“You don’t love me,” I tell him coldly, keeping every sliver of emotion I have for him out of my voice. “You love the idea of me. You love how I don’t turn down the high, and how I don’t turn away from the rush. You love the way we fuck. You love the money we make off this shit, you love the power it gives you. And you love that even when you treat me like nothing more than the dirt on the bottom of your shoes, I come running back to you every fucking time.”
💔💔💔
