"I'm only 13 years old."
"Age is just a number." Says my English teacher. I've had history with him in 6th grade so I've known him for about 2 years. I did develop a tiny crush for him this year but nonetheless, he was a grown up.
I backed away from him, "Mr. Clark, I-I don't unders-"
"Claire, I've loved you for a long time. . ." Everything he said after that didn't register. It felt like a dream. Loved me? Me? "Claire?"
"Mr-Mr. Clark, this is wrong." My heart was beating out of my chest. The way his eyes set on mine took my breath away. I couldn't think.
"I've seen you Claire. You love me too, don't you?" He came in placing his hands on my waist. I felt weak. I'm pretty sure my whole body was limp.
". . . I don't know." He pulled me into him, my hands resting on his chest.
"Tell me that you don't love me." I tired to push away but he just held me tighter. It didn't help that I didn't really want to leave his side either. I buried my face in his chest.
"I'm a kid. Impressionable, gullible, and. . .Why do you like a girl like me?" I whispered the last part. His hands lifted my face. He wiped away tears I didn't know had fallen.
"Claire, you're amazing. You're very smart and very beautiful."
The next day . . .
She got raped. And died. He became pregnant. With God's son. Hector.
