♥︎

at first she left the meals and cutlery in the room then left you to eat. then she started staying to watch you eat. you didn't want to give her whatever kind of sick satisfaction she'd get from it, but you need to eat. so you put up with it

then she started sitting closer and closer to you while you ate. then she started holding the plate in her lap while you ate from it. it all happened so slowly, so gradually, that you didn't even really notice how strange it was until she started petting your hair while you ate. you tried not to eat for a few days after that. but you need to eat. so you cave. and she keeps petting your hair

one day she ties your wrists behind your back before she brings your meal. when she comes in with the food, she sits in a chair directly in front of you. you think about how much you hate her. you think about how much you hate that you're so used to being close to her. she picks up some of the food and cups it in one palm. then she extends the hand towards you

you stare at the food in her hands. your mouth starts to water. you understand, somewhere deep in you, that if you do this, you will be crossing a line. something in you will snap in a way that can't be fixed. you hate her. you don't want to give her whatever kind of sick satisfaction she'll get from it

now, I want you to imagine a tennis ball. it’s round, it’s fluorescent green in the sam way all tennis balls are, it’s fuzzy, and it’s brand new. unchewed on, fresh outta the box with all of it’s bounce still. now I want you to imagine it in your person’s hand, the way they grip it between their fingers while you watch intently. think about the way their weight shifts, their hip turns, as they pull their arm over their shoulder and throw it in a big, powerful overhand throw. you’re running, you’re chasing, everything focused as put all you have into getting that ball.