Not even the red sky answers when I ask about you.

We had a fight after he found out I made an appointment with my doctor.  He tried to make me feel guilty for not trusting that he could take care of me; for doubting that he was committed to making me happy and protecting me.  He said I wasn’t feeling well because I wasn’t eating properly.  He said he would feed me delicious and nutritious food and that I would get better soon.  He said doctors were killers. He said he was the only one that knew what was best for me.

I agreed not to go to the doctor and we made up by fucking in every corner of the house.  The pleasure did not mask the pain growing inside me, it heightened it. But I liked it

That afternoon, while I napped, he went out and returned with the things he needed to secure my jail.

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