"Come on, don't be scared. You know very well that no one dies out of this."
His hand slides to my neck and now his thumb and his index squeeze my neck.
"You know that the first breath you will take, after I release, will feel good." He whispers.
I don't resist, cause I have grown accustomed to not resisting his madness and foolishness. After all, my silence was perhaps an approval of his second attempt to bring me joy.
He finally lets go of my neck, "Feels good, right?"
I just nodded: "Yes, feels good cause I needed the air so bad."
And that's the story of us, he holds or releases me whenever he sees appropriate. With my needs irrelevant, he only gives when he things receiving would be the maximum joy I could experience.
