You can never say that you weren't warned. Because you were, and that is where the problem lies. Because you were the sort of child that touched what you weren't supposed to, looked where you were forbidden to look and longed for what they said you could never have and you've somehow held on to that piece of yourself. It is your entire character, that when they say "stay away", you can't help but wander closer.

You were 15 when you first saw him, barely more than a girl. You were awash in the haze of growing up and finding yourself and being who you wanted to be, never realizing that rebellion is all about being just like everyone else. He was 18, sun bleached hair and devil-may-care attitude, and right there, from across the school yard, you fell a little bit in love. You thought you'd never see him again, and placed him on the dusty shelf of crushes in your mind, another one of those boys you admired from afar and sighed and (maybe even) cried over, the ones who said maybe one word to you once and never even knew your name. But then you walked into homeroom and saw him sitting there and felt your heart pound and stomach clench when he turned towards you and grinned and you loved every moment of it.

You sat down and he turned around to talk to you and you were floating, floating on billowy clouds of dreams and childlike innocence. His eyes were blue like ocean waves or the sky on a clear day and his smile was like beams of sunshine or angels singing. And as you talked, he flicked his head to the side in an oft-practiced movement that tossed his sandy bangs out of his eyes, and you were lost, long before you knew you had started going.

You hooked up behind school sheds and in the shady corner by the restrooms and in the backseat of his sleek red car, and you knew you loved him. Your friends warned you that he would hurt you, that he was nothing but trouble, and you laughed and tossed your hair and pretended you didn't hear them. He whispered that he loved you on a starry night under the stars and you made him your entire world. You dreamed about running your fingers through his hair and doodled hearts on your homework and wrote out your first name with his last name, imagining how it would look on wedding invitations.

He was the sun, all charming grins and sweet words, and you revolved around him like a little planet, starstruck and awestruck and lovestruck. He promised it was forever, and you believed him, because there was nothing else to believe in. You couldn't believe he wanted you, and every day you celebrated your good fortune and swore that this, this was what happiness was made of. And some nights you woke, and in the early morning hours you cried, great sobs of anguish, because you knew deep down that perfect things never stay perfect long and it was much too good to last. But you always fell back asleep, and woke up in the morning with the whole thing forgotten, the only remnants of your grief tear tracks down your cheeks and a damp spot on your pillow.

And of course it was too good to last, and don't love stories always end like this? Because they say you'll get over it, but they don't know that you dream of lipstick stains on the wrong girls and brightbrightbright grins turned towards her instead of you and his voice asking "You didn't think we were serious, did you? Sorry, doll." and you wake up with a scream on your lips and tears on your cheeks and the feeling of your heart shattering in your chest, just like it did that day when you rounded a corner to find him with his hands up another girl's shirt.

Life goes on, and so do you. You push on, somehow, disregarding the glances you get in the hallway (pity and disdain in turn) and you somehow hold your head up high and struggle through each day. You never go to homeroom again.

Really, you don't know why you were so surprised when it happened. You thought you were prepared, but it turns out that you thought wrong. But it was inevitable, because girls that throw themselves off cliffs in search of love must eventually hit the bottom. You made a deal with the devil, and the devil always pays up.