The conversation lasted two words. I survived.
That's what I usually told my girlfriends when they decided to end it with me after trying to deal with my post traumatic stress disorder. Those that began in 'rescuer mode' soon realised I was too much for them. The others that either were in lust with me or maybe after my money decided they would put up with anything if it was worth their while. But they all gave up in the end.
The recurring nightmare felt so real. Long empty corridor, bare walls and concrete floor. I saw him approach, tall, the wheezing chest so loud in my ears, the sound of knives being sharpened on stone, the smells of camphor, lavender, not-so-dry-clothes, and those eyes, piercing blue. Yet it was dark, no lights so how could I see it all so clearly. His bad breath on my cheeks as he loomed over my bed, pulled off the bedclothes...........I screamed and screamed.
I am not sure if I can be single, I'm so lonely, so insecure. It is time to find myself a new girlfriend.