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I’ll call him ‘G’. He arrived about six weeks ago. Since then I’ve barely been out of the bedroom other than to make meals. I can see him right now from my window; dark and foreboding his presence hanging over me like a graveyard ghoul. A glowering Heathcliff watching over Kathy. I’ve become a prisoner in my own home.

I pick up my camera, turn it over in my hands and replace it on my desk. I miss my photography but I won’t go out with him there. His hands will be all over me in minutes, stroking my hair with those long gentle fingers, slipping them up under my jacket. Cold kisses smothering my neck. Ugh!

I turn back to my computer and try to concentrate on writing, but all I can think of is escape, of fleeing his bonds; his cloying chains. I have tried fighting him. Oh yes. I’ve tried every sort of psychology, but his presence is too powerful, his dark brooding mood too dominant.

Last week he disappeared for a couple of days. What a blessed relief, and release. I felt free again, unfettered, light, like I wanted to dance. The sun came out in my world. But I guessed it wouldn’t last. That would just be too much to ask.

‘Oh no!’ I just heard my husband go out, and ‘G’ has slipped in! He’s constantly doing that. As soon as the door’s open he’s in here. I’m nearly always at my desk in the corner of the bedroom when I feel his presence; the delicate first touch of his silent seduction. Here we go. The frigid tentacle encircling my ankles like an Arctic octopus, then creeping slowly upwards. I shudder. No! I’ll not have it! Today I’m not giving in. I will not sit here and just take it. I shall go and get my leg-warmers!

The moral of this story: Don’t let the weather get you down however many shades of grey it is!

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