You thought you knew her. You liked her eyes, her slender body, her naiveté, her fickle ways. She was so different from all your exes in every way. Maybe because she was younger than them; maybe because she was foreign, and had that foreign twang and quality that clung to her.
You loved her, but she broke your heart when she left. Nothing was wrong, though. You fell in love, but she didn’t. She’d never planned to. You slept together, you enjoyed it, you spent some nice moments together. You dreamt up a future for the both of you. Where she’d be with you, even after all the years. Where you’d teach your son how to play footie. She didn’t want any children now, but she might, someday. You’d be a family. Your first marriage had been a cock-up, but this one would last. This relationship would last more than two years, you promised yourself that.
But she went away, and you never knew exactly why. You never noticed her attitude towards you change in any way. She went to your mate’s birthday with you… she still slept with you… what could have gone wrong?
But that was the surface. You never really paid attention to the fact that she started smoking like a chimney soon after she met you. The fact that she had to be excused all night long at your mate’s birthday. You never thought her self-inflicted scars where something to worry about. You never understood why she came to hate you.
You thought you knew. But you never had a clue.