According to every single help site or the words of many that I have heard there is a reason for some type of “connection” with the attacker and it’s simple. You’re right, you do love him.
Steve had this way about him. He was… hot shit. Or at least I thought as a measly sophomore. I spotted him with some of my friends and it was love at first sight. Well not really, he was just nice to look at. He had the thickest blond hair that fell perfectly around his face. He had this filling smile that took up his entire face, and he was such a goof nut. Anyone would have laughed at him. Well my friends easily caught onto my attraction and in high school fashion they proceeded to hound the two of us together in many ways. We would be standing around lockers laughing at people’s mishaps and sharing small town gossip. It was… nice. Then one of the more brotherly of all my guy friends started to notice how happy I seemed and immediately conned Steve into asking me out. It was… cute. He was so nervous. He wrung his hands over and over again. I knew it was coming so I hounded him like any over confident teenager would. “You wanted to ask me something?” Steve “*Gulp* Uhm would you uh, wanna go out with me.” Which is in teenager terms being his girlfriend.
I gladly accepted. It was wonderful. I went home and laughed harder then I had in all that I could remember. I was whispering “He’s mine” quietly. He was beautiful, he was funny, and for once he was mine. I was happy. We spent each passing period together and insperable, and he always easily found his arms around my waist and, linked in my hand. It was… nice to have him everywhere. He walked me to each of my classes, which at times made him late to his. He would make me laugh and my friends generally seemed to like him. Our first date was well, I had to pay, but I arrived earlier than he did so I didn’t mind. Eventually he’d pay right? It’s the first date and neither of us had a car–beggars can’t be choosers. It went well we watched a horrid school play and when it was all over I waited for my parents to come and his mother had already been there so I was invited to “Meet the parents”.
I entered the truck and was crammed into the back seat with him. Leaving us only inches apart so I naturally found my hand on his knee (After all it’s where the girl puts her hand in every movie) and I got my first look at his mother. This woman, could move mountains with the right stare, and get Jesus to apologize with the tone and words she used. Which is a lot coming from a girl who’s always been treated as a somewhat equal to her own parents. She harassed Steve up and down, noting that he didn’t have a job, nor did he have a car, or a future at this moment. But he was a Junior, most kids didn’t have those things. I cuddled next to him and whispered “It’s okay.” Finally my own parents arrived and I was able to escape the claws of death. I was glad to relax for the first time and yet still her words could be heard ringing through the air.
We hung out pretty regularly, always in between classes and lunch. The class we had together was spent sitting right next to each other. I was still with my friends, but it was a little bit harder finding times for both of them. We spent most weekends together at my house. My house was much more comfortable than his. I remember when his dad came to pick him up he looked at me and said, “You know he must really like you. He doesn’t want to go on our annual fishin’ trip to spend time with you.” (Insert heart melt here right??)
Steve and I were good we were happy and I loved spending time with him. It was incredible. I had someone who really wanted to be with me, and man did he want to be with me. There wasn’t a single time when I could take a breather between him. At times it was over bearing, but it’s love right? This is how it is suppose to be.
The first time he said he loved me… was right around the two month mark. (I laugh at this story now). We were sitting on a small hill behind his house and we were rolling around like we were seven. Laughing and joking, until that is he picked up my face in his hands and said “I love you.” Immediately I freaked ( I was sixteen for Pete’s sake!) I shoved him down the hill in one solid motion and said “No you don’t. Don’t say it unless you mean it.” He tried to convince me he meant it, but I kept repeating. “You don’t even know the first thing about love.” Finally he let the conversation drop. In retrospect maybe this was my first awakening that something didn’t feel right, but I kept going. Weeks went by where in any given quiet moment he would tell me he loved me and each time I would roll my eyes and change the subject. At one point I remember exclaiming, “I’m not gonna say it just because you do.” Well that was a lie, I became wore down and eventually I gave up and muttered, “I love you too.”
He was good, we were good. I was happy. I was alive. I was almost finished with my sophomore year and he was going to be a big bad senior. I could help him grow and apply to schools and watch him at each of his sport events. Really everything was good…. For the first two months, but after that. It wasn’t.