Ever since I told Antonio about the phone call his visits have become fewer. But when he did come, his explanation was that he was busy, but with what he didn't tell me. I wasn't sure why. Didn't he trust me anymore? Didn't he want me to worry? Whatever the reason was, it pissed me off.
And I could barely function because of how bored I was. My wound was healing fine, but Antonio never said when I would be able to leave this house.
He had become distant, cold even.
And that made me stay up at night, staring into the ceiling with nothing but my thoughts. After a while my thoughts became just as boring as the shows on TV. I was really sick of this place, but I tried to tell myself he only wanted me safe. I was just so frustrated with not doing anything. And the guilt of not telli
