When It Started

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    When I first brought Atticus to my house, it was for a history project

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    When I first brought Atticus to my house, it was for a history project. My mother welcomed him with all the proper greetings. Gabriel even played the dad role and asked Atticus what his motives were, followed by my fierce blushing. It was normal.

But Att was the type of person who saw far beyond the normalities. His response to my mother's words were curt and honest, knowing her and my relationship was strained. His eyebrows raised slightly when my 12-year-old step brother interrogated him like a father would, but he kept quiet because he knew where my dad really was. I had never told him my story directly, yet somehow he had pieced together my puzzle faster then I had myself.

Once we had retreated to my room, he pulled me into his arms and held me tight. We weren't best friends. In fact, we had only known each other for a few months at that point. But I needed someone to lean on and he was more then willing to step into that position.

We never finished the project. After hours of talking, he whispered a goodbye as I drifted off to sleep. The days that followed were different after this intimate meeting. My confidence and belief in myself grew and suddenly I wasn't afraid to tell him anything. So I told him everything.

We took midnight walks and went on ice cream dates, his blue eyes convincing me to every time. I felt like a cloud floating on a windy day, being pulled in different directions but having no control in the matter. Most of the time, I was fine with his insistence and care. I felt worthy of life and love for the first time ever. 

I knew I was addicted, but I never let go. I thought I could never live without him. But all good things must end, as they say, and my 14-year-old lover moved across the country with his ambitious parents.

I don't like cliches. My life isn't directed by fate, and fate didn't bring us together. I saw Atticus Chase again, yes. But when we found each other, he wasn't the drug I had latched myself onto. He was the boy who taught me to let go of my father. And then, let go of him.

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