Shh, it's going to hurt a little," Bryan whispered as he pressed closer.
Julia's breath caught. She had fallen for him, trusted him, and now, she was giving him the one thing she'd never thought she would.
"Ouch…" she whimpered.
"It hurts."
Bryan kissed her gently, trying to soothe her. "Relax. I'll be careful."
She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe this was love. But how could she ever tell anyone that her first time was happening inside a church, inside the sacristy, while a crucifix hung above them and a priest sat in the next room?
Even Sarah would scold her for this.
But in that moment, Julia didn't care. All that mattered was him. The boy she loved.
"Does it still hurt?" he asked softly.
"Not too much," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"Shh, we don't want anyone to hear us. Father is in the next room," he reminded her.
The thought should have terrified her. Instead, she kissed him, desperate, clinging. Guilt burned in her chest, but desire drowned it out.
When he finally pulled away, fixing his trousers, Julia stood frozen. Her legs ached, her heart thundered. She had really done it.
She had given Bryan everything.
"Are you okay?" he asked, adjusting his shirt with a casual smile.
She forced a nod, though her chest was tight.
"I love you," Bryan added before pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.
"I love you too," she answered automatically, though a part of her felt strangely hollow.
As she slipped out of the room, Bryan's words echoed in her head.
Was it really love?
Or had she just made the biggest mistake of her life?
...
The shouting always came at night.
It started as muffled whispers from her parents' room, then rose into storms of broken voices, her mother's cries, her father's sharp words. By the time she turned eleven, the walls of their house had already memorized the sound of chaos.
Julia, the firstborn, used to press her pillow against her ears so her younger brothers wouldn't hear her own sobs. They were too little to understand. But she understood. She always did.
Her parents weren't in love. Everyone could see it, though no one dared to say it aloud. Julia's very existence was the reminder that her mother had gotten pregnant young, her father had been forced into marriage, and resentment had rooted itself in their home ever since.
Sometimes, her father wouldn't look at her at all, as though she were the mistake he never asked for. And her mother… her mother looked at her with eyes that were both guilty and heavy.
Julia carried that weight every day.
Being the eldest should've meant being cherished, the one they leaned on with pride. Instead, it meant being invisible. If her brothers cried, their mother rushed to them. If they fell sick, her father carried them to the hospital. But when Julia needed comfort, she was told to be strong, to stop being dramatic.
It was easier for them to see her as the problem than admit that their marriage was already broken.
One night, the fight was louder than usual. Plates crashed. Words sharper than knives cut through the house. Julia tiptoed to her brothers' room, hugging them tightly as if her arms alone could shield them from the storm outside their door. She told them a story, her voice trembling about heroes and castles, trying to drown out the sound of reality.
But even fairy tales couldn't silence the truth.
When the morning came, her father's eyes were colder than she'd ever seen. Her mother's face was puffy from crying. They didn't look at each other during breakfast. They barely looked at her.
"Pack your things," her mother said flatly, not meeting her gaze.
Julia froze. "Why?"
"You're going to boarding school," her father answered, his tone like stone.
Boarding school. The words felt like exile.
Her spoon clattered against the plate as she tried to understand. "But… I'm not ready"
"You'll be fine," her mother cut in sharply, but her eyes betrayed the truth, relief.
Relief that Julia would be gone. Relief that maybe, without her there, the house would be less heavy.
Something in Julia cracked then, deeper than before. She wanted to scream, to beg, to demand why she was always the one punished for existing. But her voice got trapped in her throat.
Instead, she nodded quietly, holding back the tears that threatened to spill. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her break. Not again.
Later, when she folded her clothes into a worn-out suitcase, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes looked older than her age, tired in a way that children shouldn't be.
She whispered to herself, It's okay. Maybe there, I'll find someone who sees me. Maybe there, I won't feel so small.
But deep inside, she knew boarding school wasn't an escape. It was just another place where she'd have to fight to belong.
And as the car pulled out of the compound, leaving behind the cracked walls of home, Julia couldn't shake the thought, she was leaving one misery behind, only to step into another.