We met at a school dance. It was a regular school dance, with only flashing, pulsing lights with fast music to match your heart beat. Top 40s blaring from the sound system, everyone dirty dancing with the promise of no tomorrow, everyone barefoot but in formal dresses; the perfect teenager clash of formal and every other party. I met him earlier on, but only in a passing. When I saw him again, this time he approached me.

I was dancing, something I’ve always loved to do but had always been too shy to do outside of my bedroom mirror, and I saw him looking at me, but with a sort of desire. He came closer to me, dancing his way along side me, until we were dancing together. He was the only boy I danced with and I was lost in the music and his touch. He only said a few words, but I was so dizzy I couldn’t remember any of them. I know they were compliments, but I couldn’t process them. This was the first time anything at all like this had happened to me! I was ecstatic, happy to be where I was. Then, our dancing was heating up. Turning into a mock of what everyone else was doing, but I liked it. I felt as though my body was on fire, and he was fueling it. Out of nowhere, as the last song played, he kissed me. Not even after an hour of meeting each other, the audacity of it was so incredulous; I couldn’t help but be impressed. And right then, it was the best kiss of my life.

All too soon, the dance ended. As I was leaving he put his arm around me and walked me out. Before I got in the car with my dad, he gave me his phone number. He said to call him John. I told him to call me Lizzie. He just looked at me and smiled impishly and said in a deep, sweet voice, “I know”

The next week passed in a blur of bliss. He gave me a stuffed unicorn on Valentine’s Day, asked me out on Tuesday, said we were going to fast on Wednesday, and gave me a kiss before I left for home on Thursday, lifting me so high up off the ground, showing me how strong he was, and boy did I swoon. Not only was he cute, could dance amazingly, he was a year older than me and was strong! Then Thursday night, we were up texting until I literally passed out on my floor around 3am. We had promised to hang out Friday, or I guess you could say later on that day, and I was still in my cloud of euphoria.


When I got home from school I asked my parents to spend a night at my friend’s house, which were literally 5 houses away from his. I got dropped off around 6, and went to his house around 6:30.

For those with an innocent mind, please don’t read on.

His parents and siblings were gone, the house as still as midnight. I took off my shoes at the door, watching him run around his house. He seemed anxious, as if something was bothering him, but I didn’t ask questions. He showed me up to his bedroom. I didn’t think anything of it, because he said he was going to play his guitar for me. I’ve been trying to learn for a few months now so I was extremely interested. I followed him up the staircase as eager as a puppy following his master. One thing that stuck with me was his room was super clean. “He was a 16 year old teenager, surely his room must be messier then this,” I thought. He paced around his room for a few seconds, still extremely anxious, and then he put on some music, more Top 40s music. Me still naïve as ever went talking about how I learned how to dance to the song that was playing. Before I could even finish talking, he was kissing me. But not like any boy had ever kissed me before. It was… hungry. As if he was searching for something and he finally found it… in me…

Before I knew it, his hand was up my shirt, on my stomach. I didn’t mind much until he went further up. I grabbed his hand sharply, to out of breath to say anything. He took it as passion and lifted me up, picking me up and placing me almost roughly on his bed. He began touching me everywhere, stroking me, as if I was his prize. I didn’t like it very much; it felt like he was… leaving his mark, marking his territory.

I started to squirm; I had had more than enough for one night. He wouldn’t get up; just instead he placed himself on top of me, in between my legs. I could feel the heat coming from him, almost like thick lava slowly spilling onto your body. It’s hot, burning, and not enjoyable in the least to those who do not welcome the fire.

“Ugh. Get up!” I said in as grounded of a voice as I could manage.

Then, in a voice that haunts me to the very day, he slowly smoothed down some of my blond hair, caressed my face and what was meant to sound sweet but to me sounded as sour as can be, he said “Please don’t be mad, you just make me crazy. I love you.”

I sat there, in stunned silence. No one had ever said I love you to me before. No boy had even said “I like you” in seriousness. Then suddenly, I felt myself turn to ice. There he was, back on me; this time slowly lowering every article of clothing on the lower half of my body. I felt I couldn’t move. I was scared, I wanted to push him off or kick him where it hurts but the thought of when he picked me up ran through my head over and over again. “He’s stronger than me” I thought, trying to fight back tears, “he can do anything he wants to me…”

He left for a minute. This could have been my chance, to run, to just grab my clothes and make a break for it. But the words “I love you” left me in a frozen state of silence. I was wondering, “Is this what love is? Why is love so… ugly? Why does it make me feel so… scared? Why, when I am supposed to feel the closest to someone, I feel so alone?”

My thoughts were violently interrupted when he returned, undressed, and came over to me. He just stood there for a minute, as if to remind me that I am lower than him. Then, he lifted my legs, and took away my innocence. I cried out just once, whimpering “Please John, I don’t want to. Please…” But he either hadn’t heard or chose to ignore me. He went on for a while, twisting my body this way and that, as if I was his ragdoll. After 20 minutes I was whimpering, moaning in pain, about to cry from the pain of having someone inside you that shouldn’t be there. He either got off on this or found it as a cry for pleasure, for he went faster and faster, leaving me breathless and horrified beyond the skyline.

He finished, and just fucking left me there, helpless, crying, and broken. I had never felt more shame in my life. So instead of chasing after him, I cleaned myself up, wiped away my tears, and put my clothes on and waited for him on his now disheveled bed. He came back a few minutes later, came up to me and put his arm around me.

“Come on now baby,” He ushered me gently, “My parents are gonna be back soon and I can’t have you hear. I’ll come see you later though, I promise. God babe, I love you.”

Those three words again. They for some reason forced me to smile and get up and walk out the door. No one had ever said those words to me, so he must have meant it. Besides, isn’t what just happened is what people in love do? So it was normal. I was just scared because it was my first time. He couldn’t have meant it, look at how sweet he is being, when he could get in a lot of trouble for even having me over.

After having these thoughts race through my head, we were down the stairs, my shoes were on, and we were standing by the door. He kissed me as sweetly as he had before, but for some reason I could only see a snake when I closed my eyes. He held me for a moment, looked me dead in the eye, and again said “I love you. I know it sounds crazy but I do.” And with that, I was out the door, shocked, confused, but more than ever hoping it not to be true. I remember what a drama teacher once told me “If you believe something hard enough and long enough, maybe, just maybe, it will come true” So this is what I did. When I went back to my friend’s house, I told her I lost my virginity. When he saw me later, I acted like I wasn’t hurt when he didn’t kiss me hello or goodbye. When I didn’t hear from him for a few days, I thought he was busy with family. When he ignored me at school, wouldn’t even look in my direction, I at first wasn’t affected by it. I was ok with not being in his life for the moment.

But only a few days later I realized, I wasn’t in his life; he was in mine. It got to the point to where I would see him between every passing period at school, even when I saw him only 2 or 3 before. He would always have his arm around another girl, looking as happy as ever. He was always smiling, talking, and I couldn’t look away. I began to look forward to the times I would see him, to see if for once he would glace over at me. He rarely did. Whenever he did it almost looked like that for a second, just a second, he had guilt on his face.

The next few weeks were awful. Reminders of him were everywhere. I wouldn’t even turn on the radio because we had danced to the majority of the ones that played. Everywhere I turned I was facing those same three little words, mocking me, dancing in and out of my head with every step down the crowded hallway. With my friends I could tear my wondering eyes away, but alone I was stuck in his orbit. Wishing, hoping dreaming, that there was a reason he wasn’t talking to me. There was a reason he was being so cold. I wanted him to have meant the empty words he had spoken so bad I was blinded by the obvious.

The pain in my chest every time I saw him only grew bigger. I tried to feel the same thing I had felt with him with anyone who would let me. I ruined them. I was unfairly latching on to them for a comfort and support they couldn’t provide. When I found I couldn’t find it in them, I just dispatched of them, the murdered bodies of my selfishness.

Then one day I saw him right before 7th period. He was going to the class right next to mine, and I know he saw me. He looked me dead in the eye, making sure I was close enough, before leaning down with that impish grin, and hugged the girl next to him. He hugged her tightly, and in the exact same voice as before, said “I love you.”