14
Sunday, I stay in bed.
I eat from the drawer of snacks.
I hide behind the drawn curtains.
Sometimes, I bite down on my bottom lip and slide my hand between my legs. Other times, I cry. Most of the time, I slip into daydreams of my life with true power, with a print, and how that would be.
The day is spent hidden.
The only time I abandon my cave is close to midnight, when I run down to the cigar room for the water closet. Then I’m back in my bed, rugged up, and I become a sushi roll of self-pity.
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