He said he loved me, said that it was all going to be ok, that I should just lie back on the rug, that it was no more fingers & thumbs. There was trust, but here I am watching him. There’s a line of girls, he’s in the corner outside the girls toilets, propped up in the arms of a classmate as she grinds on his thigh, her lips on his. Others wait, as she takes a drunken breath and steps back another one stumbles in her place and assumes the position, leg lock, face lock, he’s loving it. He’s holding a pint! I watch from the top of the clubs stairs. As the girls walk off they drunkenly laugh in my face, happy with their small victory. They know he’s supposed to be mine, but he made me agree. We agreed that we should hide our feelings, have an open relationship, play the field, but stay together, just not in public. I agreed to it to keep him, I would do anything for him, my first love, my boyfriend. My boyfriend! So what the hell are those girls doing? They all know he’s mine. No they don’t, because I agreed. I’m livid but I will look the fool, my jealousy boiling so intensely I can burn holes through the girls heads into his eyes. But he doesn’t see me, he’s too drunk. When he does I’m furious, I’m hurt & angry & crying, then it’s my fault for being the psycho bitch, that’s how he gets me, how it becomes my fault. I have to witness his betrayal but play it cool, I can’t. I’m too emotional. When Im upset he plays the ‘you’re crazy, I’ve had enough’ card. It’s how it works, it keeps happening, until eventually he tires of my craziness caused by his philandering. Of course it’s my fault, I agreed to it. Why did I agree to it? Because he’s my boyfriend, he said he loved me, said that it was all going to be ok….