He just stood there. Was this what he wanted to see? Me degraded? Me scared? He loved me scared. It got him excited. I actually thought I liked it, too, once. And as the seconds passed, and he held me there as my heart thumped in my chest, it was like we were teenagers again for a moment. When I liked the games he played with me. Before I realized I was the toy. The terror and the dread. But the exhilaration and the safety I felt in his arms. How I’d never hated anyone as much as I hated him, but how I loved what I felt with him more than I loved anything I felt with anyone else, either. I was
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