She stared down at the paper. Since her therapy started, she hadn’t been able to write anything.
She’d been put in therapy for writing sadomasochistic smut, because her grandmother thought that it meant she was “sick.”
Truthfully, she felt more sick now that she wasn’t writing. The psychologist had determined that, strangely, she had no real psychological problems, just quirks. The psychologist also revealed how strange it was that she was still sane, with all she had been through.
Physical abuse as an infant, emotional abuse as a young child, and verbal abuse as a teenager. It nearly seemed that her want for sexual abuse was merely to complete her repertoire of abuses.
It fulfilled her though, which most people didn’t understand. She didn’t like pain, in and of itself, she just liked it to be inflicted. And only if inflicted by Him.
Her mind wandered to his body, and she set her pen to the paper before her.