Why do I feel safest in the arms of the man who destroyed my life?
I lay curled against Daddy’s chest after another intense session, my body still trembling from the orgasms he’d forced out of me. His hand stroked my hair gently, almost lovingly, while his other hand rested on my rounded belly. The room smelled of s*x and his cologne.
This was the cycle I couldn’t escape.
Trauma bonding.
I’d looked it up secretly on my phone days ago. The psychological trap where the victim becomes emotionally attached to their abuser because the “good” moments feel like salvation after the pain. The brain releases dopamine during the relief phase, making the abuser the only source of comfort.
And God… I was textbook.
One moment he was admitting he eliminated my mother, the next he was kissing my tea
