As she walked to my table, everyone’s eyes seem to gravitate towards her. I entertained the thought that it was because she was utterly breath-takin... in the black cocktail dress and lace heels she was wearing… but in reality it was probably because of her vibrant hair, tattoos, and piercings in spite of the dress. Either way, it couldn’t be argued that she was the most beautiful woman in the restaurant. I stood up and pulled out her seat. The waiter seemed a bit flustered that I had beaten him. And we were happy. I underline it now because it was a happiness so short lived as to make one wonder if it had every existed at all. But it was real enough then, in those first few months, as we explored one another’s spirits and minds and found them just as delightfully suited to each other as our bodies proved to be. I left my apartment on Park Avenue in New York (this alone flabbergasted Xavier, who had been used to my complaints about the slack jawed mindlessness of the typical southern. More

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