Chapter 19: Physical TherapyMy lessons for massage therapy have ended, and Jaime is trying to convince me I should go for a license. He said he’d cover the cost of classes, and I called him an i***t—quickly followed by a profuse apology while he laughed and choked on his coffee. Things have been going well. Too well, and it’s a little worrying. I suppose everything worries me, though, so this might mean nothing.
Sometimes I pull him off in the morning—other times I finger-f**k him after his massage—occasionally we’ll do both, but every night he asks me to stay. I don’t know why. I don’t know what he’s expecting to change. I’ve already decided that I will not sleep in the same bed as him because I know it will further damage my already feeble defenses. The day I sleep in his bed is the day
