This is Not Love

You're my boyfriend so it must be okay.

He wasn't a super touchy-feely person before we started dating, but once I was his girlfriend, it was like he had to be touching me in some way at all times, or the world would end. I loved it initially, thinking it was just part of the puppy-love phase, but as weeks went by, his actions became almost smothering. I let it happen though because I'm a clingy person; I live for affection, and at the time, I needed someone to be there.

My mom wasn't living with us anymore because of the separation, and she was my main emotional support, so being away from her was hard. She was also in a bad place because of my cousin's death. Her passing hit my family hard, but he had a way of making my rough days easier.

And it was little stuff anyway, so it wasn't a big deal. Wrapping me up in his arms in the morning before first period, holding hands under our desks in English, sharing small kisses before going home. They were simple things that weren't necessarily appropriate for school, but nothing my parents would scold us for. We would spend afternoons on his living room floor, leaning into each other as we played tug-of-war with his dog, sometimes sharing seats when trying his little sister's latest kitchen concoction. However, that was as innocent as we would ever be.

I don't know if it was because he was older, I trusted him, or he was merely a manipulative person, but things only went further. I found myself three months later screaming, asking why we couldn't simply cuddle with some popcorn and a movie, then taking it all back, crying when he threatened to leave me. I had grown dependent upon him, using our relationship to bury all the pain of divorce and death. He used me to feel dominant, to feel like a man, and I used him to avoid dealing with everything else in my life. I knew he wasn't good for me, but I couldn't leave. I'd tell myself, "maybe next week," or "well, if it happens again," but I never followed through. It just became more and more trips to his house, spending after-school afternoons in his room and finals week mornings in his arms. Then he crossed a line after coming home from a trip, tried to violate me in a way I could never forgive. I started making excuses not to go to his house after that.