5

I was obsessed with him. I cried tears of joy whenever he kissed my soft, red lips. I danced till dawn whenever he complimented my newly bought dress. I obsessed over him like diabetics obsess over diet mountain dew. I loved him like I would kill to be with him. I prayed for him like wives prayed for their husbands' mistresses to die.

Whenever I saw him, I blushed. Whenever we went out on a date, I drove myself crazy over which cheap dress to wear this time. Whenever we went back to his bedroom, I enjoyed heaven once more. I thought we were lovers bound to be with each other, attractive forces linking us together. I was a desperate girl with a dream, too – a dream to be loved and cared for and put to good use. I had a dream every girl had deep inside: a dream to stay a pretty female. I was naïve and easily manipulated. I was a dumb blonde at the time. I didn't know much about the costs of the real world and what it means to be addicted.

Addicted to look good for him, I took pills in the middle of the night, hiding them beneath where my lover couldn't see to avoid looking psychotic. He always asked, interrogating me under a dim, blue light as we lied on the bed, what was in my orange-striped handbag? I always declined. Then we went back to normal, back to crazy.

Crazier and crazier we went, especially during our engagement era, fighting and kissing till we threw things at each other again. I screamed as loud as I could, wanting the neighbors to witness truly what a man he was. He always acted as if I was the psycho when anyone was around and maybe I was. Or maybe he was just a very manipulative and handsome man, glimmers of James Dean in his eyes, as I always say. Whatever was the reason for our toxic relationship; we were definitely bound to be together.