1I was thirteen, but I said I was fifteen. I wanted him to like me. I liked him. I had snuck out of my house at around midnight with ice cream on my mind, and headed over to the Seven Eleven. As I was opening the door, a voice saying “Hey beautiful. You thirsty?” made me turn my head. Three or four guys were sitting in the corner of the parking lot, two of them with girls draped over their laps. The one who had spoken tipped and unopened bottle of beer at me. “Maybe,” I called out, “depends on what kind of beer that is.” he laughed. “Guinness,” he said, still smiling. I grinned back. “Sure. Why not? I’d love one.”

His name was John and he had bright, clear blue eyes. I remember thinking that they were gorgeous. I don’t like blue eyes anymore. We all talked and laughed and got to know each other. Matt, one of the guys who was attached to a girl, asked me if I wanted to meet up with them again the next day. It sounded like a great idea to me, so I thanked him and said that I’d be there. By the next weekend John had asked me out. It was July, so I had no trouble getting out of the house. I’d tell my mom that I was meeting a friend in the Grove and she’d drop me off there. They’d swing by and pick me up on the way to wherever we were going that night. It was great.

I thought I was in love, and I thought he loved me. I guess he did, in his own way. But he drank a lot and smoked all kinds of things. When he wasn’t drunk or high he was really sweet. But when he was, that wasn’t the case. Thinking that I loved him mad me want to help him. To save him from himself. It made me believe that I could. When John was little his older brother abused him. He’d been slapped around for most of his life, and so by the time he was almost seventeen that was the only way he knew of to deal with things.

The first time I cursed at him was also one of the last. He said something that I didn’t like and I told him that he was an asshole. He replied by slapping me across the face. There were more incidents like that, but I told myself that, but I told myself that they didn’t matter. When he was in a good mood he’d surprise me with little gifts and tell me over and over how much he loved me. I asked him once “If you love me so much then why do you hurt me?” He got quiet for a moment, “Because I love you,” he said at last, “because when you mad mistakes or do something you shouldn’t, I have to correct you.” I nodded, it made perfect sense to me. But towards the end of August, things started to get worse. I started thinking that maybe I didn’t love him, and that I didn’t really want to date him.

They picked me up one night near the Seven Eleven. I never let him come to my house. Some gut instinct told me that I didn’t want him to know where I lived. He had given me his cell phone so that we could communicate, and Stephanie, Matt’s girlfriend, had my email address. I climbed up into his truck. He was in a good mood that night. He had even gotten me a little surprise: he had gotten a hold of a bottle of gin, and, knowing that gin and tonic is one of my favorite drinks, picked up some tonic. We drove out to a quiet spot on the water that Steph liked and hung out there for a while. Some of the guys started a game of Chicken, and I sat in the bed of John’s truck with my gin and tonic, and watched them until it got boring. After a while I walked over to where John was sitting with some of his other friends. We started talking. I don’t remember exactly what I said that made him mad, but I said something. He gave me an angry look and said something nasty in return. “I’m sorry, baby,” I said, “I’m sorry.” I stepped up and tried to give him a hug and a kiss, to calm him down. He pushed me away, and then all of a sudden I was doubled over, gasping for breath. It took me a moment to realize that he had punched me in the stomach. I was shocked, he had never hit me that hard before. When I could breathe again, I looked up. Words came flying out of my mouth before I could stop them. “You are an asshole. I hate you, and I don’t want to go out with you anymore.”

I didn’t see where the knife came from, but he had one out by the time I was done talking. I didn’t think that he would actually use it, so I turned to walk away. He planted himself in front of me and held up the knife. I recoiled as the tip touched my throat. He was dead drunk and angry. “Well, that’s just too bad for you, now isn’t it? Cause I still want to go out with you, and nobody dumps me. Nobody.” I glared at him and was about to say something when Matt ran over.

“John!” he yelled, “Put that thing down!” John didn’t move. Stephanie, upon hearing Matt’s cries, was also making her way over to us. Matt got there first and pulled John away from me. After wrestling the knife away from him, Steph steered him over to his car in an attempt to keep him from getting more worked up. Taking a look at me, Matt pulled me into his arms. “You okay? Did he hurt you?” I shook my head. “No,” I whispered, “I don’t think so.” Putting my hand up to my neck I started to thank him, but trailed off before I had gotten more out than “than...” My neck was wet under my hand. I pulled it down and looked at my fingers. I held them up, “Hey, Matt. I guess he did hurt me.” He tilted my head up, “Jesus,” he breathed. Turning, he looked around until he found John. “Hey John! You’re my best friend, but I swear, if you touch her again I will kill you.” Turning back around Matt took my arm and led me over to his car. “I’m taking you home, okay? Do me a big favor, give me his phone, and don’t call him, or talk to him if he calls you. Please?” I looked at him. He looked worried and frightened. And mad. Very mad. “Fine by me,” I said. Matt smiled, nodded and started driving.