I no longer remember the exact sequence of events, but somewhere in there she seduced me, and almost immediately she began announcing to me and anyone we encountered that we were engaged.

I remember the seduction starting with an unexpected kiss sitting on the small loveseat I'd bought as a couch for our tiny house. I did not resist, and I remember the sex being awkward and fumbly, largely because I did not like the alcohol on her breath, but also because I was already in permanent fight-or-flight, waiting for her to turn violent. On this night she did not.

She was always nice in the mornings, and because we enjoyed each other's company we had a lot of fun together daytimes. It was only after working her evening shifts that the drinking started, and the mayhem.

I understood why she wanted to be engaged. She needed a sense of stability, and an assurance she'd be taken care of.

I think, my own willingness to become engaged was an artifact of depression, and great loneliness. Where it seemed better to devote my days to looking after the poor damaged girl because, despite the damage she inflicted, it was good to have someone to look after, and because, perhaps at the lowest point of the bottom of my depression, I felt it was what I deserved.