From the moment I met him, I looked up to him with eyes naively wide shut and gave him a fragile heart that desperately wanted to be held.
He took me shopping and bought me clothes, whisked me to exclusive restaurants and told me I was the sexiest girl he’d ever met. It felt like a dream come true.
I wore what he chose, ate what he ordered and did what he said. I thought I was being treated like a princess, I let down what miniature guard I had and gave him everything, grateful to be shown so much attention.
If he didn’t like a friend of mine, I distanced myself.
If I made plans, he said he’d already made a booking for us somewhere so I cancelled.
Soon, I was living in the palm of his hand and as soon as he had me where he wanted me, he started flicking the cold switch of control.
I so desperately wanted to make him happy I tried even harder and I was so scared of losing him I tried to keep his heart warm. He started throwing me crumbs of affection, knowing I’d be grateful for them and that became how he controlled my behaviour.