My Girlfriend, the Narcissist   She’s called Gillian. She’s got brown hair, and eyes the colour of a bleached winter sky.  She’s about 5’5″, but she’s tough.  My girlfriend was a narcissist. She didn’t like me having friends, or seeing family.  So, I didn’t really.  Gillian stuck around, though.  In fact, that’s when I first met her.  A few months in.  I met her on the school run.  She was standing in a driveway nudging gravel with the toe of her Converse.  I asked her if she’d lost something.  Her wedding ring, she said. Not that it mattered.  He was a cheating bastard.  We walked to school together, her black wax jacket similar to mine, though I envied its collar, and the zip doesn’t work on mine. It broke on Melton playing field when I bent…

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