She knew she loved him.
From a certain point, the line between an ordinary emotion and that overpowering feeling of exhilaration and happiness blurred to such an extent, that everything seemed fine. Insults, pet names, cuddling, physical abuse, somehow it all was just thrown into one big mess, such that one wouldn’t be able to tell where the best friendship ended, and the makeshift relationship started.
She couldn’t even fathom the number of hours she spent thinking about him. He was so ingrained in her heart, that frankly, even her mind was warped and twisted beyond repair.
As if it wasn’t fucked up enough.
He would say jump, and she’d jump. He’d comment on a piece of apparel, and suddenly her whole closet would be filled with the same item of clothing, all in different colors. She felt herself meld into what was hopefully his ideal model of a woman, and along the way, sacrifice pieces of herself that she never knew she even had. Somewhere along the line, his little quirks found their way into her life, and she found herself always thinking about his opinion, thinking about his response, just thinking about him. He filled her everything, he was her everything.
And the scariest part was that she let him.
Granted, she did always have a tendency to fall hard. But after seeing it end once in a blaze of blinding sorrow, and having gone through a normal relationship (but how normal can it be when she runs again from someone who loves her?), you’d think she’d have learn by now. She lost the best chance she ever had with a boy who she’s liked even before the debacle started, simply because she just can’t envision a life without him. It doesn’t help that she’s already lost numerous parts of herself to him, but she can’t even rip herself away from him. That afraid of pain, yet still able to hold on?
She must love him a lot.
