2004

Dunking your head under the hot waterfall, the steam consuming you like a thick fog, you take time to cherish the little moments you have with yourself rather than attached at the hip of your boyfriend, forced into docile compliance. You let the water leaf through your locks, washing any residue away, like washing away doubts you have lodged in your mind.

Stepping out from the shower wearing his baggy tee and concluding your nightly routine, you settle into your plush sheets and comforter, where Gerard spent his time browsing through your phone—which he kept on him personally.

After moving in with him and surrendering your liberty, he now told you how to dress, how to present yourself in front of a crowd, how to always acquiesce to his demands.

“Just to let you know,” he drawls with the edge of his tongue tracing over his bottom lip coated in old fruit balm. “I deleted your friends’ numbers. They became too much of a distraction for our relationship.”