I figured out his laptop password. I don’t look at his messages or his photos. I just look at his search history

Today, he caught me looking at his hands. He didn’t turn away. He slowly unbuttoned his cuff and adjusted his watch while holding my gaze. It was three seconds of pure, unspoken adultery. I feel like I’ve been touched without him moving a muscle

I found his old voice memos. It’s just him reading grocery lists. I put my headphones on and turn the volume to the max. His voice vibrates in my skull. I am in love with a ghost made of sound waves

I am obsessed with Elizabeth Debicki. I want to be her personal assistant in a cold, marble hotel. I want her to look down at me with that elegant, bored disdain and hand me her coat without looking. I want to spend my life three feet below her gaze

My boyfriend is incredibly handsome and he knows it. Instead of being jealous, I’ve started encouraging him to flirt with other women when we’re out. I tell him exactly what to say to them. The ultimate goal is to watch him take someone else home while I wait in the car. The idea that I own a man that everyone else wants, and that I’m the one who decides who gets a piece of him, is a power high I can’t quit

I want to be standing on a stage in a dark room, wearing nothing but a number. I want to hear men bidding on me. I want to be sold to the highest bidder: someone cold, powerful, and demanding and have no choice but to go home with them and do whatever they command for a month

I don’t stop, and I don’t look directly at the windows. It’s a ritual now. If I don’t do the drive, I feel like my heartbeat isn’t synced correctly. she has no idea I’m the engine sound she hear s every night before she falls asleep.