Brave: How I rebuilt my life after love turned to hate

‘I was too cold over by the window,’ he said when I stirred.

In the light of a new day, I felt absolutely terrible for what I’d done. I buried my face in my hands and wondered how on earth I could salvage whatever it was that we had. I knew I’d hurt Anthony, and I didn’t want to do that, I just didn’t want him to keep on hurting me.

‘It wasn’t true, Anthony,’ I tried. ‘I didn’t do it. It’s you that I want. I only said it because I was drunk.’

Yes, I was lying, but I just kept thinking back to what he’d said the night before, about having feelings for me, about how I’d ruined everything. I’d had no idea.

‘You saying that made me realise that I don’t want anyone else to have you,’ he said. ‘It made me realise I want you to be my girlfriend.’

And despite everything that had happened – the argument, his pulling me from the bed, practically throwing me out of the house – just hearing that from him meant everything. After all these months, after telling me that it was just a bit of fun, he did want me and I was so happy.

I snuggled down further inside his arms then, wrapped up safe in a place that I never wanted to leave.

‘I won’t sleep with anyone else and I don’t want you to either,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you texting boys any more.’

I did wonder why he’d said that bit. I didn’t feel the need to say the same to him because I trusted him. It didn’t bother me if he was texting girls because he was mine. But I nodded and agreed because right then, right at that moment, I didn’t want anything to spoil what we now had. Anthony was finally my boyfriend and I’d never felt so happy.

We spent the next few days together, and would get the train to Norwich to go to the cinema, or for a meal.

‘Why don’t we just go out in Lowestoft?’ I asked.

‘It’s better in Norwich,’ he said. ‘No one knows us there.’

‘But we don’t need to hide our relationship from anyone now,’ I told him. ‘You’ve got to tell my brother. It’s New Year’s Eve in a few days. The new year is a new start for us. You need to tell him by then, Anthony.’

He nodded, although he seemed unsure. But I was adamant.

‘New year, new start,’ I reminded him.

I got ready for New Year’s Eve at home, slipping on a new blue dress I’d bought from New Look with a matching blue hairband to put in my backcombed hair. I painted my fingernails and toenails black to match my shoes.

‘You look nice,’ Mum said when I went downstairs.

‘Can I have a lift to Amie’s, Mum?’ I asked. ‘She’s having a party.’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said.

And then Scott appeared. ‘Can I have a lift too?’ he said.

We got into the car and Mum asked us both where we were going. Scott answered first.

‘I’m off out with your boyfriend,’ he said.

It felt odd hearing it from him, but in a good way because I knew then Anthony had done it.

‘What boyfriend?’ Mum said.

‘His name’s Anthony,’ I said. ‘He’s 19, the same as Scott.’

‘Oh, I need to meet him,’ Mum replied.

Just seconds after Scott got out of the car, a text came through on my phone from Anthony.

I’ve told your brother, he seems ok. xx

I smiled. So that was it now, no more sneaking around, we were a proper couple.

We had a few drinks at Amie’s that night before heading to a pub to meet all the boys. Anthony was there, and this time I didn’t need to worry about going over and saying hello. In fact, he came over to me. And then before we knew it the countdown to the new year had begun.

‘Five … four … three … two … one … Happy New Year!’ everyone cried.

But in among the poppers going off and people hugging and kissing and singing ‘Auld Lang Syne’, Anthony pulled me out of the back of the pub. There he held my hands and looked at me so seriously.

‘Please promise me something,’ he said. ‘Promise me you’ll always be there for me. You’re the only girl I’ve ever felt like this about, but you’ve got to promise you’ll always be there for me because I’m not the person you think I am.’

I stared deep into his green eyes; he was serious. But I was drunk and fireworks were shooting into the black sky around me, so I just wrapped him up in a hug and told him what he wanted me to say.

‘Of course I’ll always be there for you, Anthony,’ I said. And then we hugged and kissed because it was New Year’s Eve and what else do you do?

It kept coming back to me though, every few days, what Anthony had said, those eight words: I’m not the person you think I am. What did he mean? Not that I asked him, I assumed that he, like me, was just drunk and emotional. So I tried to push it to the back of my mind, told myself it didn’t mean anything.

Anyway, after New Year’s Eve we were pretty much inseparable, or at least that’s how Anthony seemed to want it to be, we both did. Once everybody knew about us there was no reason to hide or sneak around, or pretend we didn’t want to see each other. So we saw as much of each other as we could, and I was so happy.

I started back at college a few days into the new year and Anthony would text me through my classes.

‘Is that him again?’ my friends would say. ‘He must really like you.’

He’d even come and meet me on my breaks, and at lunch he’d take me out to lunch, or back to Scotty’s where he rustled up beans on toast or sausage and chips. The girls were always so impressed, after all, having an older boyfriend to take you out for lunch seemed so much more grown up than any of the boys they were seeing. And that made me feel special, important.

At the end of the day, as me and Amie filtered from class, he’d be there to walk me home.

Wednesday was my day off and the two of us loved nothing better than just enjoying a lazy morning in bed together. One day, as we lay there, I traced my fingers along his tattoos.

‘What’s this one?’ I asked, stroking one on the top of his right arm. It was a cross with a name written underneath it: ‘Margaret’.

‘It’s my mum,’ he said gently, tracing his own finger across the name. ‘She died when I was 15.’

His words hung in the air between us as my mind scrambled for something to say. But what can you say to that? Instead I wrapped my arms around his waist and snuggled into his chest. Perhaps sometimes you don’t need any words.

We’d have fun on those Wednesdays too. Mum had bought me a wax pot for Christmas as she knew it would come in handy for my beauty course, but I decided to try it out on Anthony first.

‘Ooh!’ he said, wriggling as I smeared the warm wax onto his chest with a spatula.

‘Hold still,’ I replied. ‘Otherwise it’s going to really hurt.’

‘I still can’t believe you convinced me to do this,’ he said. ‘Why can’t you practise another massage on me?’

‘No pain, no gain,’ I laughed. ‘Ready?’