Bittersweet Love

The first time I was beaten was the day my mother committed suicide. We were a picture-perfect family to the public but truthfully? That was far from the truth, we were a broken family. After all, I was a mistake, why should they love me? My father beat me restlessly, rambling on and on about how I caused my mother's death. I believed it. I was just a naÏve little prick of 5. At the age of 13, I ran away from home, sporting cuts, shards of glass embedded in my skin, and multiple other injuries. My life was changed when I met him, the boy of 15, who saved my life and loved me as if I was his child. He was the only one who knew the truth to my childhood, and the boy I've always leant on. Ah, now my life seems perfect huh? But nope, his mother has been setting up dates for me the moment I hit puberty, I seemed so anti-social to her she SUPPOSED I needed these little play-dates to find the love of my life. What she didn't know was that I didn't believe in love, in fact it was the total opposite. I absolutely loathed love. But many a time, I've wondered if anyone could change that. And many a time, I've wondered what will become of me if I ever fell in love. In the end however, I've figured I'd rather die than love, than to die for love. Love's part of life isn't it? And death is part of life, so I guess I'd have to fall in love. But now, the question is "With whom?"