I dreamt of you last night. Of you in your living room with a green chair and piles of books on the floor making videos and taking photographs of your daughter, of her sitting in your lap and laughing.

and I'm so stupidly jealous.

I'm ashamed of being jealous of everything: your daughter, your wife, your other clients, of bringing you squashed hone cake, of being so needy, the stuff I told you about with my cousin that isn't even really abuse, the way I feel about you.

I just want to hide.