"Lucy? Please, you know I can't help it. Please don't cry" Myles begs with shame through the closed bathroom door.
He warned me, he told me about his health issues. It's a medical condition and I understand, on paper I understand and empathise completely.
In practice, seeing my inability to please my boyfriend is something else.
At first he was rock hard and I thought maybe I'd be different, maybe I was just what the doctor ordered.
But his stare turned hateful and judging, his erection went soft the moment he made me come, like I had betrayed him in finding my own pleasure. He warned me that sometimes his hands become too rough in an effort to finish the job, but I didn't expect them to be around my throat.
I didn't expect him to make up for a soft dick with hard thrusts.
"Please, will you come out so we can cuddle. There's more to us than sex, Lucy. Let me prove it to you" he pleads and I hear his remorse.
I do, I open the door and face my boyfriend. We're both adults and hiding in his bathroom will not help either of us get past this.
"I'm sorry, I just needed a minute..... I'm fine now" I tell Myles with a soft, embarrassed smile.
"I understand, Lucy, this is why I made us wait..... I know I'm not like any boyfriend you've ever had. I need you to be different, Lucy. I need you to show the world I'm not a monster" he looks mortified as he pulls me back into his arms and into his bed.
I snuggle into his side, my knotted stomach starts to relax. So far my experience with relationships has been purely physical. I'm an adult now, a doctor..... I'm twenty five, and it looks like I'm already saying goodbye to my sex life.
"I promise you Lucy, I can make it up to you" he kisses my cheek and I close my eyes.
"Okay" I nod, giving in to him.
Myles is a good guy, he's the man I want to fall in love with.
"That's my good girl" he smiles, I can feel it on my neck where the imprint of his fingers bruise my skin.
I wake with a start, a low groaning injects itself into my consciousness. Immediately my eyes dart to the television, to her.
"You're okay, just breathe" I tell her as she comes round.
Her room is unchanged and vacant, he's not with her.
I look around my room, he's not with me either.
Her room is dark except for one flashing light over her bed, mine is midday bright and houses more furniture than it did the last time my eyes were open.
"Can you hear me?" I ask the writhing woman in obvious pain.
I can't guess her age, twenties maybe?
It seems she has said goodbye to her sex life too, I'm pretty sure what I've read about genital mutilation is that it's not reversible.
It makes perfect sense that someone like him would inflict the same disparity onto the opposite sex, in our captors eyes, if he cannot enjoy sex neither should his partner.
Ask me how I know.
The girl in the other room doesn't acknowledge my question, she doesn't indicate that she hears me at all.
Hardly seems fair.
"I'm sorry he hurt you, I'm so sorry I can't help" I apologise anyway.
I look at the changes inside my own prison, a wall unit made of a dark stained wood sits near the glass door, a bright green fern sits happily in the muted rays of sunshine that have made their way down here. A humidifier pumps out a stream of peppermint scented mist, I inhale the cleansing aroma.
It makes my aching head a little more bearable.
I notice beside the bathtub a familiar overnight bag sits waiting, and god bless, a toiletry bag with my toothbrush sits on top.
