He made me laugh when I felt I could cry. He'd push me to my limit, but never let me fall. When I wanted to scream, he'd drown out the noise into his chest, and hold me tight until I was done.
But he never once lead me to expect anything of him, and for that I was grateful. Because it made me stronger than I was to start off with. His lack of actual help made me stand on my own and learn not to rely on anyone.
He taught me that the only person that would never leave, hurt, use or neglect me, was me.
The techniques Jake used were . . . unorthodox, at best.
But they worked.
From all the times he'd been drop-kicked in the heart, he'd learnt a thing or two, and during the time when he was being tortured the most he helped me grow from a parasitic vine that was wholly dependent on others; into an independent oak, strong, resilient and forceful.
. . . and so what if he did so by watchingmepleasuremyself. Minor technicality. Not a big deal at all . . .