Dating Harley Quinn: My 3 Years With A Female Narcissist

By Lee Miller

Includes 2020 update!

Lee’s incredible perspective on life has already helped thousands of people
overcome alcoholism, addiction and survive destructive relationships.
On the 21st July 2015 at 4.20 am, Lee woke up in a police body bag, his Rolex and his memory gone...
7 years earlier he’d moved to Bulgaria from an idyllic village in rural England. Not speaking the language, nor reading the alphabet, he built a multi million dollar business and was enjoying the luxury he’d worked so hard to achieve.
Then, he met Angel…
Angel was a Female Histrionic Narcissist.
She tried to kill him twice, he tried to kill himself once, an employee tried to kill him and in the end he tried to kill her! He went from $2 Million a year to homeless in 3 years and sank enough Meth to keep a herd of elephants awake indefinitely…
Brain damaged and homeless, Lee was destined to die alone in a foreign country.
The emotional, physical and financial devastation described is so vivid, you can almost taste it. But Lee’s ability to find humour in the darkest of places will inspire you. Reassure you there is no low so deep you cannot bounce back from it!
--- § ---
REVIEWS
“Couldn’t put it down!  What an incredible description of such disturbing pathological behavior”
“The way the story jumps around in time but never looses you.  Sublime skill in the art of story telling” - 5*
“It was a book that I just could NOT stop reading and finished in just 2 days”
"The best read I have had in the last 5 years. - 5*
“How in hell is this your first book? No one’s that good straight out of the gate”
“I could not put this book down. And I could not believe what Lee went through”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lee & Lee
• Release date: Jul 31, 2018

Book preview

Narcissist

©  Lee Miller, Burgas, Bulgaria, 2020

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or modified in any form, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

PROLOGUE

The feeling Angel gave was perfect purity of perfection. I quite literally could not imagine a girl more totally perfect. My imagination was stretched just to take in the reality of her. Her day to day existence was ALREADY beyond the limits of my imagination.

And she was MY girlfriend. This pure, distilled, graceful, artistic, intelligent, funny, multilingual, deeply loving visage sent by the gods, was my girlfriend. She took me in every way she possibly could the heights beyond the top of Mount Everest in sensual and hedonistic pleasure, to a land where my daily life was so far beyond.

Beyond the beyond, that is the outer limits of human experience. A land that only movies even touch upon and no one gets to live. To the edge of the stratosphere where the air is so thin you have to wear a spacesuit but the view - the view is all humanity stretched out before you and you can see the curvature of the earth and the blackness of space.

You know that above you, there isn't even enough air to support your wings, there is no higher. This is it. Beyond this point, there is no measurement of hight, from here on it becomes distance.

As you glide in perfect tranquility at the edge of space, the sun so bright your visor is almost black, you gasp at the beauty of life that you never thought possible.

EEEEEEEEERRRRRRKKKKKK

EEEEEEEEERRRRRRKKKKKK

EEEEEEEEERRRRRRKKKKKK

The cabin depressurizes as the wings are torn off.

BAILOUT

BAILOUT

BAILOUT

You don't have time to even react and someone has pulled the ejector handle. Your head smashes through the plexiglass canopy above you and suddenly you are all alone…

No one, nothing...spinning, rolling, tumbling, falling, falling, accelerating, accelerating, downwards, downwards, downwards, downward.

And you have 72,000 feet to go. You were on a ride in a U2 Spy Plane at the edge of space, no one, no living person was higher - and no living person has farther to fall.

Even at near-supersonic fall velocity It‘s going to take a long time. There are only a few certainties left in your life now - gravity is dragging you down at 32ft per second and it will never stop. The ground 72,000 feet below is SOLID and unyielding.

You won't hit, you won't splat, at T-00.00.00, when you contact, you will detonate.

…Welcome to my world!

CHAPTER ONE

FUTURE

I could no longer afford the luxury apartment that I was still tied into, the one that was crippling me with its expensive lease. Unfortunately, I was stuck there for another couple of years. At least it was in the best part of town, being right near the Sea Gardens. I grabbed my bike and pedaled as fast as I could in the direction of that very place, and yet I couldn't seem to get there fast enough.

‘I'll show her. I don't care what happens to me, I'll probably be dead tomorrow anyway. This time she's going to pay for everything she's done to me,‘ I thought as I glanced over my shoulder relieved that I had outrun the death squad that she had sent to ambush me. My head was still throbbing due to whatever it was they swung at me as I sped away on my $5,000 carbon fiber bicycle, one of the last vestiges of the riches that I possessed a short twelve months ago.

It's one thing to stand me up…again, to break a promise…again, to leave me struggling with overcoming meth by myself...again! But it becomes a completely different level of evil to try to have your boyfriend KILLED!

I was beginning to see that the more I tried to improve my life, the more Angel sabotaged it. Didn't she WANT me to get clean? Didn't she WANT me to be drug-free? Didn't she understand that it was the DRUGS that had ruined everything that we had? Didn't she want everything to get good again?

One part of my mind was seeing her standing before me; her big brown eyes glazed over with tears as she swore she loved me and would be there for me, telling me she knew I could get off the sniff and would be there for me every step of the way. Yet another part of my mind could not stop mentally reading over and over a text, she sent from last week: I'm going to have you KILLED. I'm going to have them bring me your body! Do you know why?? So I can see YOUR CORPSE!

Long black tire marks announced my arrival at the bar but I could not see clearly, my eyes were not focusing. The image swam in and out of focus and I felt faint. The bar was a round circular structure made of wood almost 15' in diameter with a conical roof. Picnic tables were fanning out from the building like the spokes of a wheel from the hub. The tables were standard picnic tables designed with your standard bench at each side. On top of each table, there was a large square commercial parasol with the name of a beer brand on it – Kaminitzer. Today the place was packed as usual.

I went around to the far side of the outside bar but no Angel. My hands were shaking from the vast surge of adrenalin that comes from outrunning death, combined with meth withdrawal. She would not be difficult to find, thanks to the Find My Friends App that was installed on my iPhone. I stabbed the phone into life and the blue dot that was Angel relocated to the center of the screen, next to it a green dot that was me – the dots were touching each other in a sarcastic gesture of lovingness.

When I first left the apartment, I had one goal in mind, to get in her face in front of all of her friends and expose her for the evil person that she is. I wanted the world to know that this person, this outer shell of a person that appears so attractive, so alluring, sensual and sweet was pure poison within.

I knew deep down no one would believe me, not even with all the proof in the world to expose her cunning wickedness. Especially, since Angel could set matters straight with one single, well-crafted sentence. One pathological lie, delivered with such calculated perfection, everyone would not only believe her. But they would defend her until the end. They would simply view me as the rich boyfriend who had gone a bit weird after his business failed. Then they would praise, yes praise her, for having stuck by me being the loyal, dedicated and loving person she is. They would whisper to one another that they knew she could dump me and have any man in the city, but she would never do that, no Angel was above such crude behavior. They held Angel up on a pedestal. Angel was what none of those girls could be, Angel was a malignant narcissist.

I didn't care if they believed me or not. Angel would hate it, she would hate every second of the public disparagement and that alone was enough for me. But somewhere between having to wait two hours for her, only to have her stand me up once again, to almost getting my head bashed in by people she no doubts had sent to kill me, blurred that original goal. Now, as I turned around and my eyes fell on her, I knew exactly what was going to happen.

There she was, standing there waving at me, smiling as if NOTHING was amiss. She just tried to have me KILLED and she is waving as if NOTHING in the world was wrong. Anger that I had never encountered before enveloped my mind, my body and my soul and I felt it turn to something very dark, black and evil. It turned to hatred at that very moment. With her standing before me. Smiling innocently and it was fueled by every despicable act of terror, every second of torture. Every stab of pain that I had endured these last three years I had been in a relationship with her. And it was going to exact its revenge - it was going to have me kill Angel; right then and there.

When I got to her I still had the bike with me, I threw the $5000 cycle on the floor and stomped over. Her smile slowly faded as she read my expression. It was obvious that I had finally snapped, just like her last boyfriend. She was very well aware, as I was approaching, that if she stood there for another second my hands would be wrapped around her throat, squeezing the life out of her.

And she was right.

She leaped, like a cat, with astonishing speed and agility to the back of the bench seat and crouched down behind it.

They say before you die your whole life flashes through your mind. While I cannot attest to the truth of that, I can say that before you take someone's life, the whole life you shared together flashes through your mind so vividly it's as if your mind is playing it back in slow motion.

As my arm came back, my hand forming a fist. I could see her before me the very first day we met, dressed comically in her promotion girl outfit portraying a fairy. My knuckles came down hard on the back of her head, raining down blow after blow as my mind tortured me with memories. I remembered our first dinner together, BAM. My top ten funniest moments with Angel came to mind as I continued to SLAM my fist into her as she scrambled away along the back of the bench. When she rounded the end of the bench I was there waiting for her.

My mind took me through my top ten most amazing sexual experiences, all involving Angel, BAM. She reflexively shot backward along the bench seat and I went after her, trapped between the bench back and the table and I was forced to kneel on the bench. I remembered climbing out of a body bag for her and I swung HARDER, Angel was slower, and she was falling backward. I realized at that moment that since she had no doubt arranged for the attack on my life today, that the body bag incident that I thought I was going through to save her, help her, was probably something she had arranged to dispose of me. I could see nothing; feel nothing but evil rage ripping through every part of my body. I made a lunge forward to grab her and my knee landed on her chest. To this day I can hear the sound of bones breaking as two of her ribs cracked under the weight of my knee.

The next thing I knew I was in bed, my eyes red and swollen from the uncontrollable sobbing. I was crying as I had never cried before, my whole body shaking with emotion. Visions of the attack came in small spirts in my mind. I glanced at my hands and around my room. I wondered if I had been hallucinating. There was no bruising on my hands, my bike was neatly placed in the corner with the kickstand holding it up. Yes, I was hallucinating, thank God. This had to be a hallucination from meth withdrawal causing me to imagine that I had attacked the single thing I loved most in this world!

Feeling relieved that I had not given in to the withdrawal and wanting to share this with Angel, I dialed her number and was so happy to hear the sound of her voice.

Thank God you're alright, thank God, my voice was trembling and full of sincerity. I just had the most horrible, awful hallucination that I…

She interrupted me in a voice completely devoid of any emotion.

It was not a hallucination, you did it. You broke two of my ribs and cracked a third. You broke my finger, I have bruising all down the side of my head and the back of my head. Now don't ever, as long as you live, contact me again.

CHAPTER TWO

PAST

Glancing around I couldn't help but feel an inner sense of deep satisfaction when I contemplated just how far I'd come since moving to Bulgaria four years ago.

I came to Bulgaria driving a 140" stretch Limo weighing over six tons - it was like sailing a ship down the interstate – you didn't turn right, you just stopped turning left, and the stopping distance was about 2.3 miles.

I went over the Alps in that overstretched car – MOUNTAINS! On the way down the mountain, the front brakes were on fire. I had to stop every mile or so and cool them down with a CO2 fire extinguisher. And then there was the drive through the center of Venice – THAT was a laugh. Venice is designed for Gondolas and tiny city cars – NOT 30' Limos.

But I made it, and here in Bulgaria, I started a new life, reinventing myself once again.

The $1000 shoes in the corner of my bedroom and the $500 snakeskin belt that was tossed on my bed are a far cry from the $3.00 supermarket pants and t-shirts full of holes that had been a regular part of my wardrobe less than a year ago. The 2,000 plus square feet of space had the traditional Eastern European trappings of luxury: swaths of marble, travertine, and granite were spread throughout the apartment. There was a huge entrance hall to announce to guests that you were rich enough to squander this much space on an unused area of the apartment. Two bathrooms, one flanked each wing of the preposterously large entrance hall and a colossal ornate fireplace that dominated the center of the living room. At a quick glance, it was eye-catching and very East European; but it didn't take an architect to notice that it was also very badly built.

Despite being the single most expensive apartment in the city, it had been built in 1993; which meant it was rising as communism in Bulgaria was falling. At that time there were huge shortages and hyperinflation occurring which led many builders to take short cuts. The person hired to design the kitchen must have seen an amazing kitchen in a magazine, yet possessed little or no actual knowledge of how to build such a kitchen. Nor did he have any idea as to how doors on an angled front should interact with one another. In fact, he was quite clueless to the fact that drawers should pull most of the way out without crashing to the floor, you know, little things like that were unimportant at that time.

Even though it was economical, it was still illegal and well, stupid to steal sand from the beach to plaster walls with. Illegal because it destroyed the main economic activity of the city: tourism. And it was plain stupid because the salt from the seawater caused the plaster to be excessively hygroscopic. Absorbing substantial amounts of water in winter and then releasing it in the hot, dry summers. Over the years this expansion and contraction breaks down the very nature of the plaster and you're left with a wall surface made of nothing but sand held in place by the years of paint thrown on it.

But hey, those imperfections paled when you considered how the apartment was furnished and decorated. The bedroom had a custom made bed with mood lighting that changed color and pattern with the mood of the music you were playing. A 60 inch LED ultra HD TV was flush-mounted on the bedroom wall. A $200 digital toaster in the kitchen who may have toasted all of three pieces of bread in its entire life. Expensive gadgets filled every room so that the last thing you cared about was the structure-less matter that made up your walls.

I had gone from zero capital to breaking the $1 million mark for turnover after Christmas 2013, and life was really going my way. Just the other day an English guy had moved to the village that I used to live in. He had a Mercedes CL500 coupe in diamond white with biscuit colored leather interior - his son had bought it new and he had literally bought it off him and driven it to Bulgaria that week. The car had only one owner and 48,000 miles on it - 6,000 of which were the trip to Bulgaria. It was literally as perfect as the day Mercedes made it. In the trunk was a plastic bucket with the cleaning materials - all Mercedes official branded cleaning products. He was THAT kind of guy - he had kept it in a climate-controlled garage at night. I talked this guy into selling me the car - which a two short years before - cost his son $145,000!!!

Sometimes it all felt surreal: the luxury apartment, the expensive clothes, the car that I had never even imagined that I would be able to own, not to mention I had more money in the bank than I knew what to do with. I was truly living the dream and was at my highest point in life.

There's that old childhood saying: What goes up - must come down.

CHAPTER THREE

PAST

The most outgoing girls, all English speaking, are the ones chosen to do promo work and they are all great, or at least worth twenty minutes of laughing and flirting, as they try to sell you whatever it is they are promoting at the time. But this promo girl was different. From the moment she came into my vision, I was transfixed, completely unable to take my eyes off of her. She was dressed in a green fairy costume, the bright green dress clinging to her body accentuating her breasts and her tiny waist. Clinging seductively to her hips before exposing her long slender legs. In Bulgaria it was normal, in fact, it was expected of men to take their time savoring the eye candy of a woman's body, but at the moment I was struggling hard to portray gratitude on my expression without crossing the line into creepy, stalker type. It was not easy.

It's not that I wasn't accustomed to seeing beautiful women, in fact, that was one of the surprising perks of moving here from London. It had been refreshing to see girls wearing beautiful, stylish summer dresses. Exposing blemish-free olive skin. Slim athletic bodies along with their shiny, thick hair cascading down their backs, and swinging gently as they sashayed down the streets. What a nice change from the women back home. They had to wrap themselves up in layers upon layers of clothes, hiding their pasty white skin which exposed the fact that everyone there was suffering severe vitamin D deficiency. Thanks to the fast-food chains back home, the last thing that women needed was to add more layers to their bodies and for that reason, beautiful girls are so rare that they act like a godlike species – fully aware of their status. But here, beautiful women are everywhere. In fact, my friend Carla who was a UK full on 10/10 – literally stopping traffic everywhere she went – would probably only score a 7 at best. What a nice surprise it was to learn women in Bulgaria were ranked in the top five most beautiful women in the world.

But this woman before me was not only beautiful but also graceful and elegant. My eyes followed her every move until she was literally standing right before me.

Здравейте, мога ли да ви заинтересувам в този нов дезодорант? The sound of her voice confirmed that, while she was dressed as a fairy and as surreal as her appearance was, this was, in fact, a very real person who spoke absolutely flawless Bulgarian. Any Bulgarian I had learned these past four years went out the window as I was cast under the spell of her inquiring eyes. I wanted to say something meaningful, impressive, something, anything that would keep her right there in front of me.

I'm sorry, I don't speak Bulgarian, was the only thing I could think to get out and I desperately hoped this would not end the conversation. To my surprise, she switched into perfect English with no trace of an accent. She began trying to sell me something, what was it...deodorant? But my mind was ignoring the meaning of her words as it was in awe with how well she could say them.

Your English is amazing, I said with sincerity, as I interrupted her sales pitch. She paused, took in my wonder and decided to have some fun with me by suddenly switching to German. The depth of my astonishment shot off the scales when the fairy then gracefully switched to beautifully crafted Japanese. Her eyes were laughing at me as I struggled to understand that this was no ordinary person before me. It's one thing to be in a country where beauty is plentiful, but to find such surpassing beauty combined with off the charts intelligence, is a rare find. This was definitely turning out to be a far better day than I had anticipated. She was now thoroughly enjoying my predicament, my nonexistent ability to keep up with her, thanks to my limited language vocabulary.

How many languages do you speak? I finally asked in disbelief as I resisted the urge to reach out and touch her to confirm that I was, in fact, not seeing things.

Four fluently: Bulgarian, Russian, English, and German. I can hold my own in Turkish, Hebrew and Japanese, so I guess, seven in total. She shrugged nonchalantly as if it were no great achievement. Once again, my face refused to hide how impressed I was. After all, I had never met a woman who had so much presence and character, who could wear a fairy costume with so much elegance and pride, and who could speak so many languages flawlessly. I wanted to know more about her, a lot more, but she had moved past impressing me and gone back to business, trying to sell me this new deodorant. I tried to listen politely as she went on and on, while trying like hell to keep my eyes from wandering down to her amazingly fit body. It was a losing battle so I decided to take refuge in the safety of her eyes.

That was a big mistake. Her eyes were just as, if not more, seductive than her body. There was a depth of passion and I felt as if I fell into them as opposed to simply staring into them. Those deep brown eyes seemed to have one purpose and one purpose only, to melt the souls of any man fortunate enough to gaze into them. They were fully locked and loaded, weapons-grade, militarized attention-grabbing devices that were reaching their goal; she had my fullest attention.

What was I to do at this point? Well, I did what any man would do in my circumstance: I bought the deodorant! As I paid and she rummaged for change in her purse, my eyes were free to roam other parts of her and decided to settle on her long, elegant fingers which had impeccably manicured nails with bright red polish on them. The finish on her nails was so perfect that the red gloss reflected the neon tubes of the strip lights above us, four white lines on each nail. She placed my change in my hand, one coin at a time and I watched as if hypnotized by her movements and enthralled by the grace that she so effortlessly possessed.

We didn't speak as she took her time placing the money in the palm of my outstretched hand, and it felt as if we were engaged in some kind of unspoken ritual of sorts. As the last coin was deposited, her fingers remained. The tip of a red nail began pressing surprisingly and painfully into my hand as she watched every expression that came over my face.

We stood there in silence, staring at each other, and her dagger-like nail coming dangerously close to breaking through the first layer of my skin. As my insubordinate eyes wandered again, I couldn't help but feel a passion and staring into her eyes produced love. Wait, staring into her eyed produced...what? What was it those eyes produced? Love? Was that what was really produced? Yes, the eyes were producing love, while that crimson-colored fingernail was beginning to produce severe pain that I could no longer ignore.

Can I take you out for dinner tonight? With no good options available to me, this was my default setting kicking in. I was not expecting the world's most seductive looking/brainiac fairy to say yes; in fact, I would have been perfectly content had she simply stopped digging her fingernail into the palm of my hand.

Having grown bored of her infliction of pain, she removed her fingernail. Leaving a visible dent the shape of a crescent moon and brought her slender finger to her face so that it rested on her perfectly painted red lips in the traditional I'm thinking about that pose. If her goal was to make sure that I noticed that her lipstick was as smooth and polished as her nails, it worked. Her lips had a totally matt finish and held a very full look. Her lips were not designed to induce anything; they were designed to imply something, one thing, one very specific thing: Sensuality. She knew this and as she watched my face, I could see she wanted to be sure that I knew this as well.

No, she said and allowed the word to linger in the air. I was about to protest, to desperately beg if I had to but once again she was two steps ahead of me. Her perfectly manicured finger now rested upon my own lips and I made a conscious effort not to gently take that delicious looking finger in my mouth and suck on it gently. But honestly, I felt transfixed in her presence, simply waiting upon what she would do or say next that would put me in awe.

But, if fate should dictate that we meet again, and you have it in you to ask me again, then maybe I will say yes. And with that, she walked away and I stood there frozen, watching until she was fully out of sight.

As an atheist I did not believe in a higher power that would orchestrate events like these for some greater purpose; I did not believe some things were destined to happen a certain way for a certain purpose. But, ironically fate, or pure chance, did dictate that we would meet again and that meeting would send my life into a downward spiral into the deepest, darkest abyss I had ever experienced. And yet, looking back to that day, the day that I stood there, her delicate finger placed gently on my lips, I often wonder if I had the chance to go back and erase that day, would I?

CHAPTER FOUR

PAST

I didn't fall in love with you. I walked into love with you, with my eyes wide open, choosing to take every step along the way. I do believe in fate and destiny, but I also believe we are only fated to do the things that we'd choose anyway. And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you

Kiersten White

I had almost begun to think that the multilingual woman, disguised as a fairy, with perfect matte lipstick and long delicate fingers, had simply been a figment of my imagination. Either that or the result of something I had overindulged on that weekend. Yet there she was, nine months later, standing right in front of me; dressed as a blue and yellow duck

As a promo girl, costumes came with the job and whatever you were trying to sell dictated your attire. Trying to sell the world's first cage-less toilet freshener, whose goal was to freshen up the toilets of Bulgaria, called for a less appealing costume. There was nothing sexy and revealing about a duck costume. The upside of this downgrade was that it took significant pressure off of my male mind. Now I only had to contend with the beauty and sensuality of the face. However, because of her natural beauty, this was still a significant challenge to a coherent conversation, but just about manageable.

To my surprise, after having bought toilet

Reviews for Dating Harley Quinn

[Jack Napier · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

I was confused the entire time. Is Lee Miller simply writing about himself using Harley Quinn as his fantasy transgender alter ego and then projecting his way throughout the whole book? Certainly came across like that to me. I dont even think there are any real characters in the whole thing just Lee Miller self obsessing and adoring under his collection of personas? Makes far more sense that way.