I had never been in love before. There was no reason for me to believe that this feeling wasn’t love. It was about a few months after my fourteenth birthday when James started to come onto me. I didn’t see any wrong in allowing him to get away with the small things that he did. Sometimes he’d come into my room while I was changing for bed and he’d stand real close up behind me. I could feel his lustful gaze burning holes into me as he undressed me with his eyes. He towered over me and stayed completely quiet and so did I. His hands would roam my body, sliding under my shirt and up my back or down my pants grabbing hold of my rear. I didn’t want to push him away in fear of what he might do out of anger. I just stood there until he was satisfied. Not too long after he wanted more. He’d come in every night kissing and grabbing me wherever he wanted. I guess this made him happy and the thought that I was useful to someone made me happy as well. Everything was fine until he came in one night angry. He grabbed me and shoved me onto the bed, which was new. I tried to speak to him, but before I could, he grabbed my chin and pulled me into a kiss. He was being extremely rough and impatient with me. He started to take off my clothes. I pushed him away and covered myself with a blanket.

[You're hurting me. Why are you doing this?] My head was spinning and my thoughts were racing. Everything felt so out of control. He sighed and chuckled, seemingly annoyed. He looked at me with this lopsided grin. This seemed dangerous like a carnivorous beast staring down its prey. I wanted to run away, but he was blocking my path. I was trapped.

“I’m so sorry baby. I didn’t mean to hurt you, pequeño zorro.” he was making this pitiful expression and I couldn’t help, but be naive. I believed every word he’d said and allowed him to do as he pleased. It wasn’t a good experience. I was disgusted by his hands touching every inch of my body, his lips pressed roughly against my exposed skin, and every delighted sound he made as he stripped me of my innocence. I hated him for enjoying it while all I felt was pain. I hated myself for making excuses for him and crawling right back to him. I hated myself for letting him keep doing it over and over again. I hated myself for not leaving it well enough alone. I hate myself for falling in love with a monster.