Once in a while, her face would slide off, and for the briefest, most terrifying of moments, I would be able to see her real head.
She did it right at the end of it all, on the last morning that we were together. Returning home from where ever it was that she had spent the night, I met her just outside the front door and told her that she had broken my heart.
I forget how exactly the conversation progressed, but eventually I found it necessary to threaten her, so I informed her of the fact that unlike the other spineless men she surrounded herself with, I wouldn’t be strung around like her personal yo-yo.
‘The difference between them and me,’ I said with wavering conviction, ‘is that I have balls.’
At that exact moment, her face slid off, and she castrated me with her smile.