How do I start this story? Do I tell it from beginning to end? From the moment he asked to go for a walk to the moment I washed off the blood. From the day I fell in love with him to the day I said, "Enough." From my birthday to Christmas. From innocence, to darkness, to never whole again.

It was my fifteenth birthday and the beautiful boy wanted to take a walk with me. He held my hand and he made me special. He kissed me hard and his hands on my body made me feel like a grown woman, my first memory of feeling sexy. The attention electrified me and I felt my body react in unfamiliar ways. But I was a child that wanted to sit Indian style with him, in my dirty sneakers and gym shorts, and talk about movies and classes and marching band. With every refusal, every time I pushed away his hands, he reminded me that I was not strong. And when he shoved me down, and my head hit rock, I was too confused, too upset to run. I watched him kick my ankles apart. I viewed the unnerving first sight of an unclothed man and I felt his weight on top of me. I saw the limbs of the trees and the clouds and the birds as I looked everywhere but in his eyes. Nature had not stopped for me. I felt the dirt and twigs grind into my hips and mix with my hair. I felt the tearing of tissue and the warmth of blood. Later, I cried and choked as he gripped my head in the palm of his hands, and more than once I thought to bite down, but never did. And when he cried and apologized and asked my forgiveness, I did not hesitate.

And this was the way we were. Several times a week from October to December. Too dazed and afraid to leave, too bloody and broken to endure.

How do I end this story? From the breakup to the next boy I kissed. From nightmares to therapy. From finding my strength to finding pleasure. From failed relationships to falling for her. From broken, to rebuilt, to survivor.