And him sleeping in my bed . . . I’d never slept so soundly. Maybe it was just that I wasn’t alone, that for some strange reason I felt safe with him, which was ridiculous considering the things he did to me, things that I asked him to do to me. Perhaps the reason I felt safe with him, or the fact I trusted him, was a testament to how fucked up I was. But god, I’d slept well. Even in my sleep, I’d had vague recollections of the warmth of his body, his strong arms. Maybe that had been a dream.
