Eating Pad Thai in Schuyler's bed, watching Emily in Paris because Daniel offered and I'm not saying no to any of the three offers-their bed, good Thai food and endless feel-good Netflix, and feel-good only.
Today will not be a sad day, Schuyler proclaimed, remote held high.
That was yesterday and well, we're still here. This is the very definition of a safe place. There are no ghosts, no frowning allowed and no tears unless we are Working Through Shit and no safe words because these men pay close attention and find no joy whatsoever in hurting people to get off. They also don't throw out sharpened words meant to hurt and they're always up to speed on who in the house needs a little S&D, their very own brand of TLC.
It involves ones favourite meal, a bunch of happy shows or music, and absolutely no clothing, or clothing optional in winter, as I've been dozing in Ben's big t-shirt all day, as is my habit. I feel almost whole again as neither the ghosts nor the demons can touch me in here.
Told you, Daniel says, and he kisses my nose. Better?
Almost. I yawn again. Schuyler winks at me.
That's it then, we're keeping you for the week.