Brad always found creative ways to bully me.

Like in seventh grade, he stole Derek's – the head wrestler at our middle school – favorite pet rat Cheese and put him in my locker. When I opened my locker that day he fell out squealing, and Derek stormed on over, rescued his rat, then pummeled me to a pulp behind the school the same day. Then Brad came out and kicked a trash can over so it landed all over me. He always had to go that extra mile on the 'weird' road.

Brad always found creative ways to confuse me.

He would say things that made me wonder what he meant, or touch me in a way that someone who hates you shouldn't touch you. He'd treat me gently one moment then beat me up the next. He'd be in the middle of beating my face in then suddenly stop and start kissing me, as if hoping his lips would heal my bleeding ones. He'd always make my head spin and soon I wouldn't know what's up and what's down with him.

Brad always found creative ways to make me love him.

It would be the tiniest thing; the way he ran his fingers through his hair, or chew his pencil. It would be the way he looked at me during class when no one was looking, or the subtle looks during lunch and football games. It was the way he walked, like he was the only thing on earth that mattered. It was the way he kissed me, even if my whole body hurt, his kiss would be enough. He made me a hopeless, sickening person.

Brad always found creative ways to make me want him, ache for him, cry for him, yearn for him, wait for him – but Brad always made me confused and scared. He found creative ways to play games with me without breaking my heart, yet doing it without me even realizing it.

Brad found ways to
rip my heart apart
as I dreamt about his kiss.