will somehow get me by.
I never really doubted that I was loved.
He told me he loved me everyday.
At the end of almost every phone call, and before he left every morning.
Before I went to bed most nights...
The nights I was allowed to sleep in bed, anyway.
That was always one of the most terrible parts... being told to sleep on the floor... of my two year old's room.
Not being allowed to take my pillow or a blanket. Curling up on one of her teddy bears, and wishing I could just fall asleep already. I hated those nights the worst. I would start to go downstairs and then hear him stop typing... I always knew that was a bad sign, as pathetic as that sounds. I knew that if he stopped what he was doing, I was in trouble. All I wanted was to sleep on the fucking couch... have a tiny ounce of dignity left, but instead I'd end up getting pushed around and yelled at, told that I didn't deserve to sleep in bed with him if I didn't give him what he wanted. Usually within a couple hours he'd come in and tell me to come to bed. I always tried so hard to pretend to be asleep, and try to resist it, but it was so hard... All I ever wanted was his affection, and when he showed it, even if I knew with all my heart that it was for his gain, I'd accept it.
I haven't heard from him for probably a month, now. Maybe more.