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My heartbeat speeds up as I recall the events that changed my life.

“I didn’t know what happened. Call it my gut feeling, something felt wrong. Days passed and no reply came. Finally, after about two weeks of not hearing from him, I couldn’t wait any longer, so I decided to pay him a visit, even if that meant sneaking into his parent’s house, knowing that I would really break my restraining order.”

“You…” Sylvie cuts me off, shaking her head.

“Yeah, I know.” Grimacing, I peer down at my hand and realize I’ve been clutching at the cup so hard, my knuckles turned white beneath my skin. “It was a stupid move. I don’t even know what I was thinking sneaking in through the back door. But to be honest, I may have been a bit drunk that day.” I release the cup before it snaps into countless pieces and go on, ready to get the whole story out. “In my defense, it was my birthday; I was drunk and like I said, I had this bad feeling. Besides, I didn’t break in. The door was open, so…anyway, as you can probably imagine, it all went wrong. He wasn’t even there that day, but his ex was, and his mom.” Catching Sylvie’s frown, I hurry to add, “They’re friends, and his mom really likes her. They’re like this huge, perfect family.”

“What happened?” Sylvie asks impatiently.

“The cops arrived, and they treated me like I was a criminal.” I groan inwardly, annoyed with myself for making such a bad decision when I should have known better. “It’s my fault, really. I should have insisted that Bruce make our relationship official and tell the truth. Instead, I played along. I just couldn’t out him. I loved him that much. So, now I’m here, taking responsibility for my actions. Crazy, huh?”

I don’t expect an answer. I don’t need anyone telling me that I was a fool in love. I know that damn well.

Sylvie and I remain quiet for a few seconds. But the silence isn’t uncomfortable; it’s cleansing, lifting the fog that seems to have been clouding my mind for too long.

I’m glad that she knows.

Finally, she leans back, sucking in the air in a long, deep breath.

“Wow,” she says. “Why would you want to be with someone who doesn’t tell their family about you?” A pang of anger flashes across her face. “Sorry. I don’t want to meddle in your affairs, but this…this makes me angry. You seem like a good person and he treats you like a toy he can play with. I mean, who does he think he is?”

I shrug my shoulders, feeling oddly defensive of him. “He has a good reason, I’m sure. His parents are rich. His mom’s in the paper all the time. I just don’t fit in. So—” I shrug again, my words eluding me.

Crap.

How can I explain it? The feeling of betrayal. The desperate need to believe his excuses. Is believing lies easier than acknowledging the truth?

I don’t want to lose him—that’s it. That’s what keeps me trapped in a vicious circle.

“I so want to punch that fucker. I hope you gave his ass a good kicking.”

I laugh. “Actually, I didn’t. I chose to forgive him.”

Sylvie’s mouth drops open. “No!”

“Yeah, I did,” I say, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. “Right after the court order, he called me on a friend’s phone, saying that the situation at home was heated and tense. And I gave him one more chance. He said he was going to sort it out and that once I’m out of here, he’ll take me out.”

Sylvie starts to shake her head again. “How can you do that?” She sounds so shocked, I can barely contain a laugh.

“Because I love him, silly.”

I meet her eyes and see pity reflected in them. Her concern causes another lump in my throat.

“That’s why you need this.” Her words sound so resolute, I almost believe them. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I didn’t mean to imply that you’re crazy. It’s just—”

“It’s fine.” I take a deep breath. “I’m an optimist. I’m sure he misses me and something good will come out of this experience. I want to leave everything behind—the fear, the anguish—and start anew. I want to come out stronger. I want to prove to him that we can beat this. We’ll start over again, but this time everything will be different. That’s what he said. That’s what I choose to believe, too.”

She looks at me for a long time. “You know there’s nothing wrong with you, right? He’s the one who should be held accountable for this mess.”

I turn my head away. That’s what my counselor said this morning, right before I began a shouting marathon.

“How’s your roommate?” I ask.

The change in topic isn’t subtle, but Sylvie bites.

“Don’t get me started.” She laughs.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”