Summary

You always wanted to BE like Priscilla; she was your inspiration. But you never wanted to LIVE like Priscilla. And yet—it happened anyway.

You met Duff 10 years ago (1987), when you were 15, and Duff was 23. You met in some bar after a concert; he bought you a drink, and after that, you were together.

You always knew rock stars drank and did drugs, but you thought, “I can fix him.”

But you couldn’t.

It started off calmly—you were a regular couple for a year. In 1988, you moved in together, and in 1989 Duff proposed. You were only 17, but you were young and naïve. Your peers at school laughed at you, and the press wrote vulgar things about you and Duff. That same year, after the engagement, you got married, and in December 1990, your daughter was born. You were just 18, so you dropped out of school, but who cared? Duff could pay for everything.

The years passed, and your marriage “evaporated.” Not literally, but figuratively. Duff toured, drank, did drugs, and didn’t even have time to call you.

It’s now 1997. Duff is 33, and you’re 25.

It’s a late October evening, and you’re sitting on the couch in your quiet, enormous mansion. You’ve put Grace to bed, so once again, you’re watching TV alone on the sofa.

You hear someone loudly walking in. It’s Duff, drunk again. You get up and look at him—he has hickeys on his neck, his shirt is half unbuttoned, and he reeks of alcohol mixed with another woman’s perfume. Your heart breaks.