“Baby,” he said, twirling me round, “can’t you tell your body ignites fires in mine.”

“My fingers are tree roots during a long summer drought, begging for rainfall. My arms are branches, swaying as your body, like the wind, moves between them.”

I believed him.

“Baby,” he said, hiding the glow of the message alit his phone. “Don’t you know you’re the reason my lungs fill with breath. You’re the autonomic system that allows my body to function.”

I believed him.

“Baby,” he yells, holding angry, red, clenched fists above my body like waves preparing to crash into shoreline rocks. “Can’t you tell your mind holds me against my will? Your soft words and retreat, though. You’re afraid of me, don’t be.”

I wanted to believe him.

“BITCH!” He screams, while hot tears roll down swollen eyes, red cheeks, and blood stained lips. “You know this is your fault. You made me do this. You did this to me.”

I believed him.

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