All Chapters of My sexual Addiction: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Sometimes, silence can feel louder than a scream.Today was definitely one of those days for me.Sitting on Lane’s couch, I had my arms crossed, one leg bouncing like it was trying to escape. I wasn’t even pretending to be okay. No facade, no flirting, no smirk—just me. Quiet. Unfiltered.He didn’t push me to talk.He was across from me as usual—legs relaxed, hands resting loosely, his expression unreadable. But this time, I noticed how he was watching me. Not like I was a patient. Not like I was a girl with too many red flags. More like someone who’s waiting for a truth I hadn’t had the guts to voice.And suddenly, the silence felt overwhelming.“You ever think,” I blurted out, “about how things might’ve turned out differently if just one thing in your life had changed?”Lane took a moment before slowly nodding.“All the time,” he replied.I stared at the floor, my throat tightening.“My thing,” I said, my voice breaking a little, “was a man. I was nine.”His entire body tensed up.I

I couldn’t stop staring at the note.It was all crumpled after being folded and unfolded so many times, with black ink smudged in spots where my fingers had gripped it too tightly. Just five words. Five simple words that were stuck in my mind like a something I wished would just go away.He can not save you.That night, I sat on my bed, legs crossed, the note resting on my lap. I kept looking at it, almost hoping it would reveal who wrote it. But it didn’t. It just lay there, silent and ominous.At first, I thought it was Jason. That seemed like the simplest explanation. He had been the shadow in my life for years. But no Jason had distinct, jagged handwriting. This note was neat, almost meticulous. Someone had taken their time crafting it.That freaked me out even more.Because if it wasn’t Jason… then who was it?I tried to tell myself it didn’t mean anything. Maybe it was just a prank. Or some bizarre coincidence. But deep down, I understood it was more than that. This note ended u

At first, I thought Lane was just joking around."No hookups, no masturbation, and no flirting for one week," he said, completely calm, as if he were suggesting I just drink more water or get a good night's sleep.I laughed.A real, surprised laugh that slipped out before I could think twice about it.But Lane didn’t join in. He just raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to catch on.“Oh, you’re serious?” I asked, feeling my voice shrink.He nodded. “Absolutely.”I blinked. “Why?”“Because your body has gotten used to using pleasure especially sexual pleasure as a way to sidestep pain,” he explained. “And when we take that escape away, even for just a bit, you’ll start to feel what’s really underneath.”“But what if I don’t want to feel what's underneath?” I asked softly.Lane leaned back in his chair. “That’s why this challenge is so important.”My stomach dropped.A week. Seven days.No touching, no scrolling through enticing pictures online, no letting someone else touch me, and defini

I couldn’t stop shaking, my fingers hovered over the page, frozen in place even though my journal was still open on the bed, Lane’s voice from our last session echoed in my head, telling me to push through the urges, but it was impossible to hear him without remembering the warmth of his hand on my back… the weight of his gaze.The challenge had been simple, thirty days without sex, I’d barely made it past four.I shut the journal, slid it under my pillow, and lay back, staring at the ceiling, my body ached not just from denial, but from the mental exhaustion of fighting myself, I’d tried every trick, cold showers, breathing exercises even reading books that bored me to death, None of it worked, My mind was a movie reel of everything I craved, the stretch of skin under my hands, the taste of sweat, the sound of a low, deep moan in my ear.By nightfall, I couldn’t take it anymore.I booked a cab, earlier than I expected the cab arrived, the ride to the club felt like sliding toward a

The photo wouldn’t stop sliding through my mind.The grainy darkness of the alcove, the vulnerable angle of my neck, the obscene intimacy of the moment captured without me knowing.Julian had been there, watching.I deleted the message, then I undeleted it. My thumb hovered over “block number,” but I didn’t press it.Instead, I turned my phone face-down and lay in bed, pulse thudding in my ears, wondering if it was fear keeping me awake… or anticipation.The First AppearanceTwo days later, I saw him again.It was a Tuesday morning, too early for anything dramatic, or so I thought, I was stepping out of the campus library when I spotted him leaning against the iron gate like he belonged there.The same easy smirk.“Amelia,” he said like we were old friends, his voice a smooth ribbon of familiarity.I froze, “What are you doing here?”His eyes flicked over me messy bun, wool coat, scarf tugged too tight around my neck, “What, I’m not allowed to enjoy a brisk morning on campus?”“You do