Damien
It’s been three weeks since the raid, and she’s still here. I told myself I kept her for safety, but I stopped believing that somewhere around week two, the first night I stayed awake just to hear her breathing through the walls. Every night I promise myself I’ll stop watching her. Every morning I break that promise before I even pour a drink.
I watch her more than I sleep, more thank I even work and most nights she doesn’t know, but tonight she does, because she’s in the mirror, one bare foot resting on the cold marble tile, one hand braced against the bathroom counter, my shirt sliding off one shoulder.
She pretends she isn’t looking at the camera in the corner, but I know she’s aware, I know she feels the lens on her the way my hands have, I know she’s giving me the show on
