Chapter Text
Harry
My first time was with a boy in my AP Human Geography class during my last year of secondary school. His name was Carl, and I didn’t know much about him besides the fact that he was president of our school’s debate team, but he was the only boy brave enough to ask a classy lady like myself to our end of the year dance, and I was beyond desperate.
We had sex in his car, which was full of a bunch of junk food that he forgot to clean out and empty bottles of beer from a rowdy night with his friends the night before. It wasn’t nearly as romantic as I would've hoped, and I certainly regret having my virginity be swept by such a loud screamer, but at least one of us had a lovely time.
I mean, if I hadn’t known any better, I would’ve thought it was me who was shoving a dick up his vagina. I am, however, very thankful that I was smart enough to bring a few condoms with me, because I would've been perfectly content with being Zac Efron’s baby momma, but Carl? No, thank you.
I don’t know much about the mind of every other girl with a beating heartbeat on Earth, but I’m sure they would've felt as low as I did if they also had their cherry popped in the backseat of a filthy minivan by the spawn of Satan.
Seeing as I wasn’t too pleased with my first time, I was determined to believe that my second time would be absolutely perfect.
Sadly enough, though, I didn't have any luck in that department either. It was more of a drunken one night stand than anything else and although this guy was better at the whole "fucking a girl" thing than Carl was, I later learned that the only reason he wanted to have sex with me in the first place was because he was gay and his parents were a pair of shitty homophobes, and the kid was just trying to forget his forbidden lover. He ended up moaning his boyfriend's name in the middle of dicking into me and he was full on crying by the time we were done. Luckily for him, I didn't give him a black eye as most girls would've probably done and instead comforted him because the poor guy looked like he needed it.
This guy turned out to be really sweet and caring and I later grew comfortable with calling him my best friend. His name was Timothy, and I grew a habit of calling him Timmy after a few months into chatting. He made the best cookies in the world and let me play with his hair all the time in exchange for acting like his girlfriend in front of his parents, and helping him go on little getaways when he wanted to be alone with his boyfriend. He was the best, and I loved him, so it was only logical that I was heartbroken the day he told me he wanted to travel the world with his lover, but because I only cared about his happiness, I was okay with it.
After Timmy left, I realized that despite making an amazing friend whose heart was made of gold, I still had not accomplished my goal of having the best sex ever with the best man ever.
Then I met Malachi.
I met him during finals of my last year in uni, looking for some books to guide me for the hell that was ahead of me that week. He worked in the library and approached me with the cutest smile I'd ever seen a boy wear. I only swooned a little harder when I noticed the way his eyes would shine like they were little stars hiding behind a forest of wonders. I thought he was pretty, then. I told him that he was cute and he said I was gorgeous. It was to no surprise that he had me wrapped around his finger instantly.
I only found it even more cool that he had the name of a prophet.
I didn't treat Malachi like I had treated all the rest of the men in my life. I took my time with this boy. We went out on multiple dates before anything serious could happen and I learned everything that there ever needed to be learned about him. I learned that he really liked the color sadness and his favorite emotion was brown, and that he always wanted to be a super villan but never developed any super human powers to help him out with that dream, so he had to settle with being a nice, evil villan; kind of like Dr. Doofenshmirtz from that one kiddy show.
Malachi was smart and funny and he didn’t have a weird mainstream name like Carl did. The day he asked me to be his girlfriend, I thought maybe he was the type of guy that people talked about in fairytales. He had to be, because guys like him were always perfect in fairytales, and he was the most perfect guy of all.
Until he wasn't.
Apparently, people's minds change. Their emotions do, too. I think that sucks because just when I was starting to believe that I was in love with this man, he started showing different colors and suddenly I found myself with my back against the wall, trying to convince him to loosen his grip around my neck because I couldn't breathe anymore.
After that, I could never breathe around him.
Every time he was near me, I thought it would be best to hold my breath instead. I thought that if I made a wrong move or if I said something I wasn't supposed to, he would tell me to get on my knees and beg for an apology I didn't know I had to give. If I didn't do it the way he wanted me to, the bruises on my legs and arms would take longer to heal.
Eventually, I managed to run away from him and get a restraining order, and after a while he was thrown into jail for domestic and drug abuse. I almost thought I was safe from him after that, but as I was driving home from work one rainy afternoon, I felt him put his hand over my mouth from the backseat as I approached my house. He told me not to speak through gritted teeth, and threatened that if I tried to scream right then and there, he wouldn't think twice to slit my throat with the dagger that he held in his other hand.
Malachi took advantage of me in my own backseat that day and it was nothing like I ever imagined it would be. I imagined my first time with him to be the kind with a bunch of scented candles around the room and flower petals on a soft bed that we would share; safely hidden from the dim light that was brought in by the night and the pretty moon that peeked through our curtains.
Instead, it was angry tears rushing down my face and trying my best to keep my mouth shut because I could almost feel the tip of the knife he was holding drag along my inner thigh.
I never saw Malachi after that, but I did hear news reports about a man who was released from jail and thrown in again with a death sentence for bigger charges. Before he came back to me, he had skinned five children alive and was found to have had sexual interccourse with three corpses of women who he had killed in the act of abducting the children.
I didn't have to listen any longer to know exactly who they were talking about, especially if the traces of blood on the dagger Malachi was carrying before he touched me meant anything.
It's kind of sad how I had always imagined a picture perfect image of how I would make love to a man I didn't know as well as I thought I did, but after Malachi, sex was the last thing that I wanted to do ever again.
After Malachi, it took everything in me and countless support from my friends and family to understand that not everyone was as cruel as he. It took a lot of pain, and crying, and the fear that I would never learn to love again when my trust in people had been minimized. Despite the acknowledgement that not everyone in the world was as monstrous as Malachi was, I could never forget the images of what happened that night. I thought I could never be me again.
At least, not until I laid my eyes on Louis Tomlinson.