"Why are you wearing that?" "Who are you trying to impress?" "Are you being a slut and trying to talk to other guys?" "Who was that guy you were talking to?" "Give me your phone. Let me see who you've been texting." "I don't want you hanging out with those friends." "Why do you want to spend time with other people when you have me?" "No, stay home and skip class. I want you here with me." "You make me so angry. You ruin everything." "You're ugly. You know that? You're stupid too. You're worthless. No one will ever love you like I do."

It all seemed easy at first. This love felt new and exciting. This love felt like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and the butterflies in your stomach churn like butter. Love knew all crevices of your body and every fragment of your mind. Love watched your favorite television shows with you and brought you your favorite flowers on a random Tuesday “just because.” You knew Love too. Love told you their deepest darkest secrets. Love promised you that this was a forever thing. That this was your only Love. For a while, it was beautiful to be lost in the right direction.

However, Love began to become short-tempered. Love would get mad if you didn’t call or text them at the right time. Love would ask where you’ve been and who you’ve been talking to. “You can’t wear that anymore. I don’t like it,” Love would say.

Love would make you seem like the “crazy girlfriend/boyfriend” to their friends, but you were only so attached to Love because they would get mad if you didn’t do what they asked. Love threatened to break up with you if they didn’t get what they wanted. Love told you to stop hanging out with your friends. Love would scream at the top of their lungs and raise their fists. Love scared you.

We hid when Love got angry or had a bad day. We continuously fed lies to our friends when they asked about Love. “Yeah, Love really loves me. Love treats me so well,” we lied.

We knew the truth. Love was no longer the Love who brought you flowers. This new Love spewed words of hate. The new Love made it seem like it was a job to love you; a difficult one at that. Love told you that it was so much work to love you that nobody else would. Then, Love told you that they didn’t love you anymore. Love told you that you didn’t deserve love anymore. You were unworthy.

How could the arms that once protected us and hold us at night turn into the arms that were raised to hurt us? What did we do to make Love so angry? Why were we not enough for Love?

We begged and pleaded with Love to give us another chance; another chance to deem that were worthy of Love. We willingly sacrificed our friends, family, school, our entire lives just to make Love happy. But Love wasn't. Love got angry.

"Why can't you just shut up?!" Love yelled. Love raised their arm high up into the sky and then swiped it across your angel face covered with tears. You hold your face in your trembling hands. The warmth of your stricken face was the first sign of warmth you've felt from Love in a while.

"Baby, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. I promise," Love says. Love takes you into their arms. You do not feel safe here anymore. But at the same time you do because now these arms are comforting you and feeding you promises of “Never again’s” and “That’s the only time I’ll ever do that.” You are conflicted and broken, but at the same time, Love is finally showing some affection.

But Love lied. Love does it again. And again. And again. And again. You hide the bruises under huge sweaters and long pants, but nothing will hide the sorrow and coldness you feel. You are hurting, but you continue on because this is what you know Love to be. This is your first Love. You think to yourself, “Maybe I deserve this. Maybe Love hit me because I wasn’t a good enough boyfriend/girlfriend.”

What happened to the Love who brought me flowers? What happened to the date nights and lazy days together? What happened to the love letters and ice cream runs? What happened, Love? What did I do wrong, Love? Why do you hurt me, Love? What did I do to make you so angry, Love?

Maybe I deserved it. Or maybe, just maybe, this isn’t Love after all.