Sicko

by Amo Jones

She can’t know. Leaving her is going to cripple me, but I have no choice. Not now. Not ever. And not when it comes to her.

“Sleep, Duchess.” “Because tomorrow’s not guaranteed?” I joke, my eyelids heavy. “Every single day that I’m breathing means your days are guaranteed. Sleep.”

“You’re mine, Duchess. In every fucking way that is possible for a woman to be owned by a man. You’re mine.” “Like, girlfriend, or like, old lady, or fiancée?”