I believe that the admittance of abuse was harder than all the years that I went through it. In grade ten I got my first real boyfriend, he is the person I have to thank for getting me out of the awful situation I was in. He is also the person I have to thank for getting me out of all sorts of other things later on in my life. To this day he is my best friend; I owe my life to him. I remember the day like it was yesterday. Lying on the blanket in the grass, my hair was wet from swimming and it was dripping over my face, I probably looked so disgusting but I had never felt more beautiful. I was looking around at the trees and the sky, wondering how he found a spot so completely secluded from the rest of the park. I turned to see him looking lovingly into my eyes. I knew this was it, as much as I wanted this to be it I was so afraid. I could still feel the dull pain of the little girl inside of me, still holding onto that fear that no one would love her because she was already broken. He told me he loved me as we undressed and I believed it with my whole being, I was letting myself be undressed, I was not fighting or crying or feeling sinful. This felt right, safe. Afterwards he held me and told me I had been wonderful. I could feel him wondering why I had cried, why I was still crying and I knew it was only fair that I tell him. We spent the night laying there, the world shut out. He let me cry and tell him everything, from beginning to end. As I spoke he was silent, he knew I needed silence and when I was done he kissed my nose, wiped my cheek with his sleeve and told me that he was sorry, that he hurt so much for me and that it would be over soon. When he hugged me then, engulfing me in his musky scent I felt safe for the first time, protected. But in that same moment I was realizing just how pathetic it was that I, at sixteen was still being sexually abused, after eleven years, I was still a victim. There hasn’t been a day that has gone by since, that I don’t think of the day he told my father. He made it seem like it was the most serious thing in the world, he understood how serious it was to me. I can remember him walking into the living room behind my dad, I watched from my bedroom door. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but I saw in my father’s face the moment he knew, he felt that he had failed me, and he had. I continued with our plan and packed my bags. I turned to see my dad, standing in my door, behind him James still sat on the couch. Dad had tears rolling down his cheeks, forming large shapes in his shirt, over his heart. He didn’t make any motions as if to hug or comfort me. He just stood there and looked at my bag and at me and he nodded. He changed my world with just a neck movement; it said that he understood why, why I needed to get out. He looked like a wounded dog, so much so that I couldn’t help but walk over to him and hug him. There were no words to be said, so I squeezed my arms around him as hard as my skinny arms would let me. I opened the door with my bag in my hand, and I left without looking back. It was over, I had survived. Alice.