When he got into bed, I clung to his arm like I was going into space. He didn’t try to have sex with me. He never wanted to have sex anymore. He had seen my ugly pieces: the mess, the tears, the violence. But he kissed the back of my neck, and I held my pain as if it were a balloon that might pop. His breathing changed, and I was left alone in the dark with my balloon. I just had to keep him happy. He would stay with me as long as I made him happy.
