Catch Up Reads

I thought walking away from Kendrix would save us both. Instead, it shattered me. After attacking the man who destroyed my mother’s life. I disappeared to protect the only family I had left. But even as I tried to rebuild myself from the wreckage, his love lingered like a ghost, pulling me back toward the one man I swore I could never have again. But no matter how far I ran, he saw me everywhere. As our secrets unravel and our scars resurface, we’re forced to face the love can’t erase trauma, but can it survive it? Are we willing to fight for each other harder than the world fights to pull us apart? This is a story about breaking cycles, healing wounds, and choosing love after chaos. Because sometimes the loudest declarations of love aren’t spoken… they’re felt.

I can read a man before he even opens his mouth. I know which ones are starving to be understood, which ones hide their scars in designer suits, and which ones will hand me exactly what I need just for the privilege of feeling seen. I’ve been running this game long enough to turn conversations into currency and eye contact into opportunities. Every move I make is calculated. When I dance, my movements speak to their thoughts before I ever open my mouth. I tell their secrets with the arch of my back, answer their questions with the roll of my hips while I strip them bare mentally. But then there’s Kendrix Givelle. A man who doesn’t ask questions, just studies the way my shoulders drop when I’m tired, the way my smile fades when the weight gets heavy. I’ve built my world on control. On never needing anyone to hold it up for me. And yet… one look from him, and I start to wonder.. What if I’ve finally met the man who speaks my body language as fluently as I do?

By day, I teach third grade. By night, I rate men like Uber rides and write anonymous recaps on the blog that’s probably ruined a few egos—and inspired even more group chats. Hi. I’m Rivah. But to the internet? I’m Soaked. And before you judge me, let me ask you when men sleep around, they’re called experienced. When women do it, we’re called everything but free. So I stopped caring what anyone calls me and started telling the truth. My blog, Body Count, isn’t about sex. It’s about choosing me. About turning every red flag into a teachable moment and every body into a boundary I built myself. Then Kross showed up. He’s... different. Like, green flags in bulk. And while my body wants to rerun him like my favorite show, my heart is still blocked and unavailable. But things are getting weird. Men I’ve been with are showing up dead, and I don’t know if it’s karma, coincidence, or something else entirely. All I know is… This isn’t a blog of regrets. It’s a record of reclamation. Body Count? Nah. This is Character Development.