I shouldn't mention Nas’s name, even in my head. When I think about how I haven't been sexually satisfied in a while, my mind automatically goes to him, because he’s the best I ever had. It doesn't help that I haven't been on a date or even tried to have a one-night stand since I ended things with him, but if I’d fucked someone else since we broke up, I think my body would still be holding on to what Nas did to it for the few months we were together. I want to move past him, but my body won’t let me forget how incredible he was, and my mind won’t let go of the conversations we had while we laid in bed together all those nights. They say time heals all wounds. Well, that bitch isn’t doing her job right now, and it feels like torture every day. Even when I’m supposed to be doing other things, my memories haunt me.

“Umm, you’ve been staring off into space for a while now, and I'm starting to get scared. Should I call an ambulance?”

DeShaun’s voice helps dissipate the fog in my head, pulling me out of the Kingdom and back to reality. The two of us sit front row at a fashion show for a new modeling agency called Unbound. Since this is the agency’s first event, media outlets were given access to help promote the brand. DeShaun and I were dispatched immediately to cover the event, which was perfect, because if I had to sit at my desk for another second I was going to scream.

“Oh, sorry,” I say, shaking my head to knock off the rust in my mind. “This thing needs to start already. I’m exhausted.”

DeShaun, wearing all-gold like he’s trying to steal the show, furrows his brow. “Exhausted? You been getting some dick on the low that we don’t know about? Who’s got you all tired while you’re at work? I know it ain’t who I think it is.”

I cut my eyes and glare at him. “No, it’s not. It’s not that kind of exhaustion, though I wish it was. This is like being tight from not getting any.”

“Oh, shit. That kind of exhaustion sucks. You’re tired, stressed, and wound up as tight as can be, just itching for that release. Girl, you better go out there and get you some.”

“I can’t,” I snap by accident. I guess snipping in response to statements is a symptom of being wound up.

“Why?” DeShaun asks, before adding, “You’re still hung up on him, huh?”

When I look over at him, DeShaun’s usual playful face has shifted to something much more caring, like he knows the pain of what I’m going through. He pinches his lips together and places a hand on my knee.