Dear First Love,

You waited outside my house to walk me to school again. But today was a bad day. Dad was awake and angry. I saw you through my bedroom window. You waved to me. I panicked. I tried to sneak past dad to meet you outside, but I was caught.

Dad grabbed me by my hair and began hitting me. I tried not to scream or yell to make you worry, but dad did. He yelled loudly and I think you heard. From outside, you knocked on my door. I think you know that something's up with my home life.

Dad kept hitting me. I couldn't open the door. I was scared. Dad was really angry; angrier than usual. Maybe today would be the day he finally killed me.

Once, I think that I wished for that to happen. For him to kill me. But now, I was finally reaching some sort of happiness. I was dating the one I loved. I could see a future.

I want to live.

You broke down the door and saw me on the floor, dad standing over me. Don't worry. I don't hate you for punching my dad. It felt good, almost. I don't know why, but seeing you there made me cry again. Will you hate me for being a cry-baby? But you hugged me and said that it was going to be okay. You said those words again and again. I don't know if I believed it, but when you said it, I want to believe it.

After that, you didn't take me to school. We went to the police station. I was scared, but you held my hand the entire time as the police asked me questions and filed a report. The police drove me and you to the hospital. I had a broken rib and fractured arm, the doctor said. Also a lot of old injuries. You saw them, and you cried. You held my hand and cried.

And I felt better.

Sincerely,
H.