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I was only fifteen at the time, but I was more than a little boy crazy. And these three fit the bill of what I was into.

It was the youngest one who invited me to hang out.

Any normal person would have listened to that gut feeling, the one that screamed danger, run away, get as far away as you can because nothing good could come out of this.

I guess even back then I should have known there was nothing normal about me. It just took longer for me to see it. That whole summer should have been a dead giveaway that something wasn’t right inside my head. And it would never be again.

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“Would you look at that, boys?” The younger one cocked his head to the side, the corner of his lip lifting in a playful smile. “We got ourselves a little admirer.”

“What’s your name?” the oldest one asked, his voice catching me off guard.

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m not telling you.” The less they knew about me, the better.

“Oh. She has sass,” the middle one laughs.

I lick my lips, eyes flicking between the two of them. I have two options. Run... or stay.

Maybe I was stupid, or maybe I just didn’t want to go home right then and there, because I chose to stay.

“What are you doing out here all by yourself?” the older one asked. “It’s not safe out here for a girl like you.”

“A girl like me?” I crossed my arms, lifting a brow. I was still wearing the black outfit I wore to the funeral, not taking the time to change and risk my grandparents stopping me. “You don’t know anything about me. So how could you know what kind of girl I am?” I knew these three boys could do something to me. Hurt me, kill me, but still, I was unable to keep the snark out of my voice. I was done with the day, and the last thing I needed was three assholes taunting me.

“I like her,” the younger one says. “Can I keep her?”

“Keep me?” My eyes widened. “I’m not a pet.”

“You could be,” he countered, eyes slowly trailing up my body.

That should have been when I turned and ran, but it wasn’t. If anything, I wanted to see what he might do to me. What all three of them would do.

“Did you just come from a funeral?” the middle one laughed, making a joke as he looked me over.

“Yes,” I say blankly.

“Who died?” the younger one asked.

“My parents.”

The three of them looked at one another, something passing between them that I didn’t understand.

“You want one?” the oldest one asks, bending down and pulling out a beer bottle in offering.

I don’t drink, never felt the need to. But if there was any time to start, I thought now would be it.

“Sure.”

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I didn’t know that taking the beer from him would change my whole world.

I stayed for hours until it was dark, just sitting with them and talking about everything and nothing. We laughed, drank, and when it was time, they walked me home.

I kept coming back every day, and they were always there. We’d hang out for hours, like we’d known each other our whole lives. But even during all that time, while they knew my name, I didn’t know theirs. Not their real ones anyway. They gave me names, but I could tell they were fake.

Still, I didn’t care. They made me feel seen, made me feel alive. For the first time in my life, I didn’t think I was broken.