Use Me, Hurt Me!

The first time I lost her, it was raining.

The second time, thunder cracked the sky.

The third time, she was in my bed-but she wasn't mine.

I used to believe silence was safety. That if I stayed quiet long enough, still enough, the world would forget I existed. It worked for a while.

Until Becky Armstrong walked into my life with scraped knees, a crooked smile, and the kind of laugh that made silence feel like punishment.

She was loud. Bright. Reckless.

And I loved her-quietly, desperately. I never told her. Not when she kissed my cousin. Not when she kissed me. Not even when she said it meant nothing.

So I left. I built a life out of steel and silence. And now she's here again-living in my house, breathing my air, asking for forgiveness I don't know how to give.

She says she wants to be used. But I don't think she understands.

I don't want to use her.

I want to destroy her.

And the worst part?

I still love her.

- Freen Sarocha Chakminha