There was the love of a parent for their child. The love a sister had for her sibling. But beyond that, love was a construct I never knew. Until I met him,Peter Menace, his last name described him perfectly: dangerous. The idea that love would ever find me, Tara Stammel, seemed imaginary. It almost felt like a ghost, appearing in the night and dispersing itself every time I opened my eyes. It only came to me in dreams.

  At this stage, it felt like everyone in my life was a shrink, constantly psychoanalyzing me. My mother had basically declared me depressed. My aunts became obsessed with my personal life, prying into my every move, and my sister, abroad, the one diagnosed a year ago, with clinical depression, Faith Stammel, thought she was a therapist because she had received therapy.

  Maybe they were right, presumably, I would spend hours in my room, locked door and binge watch every erotic TV show known to man. Isolated from the outside world, I had just three friends that I would never actually see: Beth, Biah and Sadie. Not because I didn't want to, it just required me actually going outside. The comedic timing of Peter entering my life was really fucking hilarious, in a maybe I don't have to kill myself today way. It's cliché but this all started because of the boy next door.

  Peter lived right across from me. I knew he existed. But so did all the other girls, in and out of his room every other night. I wondered if they all knew about each other and, if they did, how they could subject themselves to such behavior. From where I stood, in my parents' four-bedroom flat, from my room, I had a clear view into his. He lived in a two-story, well-furnished, modern day, my daddy's rich but my parents didn't love each other anymore, so I spent every other weekend at my mom's classic American home apartment.

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  Kinda sad really, in some ways I felt sympathy for him but then would quickly remind myself that he was a womanizer. He had this way of saying hello with his eyes without having to speak, glances were thrown my way ever so often every time he opened the door, luring another victim into his bedroom and casting somewhat of a spell over them. If I were Harry Potter, I would say expelliarmus by now, specifically to his dick because that seemed to be the weapon that made girls stupidly hold a torch for him, or so I've heard.

  Savage thing to say but seemingly true, he was the guy that every girl in school was madly in love with, but he never loved them, almost like he was using their love as ammunition and that was a bullet uniquely made for each girl's head. I would never admit it to myself but with each gaze I was slowly becoming infatuated with him.

  I heard a muffled sound in the background.

  "Tara! Tara! Are you ready? Where's your bag? I can't find it. You're gonna be late for work," my jaded mother, Christine Stammel shouted while running in circles, trying to find my bag that consisted of nothing but a $5 bill and a dreadful ham sandwich. You would think working as an employee in a burger joint would give you the right to eat their food but that's the private sector for you.

  It took me a minute to respond, my mind was fixated on Peter for much longer than it should have.

  "Tara!" she screamed again.

  Released from my trance I replied in annoyance,

  "I'm coming."

  I frantically ran down the stairs, grabbed my bag and the novel I always wrote in, which was lying on my bedside table and exclaimed, whilst almost smiling,

  "Is this what you were looking for?"

  I then kissed my mother and we headed out the door.