The first time your calloused palm made it’s way to my neck I was petrified. The first time your cigarette coercively pushed against my thighs I was relieved. I quickly grew accustomed and knew what to fear and what to covet. For the majority of the time I’d rather have your cigarette scorching my clean skin than your grip bound across my throat. They represented the choice between mortal and lifeless placed at my hands and feet. No one should have to convince themselves one monstrous act is better than another, that one will lead to vitality and another to apathy.