i hated him at first.
he was short and annoying and stole my book from my table during english so i hated him.
that was how easy it was at age eleven to decide how you feel.

but we became friends, very good friends, actually. he was still short and annoying, but so was i, so we decided it was okay. he was the only boy who would still playfight with me even though i was a girl, and i was glad that at least somebody didn't treat me differently, dangerously. i was glad i stopped hating him.

we were playfighting once, right before first bell, when he jabbed at me and i forgot to move and he got me in the eye. it was an accident and i yelped in pain and he held my head like puppies do, im so sorry and are you hurt and i didn't mean it falling from his mouth quicker than i could tell him i was okay. there is a single bloodshot line perpendicular to my right iris, seven years later.

in year nine he dated the girl i had a crush on. it lasted two months and he sent her a christmas card after the break up, laden with curses and swears and wishes for a terrible new year. she showed everyone, even the teachers, and laughed at his immaturity. i asked him why he did it. he said he didn't know. i told him it made him look stupid. he didn't tell me anything back.

he dated my best friend in sixth form. she said she was relieved i was gay, or else she would be insecure. i spent two years hearing her stress of whether he wanted her, and i began to hate him again. she begged me not to speak to him about it. if he thought that she had ruined my friendship with him, she said, he would get mad. i said nothing. we stopped playfighting.

he texted me a year before their final break up. he told me he wanted to cut it off, but she kept threatening to **** herself. i told him he had done enough and it was time to walk away. he thanked me and told me he missed me. they got back together three months later.

they broke up after nearly four years of on and off. he abused her. he spiked another girl's drink. he let his friends assault women he was dating and told them they were crazy to be upset about it.

he's named for the angel. somewhere in my heart i think he can still be good, but i know that love is for a boy long dead. the man that wears his face is someone i never want to be near. he was always good to me, and it made it hard to hate him. i don't like being the exception. it leaves a terrible taste in my mouth.