the metaphorical house

 MY STORY AND MINE ALONE.

Everything good around you always has a price. 

The undeniable truth of this all is, no matter how gold and green the situation looks on the outside there is always some sort of dark twisted karma that has been brewing behind the sparking lights. I hate to say I was lucky in this situation, that the years of older men playing with my pigtails trained me to not trust men in suits, or father figures, or people who pretend to be your friend. 

I understand my existence and the space it takes up and the undeniable sonder that every human holds. I'm not unique in any other way than the way my molecules take shape. I knew then what I know now, that I was just a girl. 

I caught the signs of a man trying to make my innocents into something more and I understood the game, my position, and all of the plays I needed to make in order to escape. I know I held faults and lost pawns between each move, but again. I was just a girl, who had been searching her whole existence for movie-type bullshit that created the idea that a girl could ever be loved past her worth.

 It started simple, like how all games did. We traded music, movies, and cereal. which became late-night talks over-caffeinated hearts and the dissection over my childhood trauma, relationships between past lovers, family members, and reasons why I never returned to the south. He used each piece I handed him in a way to build power, he used my desperate need to get out to keep me trapped in a position of need. In a metaphorical house with unlocked doors that held consequences. 

I stumbled on a tight rope existence between being a girl wanting out, waiting for a paycheck, and not wanting to create an unhealthy work environment. cause sometimes having a metaphorical house with unlocked doors is better than having a house with barred-up windows and stainless steel doors. 

I gave him everything he wanted, agreed to all the rules, and played his game, constantly strategizing in my stuck position. I was hopeless at certain points of the game, surrounded by people who worship his every move and praised him for the empty acknowledgment he brought them. but in certain settings, I found hope, in people who felt the advantages he was taking. The first time was when a friend gave me a pocket knife after meeting the owner of the metaphorical house. the second being the time a customer joked about getting me help. the third when a blonde stumbled in asking me my age and if I felt comfortable in the metaphorical house. yet the hope was empty, the pocket knife couldn't protect me, the customer never figured out the punch line to the joke and the blonde never came back to check back in on the condition of the house. And the terms and conditions he wrote me regarding the relationship between a minor and an adult didn't even shock the professional I trusted with my secrets. the whole world was blindsided and took sanctuary in rose-colored glasses that kept them safe. 

The thought process between staying in the game: pedophilia in my study, is a habit, a need, urge, an uncontrollable want. and falls along with the same idea of any addiction. if he wasn't using me for his urge or a daily dose of fucking with kids, he was going to do it to someone else. So I stayed, long enough to find out, that my heroine existence wasn't strong enough to keep him captivated by only me. In which I knew the game had to end.

I started to bring friends to the shop to prevent any misconduct. but only introduced him to more kids who fascinated his interest. I began to watch him use and manipulate other women in the scene to profit use and discard. I felt disgusting and just as responsible as him for not forcefully ripping off their rose-colored glasses and showing them the unlocked doors before they held consequences. But I was too late. the coffee had gone cold and the muffins had all rotten. so I ended the game and left the metaphorical house and accepted the consequences. 

I don't think getting out was cowardly, just never warning the people who bathed his feet. I knew they were good people with extremely large hearts but I was unsure of the devotion they held for him and if id just is considered another girl from the art scene making a big deal about something nobody would care to hear. But here I am.  Allowing the world to make a decision on where their devotion lies, with a man who counted down the days till my 18th birthday.