at the end of it i could still never bring myself to hate him even with knowing what i know now, knowing he is more vile than my preteen brain ever would be able to understand. i don't know why. if i didn't already hate everyone and everything after my bleak childhood, i had at least certainly grown to but that hatred could never extend to him. i wonder what it is. i don't really care what he thinks of me now, i never truly did although back then even the slightest hint of disdain crushed my heart. he was the only thing that could really ever get to me. perhaps it was because through my rose tinted glasses he was somewhat of a reprieve for my anguishes throughout middle school. but even now as my adult brain looks back at him, i can't bring myself to truly harbor any real contempt. i still remember that one weekend spent together, sitting on the couch together after school, the days outside on the front porch together. warm fingers brushing mine and the ever-present gleam in his eye as he looked at me from across the room. he felt like passion. i know he never cared and i always knew this. i don't mind. for a pedophile and a rapist, he really felt like something special.