Her name was Kathryn.
She was only eighteen, but she already seemed to entrance everyone that surrounded her. Much like Eve with that apple. She beguiled people. Sending them into an impeccable daze.
Her mother died when she was four. That was the one thing we had in common; loss of someone dear to us. That left her alone with her alcoholic father, who didn't trust her very much. And I know how those things go.
She cried herself to sleep many nights, and despite what everyone may think, she didn't feel very pretty at all. She felt disfigured. Foul. Like a waste of toxic air.
I guess you'd feel that way too, if you had someone like Jason using you as a punching bag, calling you a "worthless little whore" every chance he got.
She thought she was the worse, so in front of everyone else, she put on her makeup, her nicest clothes, her other face, and acted like she was the best.
She drained herself out during the day, falling into bed at night. Sometimes she'd stare beside her, imagining someone who loved her unconditionally being there. She cuddled her teddybear, sometimes, crying all her fears and wants inside of its dusty fur.
She was just like all of us. Just like me. Trying to find reasons to wake up and get out of bed. Her sadness was neither beautiful nor poetic. Yet, she was addicted to it.
"Close your eyes and they'll go away," her dad says. "You're just imagining them." She studies all day and all night because she doesn't want to be stuck, and she sees the roaches. The rats. The ones her dad tries to tell her don't exist.
She has constant meltdowns, and nights of endless tears. She suffers from a broken heart; her soul damaged. She pushes people away when she loves them too much, because she knows that people leave. And in the end, all you have is yourself, and that has to be enough.
She isn't afraid of anything, except spiders, and roaches, and fathers.
Then that's when she met him. Him. David. Someone who wanted to see beneath her beautiful. Someone who noticed the sadness in her eyes that everyone else seemed to ignore.
He began to know her. To love her. And when she loved, out of habit, she started to push. But he pushed back, and that scared her to the point where she couldn't even breathe.
He, like a sculptor, pulled out his chisel, and carved her out from the inside. Breaking into her tender smiles, and smothering her with his warm embraces.
She fell in love with the way he warmed her hands with his hot breath when it was cold out, and the way he tickled her just to hear her laugh. The soft, sweet spoken words he whispered to her when she felt like she couldn't go on. When she got bad.
And when they made love for the first time, she was afraid to take her clothes off because she thought he see all the scars, the bruises, and he'd be sickened, but he held her face in his beautiful hands, kissing every scar and every flaw like it was a work of art.
They were good together. Kathryn and David. They fixed each other. He knew her heart, and she knew his.