“He's holding onto me, but this time it feels like he's holding onto me because his earth has shifted off its axis, and I'm his core.”

“He scoots me off his chest and onto my back, then slides down beside me and pulls me against him. Still, his expression hasn't changed and he's staring at me like he wants to eat me. I sort of wish he would.”

“He removes his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders, holding onto my arm as he walks me across the street. I feel a little pathetic with him assisting me—I can walk on my own. I don’t object though, and I feel like a hypocrite to the entire feminist movement. I’ve regressed to the damsel in distress.”

“Does he really expect me to vocalize a response while his fingers are touching my face? It's pretty hard to speak and hold your breath at the same time.”

“The way he’s watching me makes me feel needed like no one’s ever been able to make me feel. In a way, he makes me feel necessary. Like my existence alone is necessary for his survival.”

“I throw my arms around his neck and let him hold me. All seventeen years of me.”

“And right now, all I can do is take his word. All I can do is take my trust and place it back into his hands. I just hope he knows that it's all the trust I have left to give him. I know for a fact that if he hurts me like he's hurt me before, it'll be the last time he ever hurts me.”