Chapter 7: The Real Priorities.

I got home from work by a quarter past six, picked up my phone to call Jon. On a second thought, I think I will show up at his apartment.

These days all I think about is Jon, what Jon is doing, what Jon is thinking, if he is thinking about me. I'm obsessed with him.

And, ever since that night on his bed while Barry Allen was blasting in his television, Jon stopped resisting and stopped referring to us as a mistake.

The problem is, he seldomly initiated contact. I bet he's being careful because of Max, apart from that, he is always available when I asked to see him—whether is during lunch in the middle of the day or at night whenever Max is working late. All my free time involved Jon. I fantasied about him a lot. The sex with him are over the top stuff I thought only existed in movies like All shades of Grey.

I got dressed in a mini floral gown that made my breast dangle freely because I never wear a bra. As a matter of fact, I hate them. To me, a bra is a tool for victimization.

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