Rebecca

I still remember her like it was 9 o'clock this morning. She had this new confidence I had never seen before. She knew who she was and what she wanted and I was just happy to be with her, to watch her grow and do the things she wanted.

She was close with everyone, some more than others. I believed I was special to her but I had these doubts. Real doubts, compacted by real messages sent by her to real other people, cute people.

"Are you cheating on me?" I asked as we walked by the Thames.

"No," she said, in a strange, un-offended way.

"Because if you are, we can just be friends. I won't be mad. We can still be close."

"You're just being paranoid." And she smiled this honest smile and I agreed that perhaps I was.

The doubt was all-consuming though, and I never blamed her. I blamed myself. I was the paranoid one. I was the mess.

And really I shouldn't have been surprised. But I was surprised.

It's funny, really.

When you look at someone through rose-tinted glasses all the red flags just look like flags.