“Toldya you wouldn’t last a fucking month, you prissy little piece of shit.”

Then my stepfather left.

He’s the one who turned me in. He found my stash of letters, the ones I’d written to “Rachel.” So he called the cops, but not before ambushing me the instant I walked in from school. He caught me above the eye with the metal locker I’d used to store my few personal possessions. Then he’d gone after me with his fists.

Jerry was six two and two hundred and twenty pounds. Used to be a star high school football player, back in the day, then worked the lobster boats before he lost two fingers and figured out he liked sponging off women instead. My mom had been act one. But after she died when I was seven, he’d found several replacements. I was just along for the ride after that, no more family, just the little blond-haired kid Jerry used to pick up chicks. Wasn’t even his kid, I tried to tell them, but the women didn’t care. Apparently, widowers are sexy, even ones with enormous beer guts and only eight remaining digits.

Jerry hit like a Mack truck, and I was done after the first blow. He landed twenty more, just to be thorough about things. Then, when I was curled up, coughing up blood, he called the cops to come take out the trash.

Cops didn’t say boo when they walked through the door. Just nodded at Jerry, gazed down at my sorry ass.

“He’s the one?”

“Yes suh. And she’s only fourteen. I’m telling you, he’s one sick sonuvabitch.”

Cops dragged me to my feet. I was still coughing blood, swaying in the wind, eye swelling shut.

Then Rachel appeared. Came up the walkway, fresh off the bus from junior high, lost in her own thoughts. Then slowly but surely, she realized the front door was already open, that a whole cluster of blue suits were standing there. We all watched the comprehension wash over her face.

Then, gazing at my smashed-in nose and rapidly swelling eye, she started to scream and scream and scream.

I wanted to tell her I’d be okay.

I wanted to tell her I was sorry.

I wanted to tell her I loved her and it had been worth it. The pain, everything. I loved her that much.

But I never got to say anything. I blacked out. By the time I regained consciousness, I was in county lockup and I never saw Rachel again.

I pled guilty for her, spared her the trauma of the trial just like the DA asked me to. I gave up my freedom. I gave up my future.

But the courts will tell you it wasn’t true love.