This far, I’ve realised I haven’t been entirely fair on him. On how perfect he could be; I realise you must be thinking I’m mad for loving what seems like a horrible, controlling man.

In reality, he was perfect. I just want to see the bad things, to justify the ending. Sometimes, he’d just spend hours watching me doing things. Reading, cooking, sleeping, he’d just watch with his level stare, I could feel the loving pressure in the small of my back most of the day.

Whenever he was watching me, I always felt more safe, more protected, and more wanted. And when he looked in my eyes, I was so happy, I could die.

The purest and most perfect I ever felt was when he was inside me, staring intently in my eyes. The love was so raw, I could barely deal with it, it almost hurt. It never ceases to amaze me how complete I felt when I was with him.

He would always buy me presents too, little trinkets and flowers and perfumes that made my heart warm and my mind know how much he loved me. However, just being with him was the greatest present I could ever receive.

When we first had sex, it was like the greatest single moment of my life. Perfect, amazing. It felt like the moment my whole life had led up to – and I knew, instinctively, right then, nothing would ever, ever be the same again. It was caring, and special, my heart was fluttering like a bird in a cage. Trapped. It was my first time, and I was petrified. He kissed my chapped lips, reassured me, held me … I’d never felt so flawless and ideal.

Afterwards, we held each other for a long, long time. We didn’t need to say anything, we just knew what each other was feeling, thinking. We fell asleep like that, and for once my demons never bothered my dreams.