17
Daniela
Armand hasn’t touched me in weeks.
He’s been sleeping down the hall in his lavish bed, while I still sleep right next to his daughter and look after her. Sometimes I get a kiss good night, and it seems like he wants to do more—but then he pulls away and leaves me alone. The pain isn’t fading; I can’t get used to it.
I knew it. I’ve been forced on him and now he resents it so much that he doesn’t even want me in his bed anymore. He reassures me that I’ve done nothing wrong, and that I deserve the best. But then he gives me even less than before.
He’s not cruel. He’s supportive of my relationship with Laura, he gives me gifts, and he’s encouraging me to keep painting.
But everything that comes from my brush looks like garbage. Muddy reds and sickly greens, roiling clouds of
