I told you, Enola, I’m not your fucking therapist! I told him that I didn’t want him to be my therapist; I wanted him to be my partner. He said that he was trying to be, but that it was fucking hard sometimes. Oh god. My throat felt like something was squeezed around it. I curled into myself to be alone. What had my question been? When I felt the warmth of his hand on my back, I lifted back up. Honey, you’ve never been in a long-term relationship before, have you?
