At 17 years old, it's hard to know what is good for you. I, like most 17 year olds, thought I was smarter than the rest. More cautious than the rest. Better educated and safer than the rest. I know the signs. I know what to look out for. I am smart.
At 17, I was happy. I hated high school like most 17 year olds, but I was good at it. I made honour roll every year. I skipped class and hung out at a friends house. I had a great group of friends. Then I got a boyfriend. He was sweet, and funny. Handsome and caring. Honest and interesting. I felt like I had everything I needed.
It feels like every time you start to feel comfortable, happy with your life, things start to go wrong. For me, things did go wrong, very wrong.
After a long bonfire everyone was winding down, people were heading home just as the fire slowly started easing back to just embers. Everyone was happy, on such a bright night, the sky dotted with bright shining stars. I snuggled up in a blanket with Cameron feeling warm and secure, saying goodnight as people slowly stumble away from the fire. Soon, it was just us. My eyes had just started to drift closed as I felt his hand run up my spine and slowly massage my neck. He leaned into my ear and whispered "I love the way the light from the fire reflects off your hair". My heart melts. He gently guides me to my feet after a few too many drinks for both of us. We head to the house to get warm and head to bed.
The next morning I awake to Cameron rummaging through a drawer, clearly agitated.
"What's wrong babe?" I ask, wondering what has him so agitated after such a calming night.
"Nothing" he mutters, never stopping to glance my way.
"Come back to bed" I urge.
"Not now!" He snaps, as he slams the drawer shut and storms out of the room. I'm left sitting in a near state of shock. What is his problem? I contemplate following him, but decide I need to get myself ready to go home and face the day.
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