Regret filled every corner of my mind, yet I had no choice but to try and comfort myself.
I wanted to cry, but deep down, a part of me clung to the life I now had.
Trapped in this endless cycle of conflicting emotions, I genuinely didn’t know what to do anymore.
A thousand times I wanted to turn around and run away, swearing never to see him again.
Yet the moment the overwhelming weight of solitude settled in, I found myself missing him like crazy.
I lived in two tiny, empty rooms where, from dawn until dusk, I was entirely alone.
He was only there at night, coming over to keep me company.
He was always remarkably handsome and treated me with unwavering gentleness, never once losing his temper with me.
He took care of my food and housing so I never had to worry about basic survival, and he even had several sets of brand-new clothes tailored just for me.
Putting on those beautiful new outfits, I could see my own beauty reflected clearly in the mirror.
Yet I despised those clothes from the bottom of my heart, along with this lifestyle of being kept by someone else.
At the same time, I couldn’t bring myself to take them off, secretly craving the comfort and dignity they brought.
I didn’t dare look too deeply into my situation, nor could I be bothered to sort out right from wrong.
My days drifted by in a haze of confusion and detachment.
My cheeks were perpetually flushed, failing to hide the inner restlessness consuming me.
I didn’t want to bother doling myself up, yet I forced myself to spend time getting dressed and ready anyway.
The days were so empty and dull that I simply had to find something to pass the time.
Looking into the mirror while fixing my hair, a wave of self-pity would wash over me for being reduced to something so humble.
Yet the instant I finished getting ready, an intense self-loathing would take over for how far I had fallen.
I became fragile, bursting into tears at the slightest trigger.
I tried with all my might to choke back the sobs so no sound would escape.
My eyes remained permanently watery, giving me a soft, helpless look.
Every now and then, I would completely lose control, throwing my arms around him and kissing him frantically.
A second later, I would shove him away with all my strength.
There were times I even snapped at him, yelling and venting all the rage bottled up inside me.
“Why don’t you ever get angry at me?” I would cry out.
Yet no matter how wildly I threw tantrums, he only smiled gently, accepting every single piece of my chaos.