After all I’ve done for you! I am meticulous in my attention to your every need, I’m loving and giving and so understanding.

I’ve used every perceptive tool at my disposal, attuned every psychic antenna to your wavelength, in order for me to give you what you need – almost before you realise it yourself! You want some space? Sure, don’t mind me, I’ll be fine by myself. Warmth? Let me hug you to death. Sex? Wait there, I’ll slip into something less comfortable... I know what makes you laugh; I’ll structure my facial expressions, master the art of comic timing, to engineer those smiles that light up your face.

I’ll be your dream companion. Tell me your dreams. I’ll figure out what childhood issues are simmering away on your back burner, but I’ll pretend not to notice them, for that would be too scary, too intrusive. With an elegant, light touch, I’ll let you know that I’m unshockable, and assure you that everyone has unresolved shit, and I’ll bravely come clean with an (unshocking) version of mine, to reassure you that I’m only human, and not just a paragon of caring virtue. I’ll come up with a wan this-is-the-cross-I-have-to-bear smile, assure you, with my lying eyes, that I’m not asking for comfort, as I’m a grown up now, and I’ll change the subject to something of interest to you, something neutral and fun.

The thought occurs to you that it might be OK to share your feelings with me. I’ll see it in your eyes, a flicker like a cartoon lightbulb, and I’ll tend that thought, like the most delicate seedling in a propagating frame. Too much sunny encouragement, and it will bolt and collapse – too little space to breathe, it will mildew and rot. Too much arid intellectualisation and it will dry up and be forgotten. Most of all, tending that seedling is about patience. I can wait for you to open up to me. That’s worth waiting for.

I’ll find ways of making sure you’re relaxed. I’ll learn to read your body language and respond accordingly. I’ll take “fun” risks when you’re calm, play it safe when you’re stressed. I’ll be stoic when you get angry, firm when you sulk. I’ll not let you see that I mind, if you disappear for a few days – no comment, critical or otherwise, will pass my lips, because I’ve made you believe that I’m not the possessive type. I’ve been so persuasive in my tolerant argument, that I almost believe it myself.

But of course you’ll get to discover what it’s like to betray me. The stench of reproach will emanate from every pore of my body, like odourless garlic, wafting over to you, especially in the dark of the night. But I won’t let on, I’ll still be my smiling sympathetic self. And if you wake from your troubled sleep with a start, dreaming of how you’ve thrust a stake through my heart, I’ll be there to comfort you. I’ll help you wash your guilt away, I’ll encourage you to think that you’ve finally found what you’ve always craved: unconditional love.

And as you sob into my arms and confess to your indiscretions, I’ll allow my physical caresses to become sexual, so you are rewarded for your confidences, a little boy getting his sweets for being good. And, afterwards, as you gaze into my eyes and wonder what you did to deserve such bliss, I know I’ve got you in the palm of my hand.

And that’s when you begin to pay. In victory, I find myself facing my own disgust. You’ve not seen through me, you’re yet another man who has fallen for my seductive game and now takes me for granted, and the Valkyries of vengeance come swooping out of the basement of my soul to roast this new parasite, leeching my milk of human kindness, with invisible flames of hate. After all I’ve done for you, and this is how you repay me.

It’s subtle at first. My voice falters a semi-tone, into vicious sarcasm, that comes out of nowhere. Because it’s so unfamiliar, you look at me as if I’ve belched mid-sentence. Did you just take a swipe at me? No, not at all, I’m just feeling a bit tired, that’s all. Don’t mind me. I’ll begin to subtly neglect myself, perhaps get a little too drunk, or forget to eat, or cut myself, and when you don’t notice it, (as of course you won’t because I’ve hidden it so well), I’ll be ready to throw it at you the next time you come to me for comfort. For comfort is something you’ve come to expect (and, over time, need) from me. I’ll accuse you of being unfair. Naturally, you’ll redouble your efforts, but you’ll be a bit startled, and you’ll think it’s something you’ve done, feel guilty like a little boy. You’ll do anything for me.

Because I’m there to protect and look after you. On my terms. My rules. Oh, didn’t you know? The price for my endless, compassionate, considerate and omniscient love? Total control over you. Not too much to ask for, is it?