Isn't it nice
Isn't it nice to have someone who thinks of you all the time. I love how he wants to spend all his time with me, and thinks I'm the best thing this world has ever created. I can tell he dreams about me, I can tell he writes secret letters, and diary entries, and never stops talking about me to his friends until they beg him to stop.
When he greets me at my door I know he's been here before. I know he parks across the street and checks up on me on his way back from work, to make sure I lock the door at night and I'm safe from any creeps that could walk in, or burglars that could take a chance on an old looking door like mine. He knows I live alone so he wants to make sure I'm protected, and safe. And the best thing is, I don't even have to ask.
I could wear a bin liner and he'd think I looked incredible. In fact, he's told me before that anything that touches my skin is privileged, that he thinks he's mad because he gets jealous of my clothes. When I don't brush my hair I'm a rustic angel, when I do I'm a radiant goddess. I don't have to try with him, because everything I touch is gold. I've been elevated to such a dizzying height, I feel weightless.
It's great to be enough for someone. All my life I've floated along being ordinary, feeling dull and uninteresting. Then in a flash, you appear and you can't believe your luck. I can't believe mine! It's not like you're some kind of ugly, skulking weirdo. You're hot. You've got a great body, a cheeky smile and a jawline to die for. You have a vibrant personality, you're funny, you have hobbies and you care about your family. I feel like I've been waiting my whole life for someone to come along like you, but deep down I never thought I deserved it, and if I found it there would be no way they'd be interested in someone like me.
But I did! And you were! I think I'd be on cloud nine even if you hadn't put me up there. Every day is a joy. I listen to my favourite song, now our favourite song. I play it on repeat as I fall asleep with my phone in my arms, texting sweet nothings until my fingers no longer function.
We go on dates. You glare at boys that look at me, you always have my back. You tell me I'm so special, so beautiful, how dare they try and objectify me. I agree. We spend all our time together. I meet your family, you meet mine. My sister doesn't like you, but you don't like her much either, and I don't mind that because she's always been the pretty one and you tell me she definitely isn't. For the first time in her life someone's seen through her act and knows that it's actually me, I am the perfect woman, the gorgeous one everybody wants. Even things that should be a problem just aren't with you. You explain everything so clearly, and I see things in a way I never did before. I'm lucky to have you, lifting me up like this.
Then comes the sex. You tell me you want to wait until I'm ready - nobody has ever let me decide before - and all my nerves melt away when I'm with you, so the answer is easy. I'm ready. It's everything I could have wanted and more. You are so attentive, and sweet, and considerate, but also sexual, and powerful, and commandeering. I thought I knew good sex, but you have rewritten the rules. Our bodies just fit together, our sex drives match completely, we're into all of the same things. Sometimes you're more adventurous than I am, but I don't mind going a little faster than I'd like if it means making you happy. You're the experienced one, you know what we should be doing, you know what will make it better.
I like how we stay in all the time, needing nothing but each others company. We play scrabble, monopoly, twister, kerplunk. We read the same books and have our own little book clubs. We don't even need to go to the shops anymore. I used to love that, but you love online ordering and you say I will too, when I realise how easy it is. I never thought of it this way, but you say driving around really isn't economical. Petrol costs loads, so why do I use it when I don't have to? My Nan lives very far away and it's not like she can't use a telephone. Also I say I care about the environment - driving around really doesn't match well with that does it.
You don't like my new friend at work. I only have one, because most of the team are guys and I don't really bother with them anymore. It causes too much upset at home and I don't want to upset you. Your last girlfriend cheated on you with a guy from work and I understand why you'd feel uncomfortable. I don't really get on with them all that well anyway, so it's no real sacrifice on my part. But Chrissie is female. She's chatty and bubbly, confident and funny and a little wild - secretly she's how I have always wanted to be. Loud and confident. I like hanging out with her and going for coffee with her on Saturday mornings before my shift starts. She makes me feel alive and interesting.
You say she's trouble. You tried accusing me of fancying her - that didn't fly. Then you said she wasn't a reliable friend, that she wouldn't really be friends with someone like me for long; she'll get bored and move on. I'm confused and hurt, because you were the first person to tell me I was none of those things, the guy who couldn't understand why would anybody ever want to leave me. We have our first fight, and you scream at me and smash the lamp we bought together in Brighton. I leave through the front door and go home, devastated.
We break up after that. Chrissie stays round to make sure you don't force your way in. You'd had a key cut I didn't know about and came in one night to leave a note on my coffee table, begging me to reconsider and take you back. You didn't need to do that, I would have gotten a note pinned to the door, but you wanted me to feel afraid and powerless.
Those months afterwards were the worst. I found out you'd reached out to my family, friends and colleagues, even gone into the coffee shop I used to like and threatened the person behind the counter. You showed me a side to you that I didn't know existed. You spewed hate at me online, you hacked into my emails to try and see where I was going, who I was meeting. You even created a fake profile to try and find out information from me, to see if I was dating again. You tracked down my sister somehow, when she was walking her dog in the park. You threw a rock at her.
It felt like it would never stop, Chrissie said I should report you. You were dangerous and and I shouldn't have to put up with this by myself. My sister was furious and I had to beg her to not call the police. I was terrified, and guilty. Deep down I felt responsible for your actions, I felt that you weren't the bad person, I just made you act that way. I took you into my home and I should have known better, anyway. I talked myself around and around, and honestly I just wanted it all to go away. The more I ignored you, the quicker that would happen. So I did.
And eventually it stopped. I got used to being on my own again, built my life back up and felt happy and free, and I never heard from you again. But I saw you on TV, 2 years later.
It was an unflattering, grainy mugshot taken from a police station. The news was startling and sad. A young woman, dating you for all of 3 months had her life tragically cut short by your actions. I stare at the television set, at your face, as they recount the details of what you did to her. There was no coming back for her when you'd cut yourself a key to her house and let yourself in.
She was called Jane. She was 23, a student nurse. You were her first serious boyfriend and she was very pretty. I can imagine how insecure that will have made you feel, how you would have tried to claw back control for your own feelings of inadequacy by crushing her into a tiny space. I think back and wonder why that didn't happen to me. Why her life was over, but I was still here.
I think and think and think, I go over all the scenarios and possibilities and reasons. But the truth is there isn't one; the night Chrissie stayed at my house could have been the night I became Jane. The day in the park when you assaulted my sister could have been that day for her. You had it in you the entire time; you were born with this disease. You just needed the opportunity.
I count my lucky stars everyday that I escaped you. But I also cry, every so often, looking at the news clippings, thinking why did I not report you? You crossed a line, you broke the law, I could have reported you, given you a record so the next girl had a heads up and could run away at a hundred miles an hour. I realised that I had normalised what you did, made excuses for you so I wouldn't have to face any more trauma.
Now I see those excuses enabled you. They were what you counted on to be able to carry on with your behaviour, and that's why you chose me: because you never thought I would.