trigger warning: abuse
‘You’re not like the other girls.’
What you feel at first is victory. You flush hot with pride. Maybe he wears steel-toe boots and talks big about politics and when you breathe in the scent of his skin you get dizzy.
He understands you. You’re outsiders, Bonnie and Clyde. He hates girls who cake on makeup because it looks artificial, so you trade a red lip for Chapstick, though he never asked you to.
He talks about his ex, a crazy bitch who was so insecure, who was weird about him touching her stomach and thighs, who’d only let him sleep with her now and then. But you’re not like that. You’ll do anything he wants, whenever he wants. You teach yourself to like the things he likes. You pretend to like the things you can’t.
His friends will wish they had girlfriends like you. You throw back tequila shots with them, play video games with them. You haven’t seen your own friends in weeks, but boys are less drama anyway.
Girls told you he was trouble, but that was before you. Besides, why should you listen to those bitches? You’re not like them. You’re not like the other girls.