Despite the girls' insistence, and my own inner turmoil, Chris's texts have been met with silence. He'd fought against it desperately, sending a text a day with random, romantic quotes meant to stir something within me to give him – or us, as he kept saying – a chance.
But how could I? The pull for him, undoubtedly, was the chase. He'd had me physically, and wouldn't be happy until he'd claimed me emotionally and mentally also, I'm sure. The allure sat only in my resistance, and as soon as that slipped through my fingers he'd run. Just as Ben had, as Dad had, as every man in my life had from women who doted on them.
Of course, as the days crept by and I found myself increasingly frustrated by Chris's texts, I'd had to find an outlet. Art was the only way for me to release the mess of tho
