I couldn’t shake the feeling that I would have been much better off if she slept in my arms, but I wouldn’t dare touch her. All I needed was for her to start screaming that I took advantage of her or tried to rape her or something. She asked too many questions, and I was too quick to answer. It was probably because I wasn’t used to people asking me about myself, or maybe because I never met anybody before her who made me want to talk. Usually I’d shut a woman up by rolling over on top of her and fucking her, or I’d pretend to be asleep. Michelle had a way of asking questions and leading me into telling her my life story. She didn’t need to know anything about me. I was surprised, though, when I woke up and found that she was still in bed. I expected her to leave the room when I was asleep—afraid to sleep next to a murderer. But she held strong. Stubborn bitch, I thought, looking at her as she slept. I picked up my phone, sitting on my nightstand, to check the time.
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