“I’m just going for a walk, Deacon,” I quietly concede. “I wouldn’t.” I can’t. Some truly awful part of me wishes I could. I have every right to, and though it was a vague and awkward exchange, he did tell me he would respect my wishes. But I don’t want anyone but him. I can’t even masturbate without him filling my head, apparently. I hate myself for it, but it’s the truth. I’ve fucked myself over with all my engaging back-and-forth with him.
