I’m pushing hard on his chest, pleading with him. How pathetic. I don’t know why I care. This is exactly what I should want. To have tried my best and still be free of him. This is the ideal situation. I can walk away from this moment without guilt dragging me back to it for the rest of my life. So why am I fighting back tears? “Come on,” I whisper, continuing my rhythmic pumping. “Come on, you stubborn bastard.” His eyelids flutter open.
