He took me up to the top of the Tower one day.

Out on the balcony, we could see the City spread out below us. From so high up, all of the other buildings seemed to be bowing down.

Looking back now, I sometimes wonder if he designed it that way on purpose. He loved to be at the center of everything. And seated behind his desk on the top floor of the Tower, he was.

He draped his arm over my shoulders. Just being that close to him made my skin crawl. He smelled like stale cigarettes. I tried to supress my gag reflexes and found it exceedingly difficult.

He directed my attention to the bowing City. Looking down, my stomach lurched with an unwanted sense of vertigo. I took a few steps back and inwardly cursed myself for my stupidity.

His laugh broke the silence that had permeated everything. It made me feel cold inside.

In that moment, I hated him more than I ever had.

“Look,” he said, sweeping his hand over the City below. “Look, at everything you will never have.”

Then he pushed me.