The Bad Stuff

It’s not my fault

Strong stuff!

Prosetry Me

I met him at a local pub.

I preferred his friend.

He asked for my number, which I didn’t want to give.

At first.


He was tall, dark and handsome, but loud.

He wouldn’t give up, trying to charm me.

So I gave him my number.



We arranged a date.

It was a mild September evening.

He made me laugh, we had chemistry.

A lot of chemistry.


Too soon, I moved in with him.

His Father had just died.

He was sad, and my heart ached for him.

He needed me, and I loved him more.


He started to have outbursts.

He cried, he raged. He was so afraid of failing.

Once he locked himself in the bedroom.

I could hear him muttering to himself.


“It’s all my fault. Nobody loves me”

Over and over again.


I was scared, I called his friends.

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