"No, it's not. But you will be. You need to get out of here, away from me. Then you'll be all right," I was certain that was what had to happen. I loved her, I wanted her. Had I hurt her? I tried to consider the night's events objectively. Did I take advantage of her? Work her up? Make her need me so I could f**k her the way I wanted to?
Although I wouldn't have said so in the moment, now I'm very thankful for her anger. She started shouting.
"No! I won't be ok, you stupid fucker. I love you! I need you! For five years, I looked for you. When I went to bed I imagined that it was you I was holding, not a pillow. When I fingered myself, I was imagining what your c**k would feel like inside me, filling me. When I kissed a boy I felt sick with myself, because I knew, I knew that I'd see you
