Click, click, click:He took shots of my sweaty torso, inner thighs, and shoulders.
Click:My flushed cheeks and half-closed eyes.
Click:My head turned to the right, limp on my shoulder.
Click:A close-up of my navel.
Click…
* * * *
He stood over me and said, “This is what I used to do.”
I barely could speak, but I found the strength and half-whispered, “So many boys. You’re a sick man. You need help.”
“I don’t like it when the boys leave me.”
“Did you think I was leaving you?”
He nodded. The smile he’d been wearing had faded. “I did. Once you found the pictures, you had every intention of leaving.”
I thought about this for a moment and nodded my head. “I did plan on leaving.”
“And telling the cops on me.”
I shook my head.
“I loved all of them. Just so you know. They were my pets. My gems. My boys. Sons. Children. Every single one of them.”
“You hurt them,” I whispered, my voice wavering in fear and pain.