‘Rediscover how nice duplicity is’ she said, and in that moment I knew the cause was lost. I felt that holding out hope any longer was fruitless, though that had really been plain from the beginning. Of course, it might have turned out better if I hadn’t been trying to change her constantly. I felt that perhaps if I could somehow mould her into my model of a better person we would be truly right for each other – in the beginning, mind you – by the end I was just trying to do it for her sake, as if by making her better she would enjoy a more fulfilling life.

I’m not really sure what I was thinking in trying to guarantee her a more ‘fulfilling’ life. While I assured her repeatedly that at no time were my actions the result of pity, perhaps when all’s said and done they were. It was a pre-emptive pity, though, for I could see a future devoid of love, closeness, intimacy, true friendship – all based, of course, on my own model of these things. On the subject of intimacy, I imagined that this future might contain a great deal of sexuality – not in the sense that sees young women labelled ‘promiscuous’ or ‘slutty’ you understand – but a distinct lack of true intimacy, the kind that comes from a shared emotional bond. Of course there are others who saw this future as containing the celibacy of a nun, or the life of a lesbian activist – but who really cares anyway?

It was not the girl I tried to save, but her emotions. It was as if I was some kind of guardian of the humanity of her. If she wished to while away the hours with manipulation, deceit and self-hatred, then so be it, but I wanted to try and preserve the little spark of decent humanity left inside her. Perhaps I am being too harsh in my description, indeed, my feelings are not the same now; but at the time, I was convinced she was absolutely devoid of morality and decency, and not by choice.

So it was that with this in mind I set about trying to educate and rehabilitate her – the use of the word ‘rehabilitate’ was considered at great length, for this was in many ways similar to rehabilitating a drug addict. Her drug was enigma and manipulation, denial of one’s self and one’s emotions, and I was reintroducing her to the world of the feeling. At least, that’s the image I had in my mind at the time – a mind hazy and confused by conflicting feelings of anger, frustration, desire and desperation. I tried to change her for the better, as best I could.

I had never bet on her strength though. Some people cave under pressure, are not impervious to the influence of others – this was no such young woman. She would not be changed for anyone, for the façade she had so delicately, lovingly and yet hatefully constructed over years of self-denial would not be easily torn down – not by me, anyway. Anytime I made inroads I would find something blocking my path. I would clear the blockage as best I could, but eventually the barriers to any real progress became impenetrable and I could go no further. The soul residing underneath that tough yet fragile exterior could not be touched. Some things in this world are too sacred to be soiled by the influence of the pathogen that is human manipulation.

Then after a while of trying fruitlessly to remove those final few barriers, I decided to step back and admire my work thus far. This narcissistic act was to be the beginning of the end. Slowly, the ‘good’ work I thought I had been doing, the things we had achieved, began to be reversed, and without my intense, ‘you must be cruel to be kind’ approach, all of what I considered ‘progress’ was eventually wiped out – almost. In a final, desperate act, I tried to gauge what, if any, difference I had made. I would not let her get away without being able to see some spark of the beautiful person I had discovered but for a moment underneath. No longer was this about her and I, no longer had it anything to do with my petty feelings – it was to satisfy my own pride and to see whether my act of selflessness had had any impact at all.

I never did find out for sure. I had always found her a true conversational equal. Very few can match me in the field of repartee, and one of the initial points of attraction was this very fact. There was a feeling, the first few times we talked, of a mutual surprise at having found an intellectual and conversational equal. But when it finally came down to this ultimate battle, this final showdown before the gloves were finally put back on the shelf, weapons sheathed and battle lines scrubbed; I was having none of it. I refused to back down, but eventually I did the very thing I had sworn I would not. I caved. I could not handle the conflict any longer and just wanted, for once and for all, for the pain, the hurt, the anger and the distrust to end. I had reached a point where I required nothing of her and she required nothing of me.

Finally, I bit the bullet and let her be. ‘Let’s be friends, let’s be friends, let’s be friends,’ she pleaded; and soon enough I relented, and at length we ended up reluctant, distant friends. I have no regrets – there is much to show for my work…if you dig deep enough.