Red. It’s the most vivid color and has always been my favorite. I loved it ever since I was a little girl, and as I grew older, these feelings only intensified. My clothes always came in shades of red, my school bags were red and even my favorite musician was no other than Girl in Red. I guess, you could say, I was a little obsessed.

Red is also the perfect color to describe my relationship with Samuel. We were both students at the same university.

Our first meeting was nothing but pure chance, and could’ve been right out of a silly romantic comedy. I was hurrying over campus, carrying a stack of books and papers, when I stumbled right into him.

We talked little back then, and, frankly; I thought nothing would come of it. While he was a suave and attractive man, I was nothing but a mousy and plain little thing.

Yet I must’ve caught his eye and he must’ve seen something in me. Before long, he thought me out again, and soon after, we went on our very first date.

Our attraction turned to love, and then to red, burning passion. Oh, how I loved those very first nights the two of us shared in each other’s arms.

It was like a dream come true, and after only a few short months, he asked me to move in with him. Sharing my life with Samuel was amazing, at least for a while.

Then, one night, things changed. He revealed his ugly, true face to me, the one he’d hidden all along. It was a different face, one red with anger, and for the first time I was afraid of my favorite color.

That night, all the passion, all the love I’d ever felt for this man fizzled away and was replaced by a different red, the red of my blood. Red, the most vivid color, my once favorite color, I thought, as he stood over me, and I stared at my blood on his balled fists.

Eventually, after another one of his many little sessions, the ones he called our quality time, I remembered that red could also mean something else.

Red could also mean fire.

And tonight, as he sleeps next to me, his face still red from exhaustion and drinking, I fought my battered body to his feet.

For the first time in months, I felt love again, love for my favorite color, as I stared at the tiny, burning match between my fingers.

Then, I went outside, and burned it all to the ground, the house, the relationship, and most importantly, him.

And as I stare at the flames, it’s this red, the most vivid of colors that finally allows me to be free again.

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