I don’t know when his mind started to conjure up all these images of our lives together, but the more I think about it, the less scared they make me. That sketch of him cutting me was so wrong and sadistic. So why can’t I get it out of my head? Why did I touch myself in the shower last night, just thinking about how it might feel? The sordid truth is, I like being at his mercy. I like him being in control, and I like his pain. I even like that there’s a part of him inside me, right now,
