“And obviously, I’m not a fan of your dad abusing you, not only verbally, but by controlling your time and thus your life by landing a heavy responsibility on you that you have to consider every fucking day, so essentially, he’s got you on a lead he yanks every fucking day.”

I said nothing to that, not even making a noise, because…

Holy shit.

He did.

Onward from my earlier realization that I gave a lot of thought to Dad, I also had to fit him in every day.

Which meant I not only had to think of him, but actually fit him in. What I’d make him for dinner, then make it. If he had groceries, his prescriptions, and if he didn’t, buy them.

All of this countless times every single day.

It was just my day, and I did it.

I didn’t think about it, except to think it was inconvenient, or to worry about what other people thought that I did it.

I knew it was control, but I hadn’t really grasped how far that went.

“We don’t need to go over my opinion about his verbal abuse. I think that’s clear,” Axl went on.

It sure was.

“And I sense you have no real idea how much through his past, and likely his current abuse he’s inserted himself in your life, your thought processes, the image you have of yourself. I think he controls a good deal of your thoughts without you even realizing he controls them.”

Okay, I had to admit, this had come clear with the whole fasting thing and it was something I needed to take some time to ponder.

Though not over croissants on a perfect (or it was) Sunday morning with my brand-new, super-fit, had-the-chest-of-a-god boyfriend.

“So,” Axl sounded like he was about to sum up, “if it were up to me, you’d tell him to kiss your ass and be in touch only if he wanted to take you to dinner or a Rockies game.”

Wow.

Wouldn’t that be a dream.

“Hmm,” I repeated to share that thought.