They had met at a party, strangers that were only there by invitation of a friend of a friend. And through the veil of smoke and the buzz of cheap beer, he seemed like a good idea. She could remember the first time they kissed. He was high and she was lonely. It wasn't a nice kiss, he had bruised her lip. But she was young and foolish and mistook his recklessness and lust for passion. It wasn't until a year of their meeting that they started dating. During perhaps one of the only sober moments they had shared at the time, he asked her out to dinner. He had been kind to her, sweet. They had never had an interaction where both were sober, and she found it a good change of pace. At the end of the night, he drove her home. He kissed her in the car, a softer kiss than before but still filled with what she thought was passion. She let him feel her up, she thought it would make him like her more. She waited a week for him to call her back. When he finally did, he invited her over to watch a movie. Except they never did watch that movie. Before they could even turn on the TV, his hand was on her thigh and she let him. They didn't even pick a movie before his hand was venturing further. She slept with him that night. And in a desperate attempt to claim some part of him, she asked if this made her his girlfriend. He laughed at her at first, a bitter laugh, but then his eyes went soft and he kissed her sweetly and said, "yes."