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I’m not envisioning Henrietta on her knees, begging for a taste of my dick. I’m imagining myself taking care of her, seizing control, and taking over her life.
“You need someone to take care of you,” he says, almost softly. Then his lips flatten, and his eyes turn steely. “From now on, that’ll be my job.”
Would she let me track her? Would she let me demand to know her every move, her every thought? Would she look to me for every decision because she knew that my job was to care for her?
“Tell me. Do you like being my good girl and following my rules?”
I don’t want to hate you anymore, Etta, I want to fucking own you.”
“Your pain is mine now, Etta. I caused it, so it’s mine to keep, mine to fix, mine to own. I hurt you, and I’m sorry.
“I’m not your monster anymore, Etta, I’m your fucking everything.”
“This is so fucked up,” I whisper. “This is fucking perfect,” he says,
I went to the bus station, wanting to get a glimpse of the girl I hated, but then there you were, and I knew, right in that moment. I knew you were mine.”
“For years, I wanted and needed your hate. Now I need your love, Etta. I need you to love me the way I love you.”
“Come on. I’ll rally the ladies. I recognize the post-bulldozer look. Hearing how crazy all of us were when we met our guys will make you feel better,”
I love you more than I even realized it was possible to love someone. So, if you want me to quit my job, I will. If you want us to move to town and start wearing matching fucking sweater vests, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything you need, except leave you, or let you leave me.”
I don’t want or need her to push back against the rules I’ve enforced on her life. I love her naturally submissive personality, but I only really need that obedience to extend to me. If she wants to sass and yell at every single other human on the planet, then I’ll stand at her side and back her up.
Loving her is my penance and my greatest achievement.
