9

He’s taken my watch. 

He’s taken my phone.

I keep working later hours.

I keep doing more and more because he won’t ever stop asking.

I was supposed to go over to a friend’s last night. We hadn’t seen each other for years. It had been planned for a while.

But he told me that someone needed to go over to his house and groom his cat while he closed a business deal. Right away.

So I spent the night grooming his cat.

When he got home, I thought it was over. I thought I could finally leave.

But the house needed to be cleaned. So I cleaned it.

The dresser needed to be moved down the stairs. 

So I pulled something in my back carrying it.

I could see the eyes in every painting, every picture, watching and looking and judging.

Always judging. 

8

He told me that he wanted my notebook.

I’d saved up a lot of money for this notebook. It’s durable, it’s leather-bound, it has all of my reminders and memos and thoughts and ideas in it.

And he told me he wanted it.

So I gave it to him.

I just handed it over. Simple as that. No struggle. No refusal. I couldn’t do anything.

St. Clair asked if anything was wrong with me, and I almost cried because I was so relieved to tell someone, to finally let someone know.

But I couldn’t.

I have to do everything and anything except tell someone what’s going on.

So I said nothing.

She’s disgusted by me now.

I’m sorry St. Clair.

I’m so sorry.