"We can't." I pleaded, but it was not very believable. "I'm dating H, I can't do this."He gripped me tight, "Yes you can, yes you can." he whispered. ...I see how you look at me, I see it." And he kissed me once more, long and deep.I tried one more feeble attempt at pulling away and telling him, "I'm sorry, I can't."He grabbed my arm, roughly this time, and spun me back towards him, almost pulling me off my feet. He shuffled me toward the marble kitchen table and forcibly gripped my hips and bent. ‘Next time I’ll kill you boy.’ He hissed at me, and with that he walked away. I remember feeling very glad that he walked away, because I didn’t want him to see me crying. I also knew that it wasn’t over. There would be another episode between him and I, there was no way around it. During the months that followed I tried my best to avoid him, picking up odd jobs around town. By the time he was passed out in bed at night, I would be arriving home from another long day of yard work or cleaning up. More

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