She has to be the embodiment of woman, perfected, I thought. She has a perfect body, perfect face, confident and extremely intelligent. Wait, actually, arrogant. But there is something else wrong her. Something heartless, vicious even. Something very frightening. Is it her wit? How she’s always one step ahead or at least right alongside my thoguhts? Is it that her body envelops my mind? Or that she knows how to make me physically weak without lifting a finger to harm me?

She knows what to do to get me to turn on my friends. To make me do her bidding, without leaving me feeling used. To leave my body shaking without her, like a recovering heroin addict. She smiles at these victories, making my pain leave when I touch her and return two-fold when she leaves. I can not even remember before there was a ‘we’; now I yearn for the days, when I celebrated celibacy.