecting in his clear, blue eyes. “Nothing terrible is going to happen, Daphni. You are allowed to be happy.”

“And what if I lose it all? What if I’m nothing?”

“You could never be nothing. And you will always have me, Daphni. I lost you once, I’m not going to lose you again.”