The beginning was simple to mark.
That’s what I can remember of the opening line of Ian McEwan’s Enduring Love.
I don’t think all beginnings are simple to pinpoint. Not even in hindsight. I don’t know if it’s because memories change or because some of the details fade.
The beginning of this story was somewhat simple and easy to mark. Some of the details are a little hazy. It was so long ago. I can’t exactly remember everything. All I can ask is that you bear with me as I try to tell it as accurately as possible.
I don’t know how far I’ll get in tell you this story. I’m not proud of what I’ve done. But I guess someone needs to hear it.
I was so young and so very naive and stupid. There were warning bells as she whispered in my ear and as her fingers flew all over me. I didn’t listen to them. I should have.
I was still young enough to be giddy as I fell in love. It was new. I couldn’t think of anything else but her. My friends kept warning me that she was no good and that they were suspicious of her. There was something wrong with her, they said. She wasn’t what she seemed, they told me.
I didn’t believe them. I thought that they were all jealous and that’s why they were all handing out the backlash against her. I really should have listened to them. There are no words to describe my feelings of sorrow and regret over this.
I had no idea she was a con artist or a serial killer. I had no idea she was on the run from authorities. I had no idea she was willing to use any means possible to escape and hide. I had no idea she just saw me as a means.
I lost everything. All my money. All my possessions. All my friends. All my dignity. All my respect.
It has taken so long to build everything up again. But nothing is ever going to bring back what I lost.
The moral of the story is you can’t trust everyone.