Things with Ophélie got worse. Rachel wasn’t the same any more, he spent all his time brooding, he was reading way too much and travelling all the time, running around all over the place, and every time he came back he was worse. Ophélie has always been controlling. Her life has to be perfect – she can’t stand anything getting in the way of her happiness, anything that throws sand in her perfect routine, anything that sends clouds over her perfect little garden. She got her idea of life from playing with Barbie. And she’s always been a bit of a snob. Poor Rachel, she nagged him and pestered him, she’d pick fights, make snide comments, throw tantrums, she’d sulk and slam doors, and she’d leave him, regular as clockwork. She always was highly strung. She’d usually go round and stay at her mother’s and it would take a UN peacekeeping force to get her back. Love is stupid and dangerous. Ophélie’s mother completely spoiled her, she never really had a chance to grow up, become a woman, accept the fact that problems and worries and trouble are just part of life. But I do feel kind of sorry for her, Rachel never talked to her, just like he never talked to me, he kept everything bottled up. Nobody likes being treated like they don’t exist. Especially not Ophélie. When I think that he never told me about our parents being murdered, I could kill him. I would have given anything to go to Aïn Deb with him, visit their graves. We might finally have gotten to know each other.