My sister said nobody cared.
I said it was her that didn't care, my arms burn and twist.
He just took me, he had decided I was going to be his first so he engineered the opportunity and did it. He couldn't see any reason why not to do it, he believed in love. I didn't know what to make of it. I didn't blank it out, or scream, faint, or go dead like I usually did. It didn't feel like the worst thing in the world. I even looked at him and felt comfort in his looking back that I never thought could be a part of sex. I was about 14, he was younger. In some ways it made things so much worse. It felt good, it gave me core of faith and peace that I needed. It brought me a sense of treating flesh as something that wasn't disgusting I had keep double checking myself in the mirror, suddening I was cute. But it also forced contact between the parts of me that fought, schemed and went through all the truama and the parts of me that just hungout in my bedroom eating toast, drinking tea and thinking about stuff.