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Friday, Jan. 13, 2017
1:09 p.m.
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The first night I allowed him to touch me again was Thursday. We sat on the couch talking talking talking, and he said something about missing me "so fucking much". I looked at him a long moment, then poked my foot out towards him in a bid for a foot rub, the way I used to before he ruined everything.

"Is that for me?" He asked, and I nodded yes. He held my foot. And then he started to cry.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I'm so fucking sorry."

He fucking should be.

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