I worked up the courage to begin my story. My past. Something I never had the desire to share with any other person, but Vic, he was different. So honest. His genuine caring self, I just couldn't resist. He slowly became my everything. So I began.

"When I was about 13, I lost my father. My mother was drunk when the accident happened. She blamed herself for my father death, that's when she lost it. She began drinking every night. She told me that she was lonely. She wanted someone, needed someone. One day, when my sister was at school, I stayed home sick. My mother layed me on the bed. She said it wouldn't hurt, but before I could even ask what she was talking about, she shove a bottle in me. She repeadily shoved it up there. Back and fourth and when I refused or fought her about it, she cut me on my theighs. She said if she couldn't have me, no boy could. She believed that my scars would be repulsive to men and would keep them away. This happened everyday for 2 years. It would have been longer, but she decided to take her own life. She couldn't handle it. She didn't even leave a note."

With out saying a word, Vic hugged me. He cried in my arms and I cried in his. Wiping away my tears, I continued to tell him about my suicidal thoughts for so long. I had been in a psych ward for a couple of years, but he reassured me that none of that mattered. Nothing mattered, because he loved me so much and he'd never let anyone hurt me. No one.