But I can live with all that. And then, when I began to see through the threats, he pleaded and begged, he said he would change. But then she thinks, something else rising in her — but the aesthetic! She shakes her head, then turns to look at Stefan. He told me it wasn't my decision. I have a white line on my shin where the car door slammed, and burn marks on my arms. Sam told me he was going to kill himself; I told him to go for it. If I dared to go out with my friends, he would ask his own mates to watch what I was doing.
He told me it wasn't my decision. She focuses on the present, instead, how good his arms feel around her, his heartbeat under her ear, his breath, her breath. They both put their glasses down, get undressed and chase each other into the shower. He feels suddenly protective. Trying to get out of the car one day, and Sam taking my hand in his and crushing it until I screamed. She adds some sparkly brown eye shadow next to her eyelashes, softens it with a finger. In the end I stopped going out. I feel ugly when I put my hair up, because he used to complain that it made me look like a boy. He saw them kissing boys they barely knew, he read their emails on my computer, he saw their MySpace profiles. She usually is so shy, and soft spoken, understated, even when she wears bolder colors, but he thinks he can sense that the other side of her self, not having any idea how many sides she really has, that this other, red side is coming out, the one that he chased all over Paris the other night in the cab, only to lose her, to have her come back that way, fucking Matt. You look like a prostitute, he'd reply, you whore, you slag, you bitch. I let some stupid idiot terrorise me from the ages of 18 to 20, but I'm trying my hardest not to let it happen again. I never asked him enough about his day; I was too outspoken with his friends; I didn't smile enough, and people thought I was stuck up. I love you, Rebekah. He takes another sip of wine. Looking back, I now suspect he felt the same about me. I love you so much! I wore my shortest skirt and a thick layer of warpaint, and danced around him until he had to pay me attention, then I gave him the runaround while he tried to convince me to go out with him. He would turn up at my house, creeping through the back door so as not to disturb my slumbering parents, stinking of cheap alcopops and beer, just to make sure I didn't have anyone else in my bed. Horrid public kisses were given only to demonstrate ownership, and any private embraces would only result in interrogations about what I had done with boys before. Perfect, she thinks, and decided on some strappy, almost Grecian high heeled sandals, and a simple gold necklace, gold earrings in a vintage abstract shape, a little large for her but not too overpowering, since she usually just wears tiny earrings now with her hair so short, earrings with a little sparkle among the gold. He was never happy with anything I said or did. And at the time this pleased me: He was sweet to me on our first few dates, and flattered me just the right amount. No achievement could raise a compliment, and he could find something sinister in the most innocent situation.
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