The number twelve - it leaves a vile taste in my mouth. Rolling off my tongue in an unsettling way. Particularly unsettling.

The word makes me involuntarily cringe. Too many things come to mind when I hear it. Too many bad things.

December twelfth, 2003 - I remember the exact moment you asked me to date you, and how I hesitated because of your state of mind at the moment; would you even remember this on Monday? I told you yes, and I remember at that exact moment the lights in the gym came back on; you didn't smile back. I remember how you hugged me that night and that I'd never felt safer in my whole life. My selective memory is choosing not to mention the unpleasant details of the two hours before this short and small conversation took place.  You were always like this, the drugs and the alcohol, I always wanted to tell you how much I hated it, but I never did, until really, it wouldn't have mattered if I'd told you or not; you were never going to listen. December twelfth changed too many things.

I've had a total of twelve minor breakdowns since the fifth grade; October of fifth grade to be exact. How many did you know about? Two. How many did the family know about? None. I have a total of twelve relatively visible scars; nine of them on purpose, two from bike accidents, and one from you.

October thirteenth, 2004, 8:17 a.m., twelve minutes until the bell would ring. The eleventh person in the class versus you. All it took were those few moments and I thought my world would crash down. The bell rang; twelve steps to make it out of the classroom before you'd tell me it didn't hurt, and twelve seconds to feel like I was going to scream because I never thought you'd hit me.

I've dated a total of six boys since the seventh grade. Three of them I barely even liked, one of them I only dated to make someone else jealous, and another was the boy I went on my first date with. The last boy, however, is the boy I've liked since the beginning of eighth grade and the only boy who has ever made me happy and completely confused at the same time. I don't think I've ever been scared of anyone; not until you.

February second, 2003 - you were expelled from school on this day. I never got to say goodbye. I remember you gave me a pair of earphones because you remembered me telling you mine were broken and that I preferred to listen to music through earphones because it always sounded better and blocked out the excess noise. I never understood how you could forget everything sometimes and then remember to bring a simple pair of earphones to school to give to me. Sometimes I don't understand how you can love me when I barely even like myself.

Coincidentally, it is the twelfth of April today.