They say that a first love is meant to be special. It's a person that makes your toes curl and your heart have a seizure when you kiss. Your sub-concious mind makes them live through you. Buying clothes isn't casual. Instead, it becomes a priority for how to impress them. They are a drug that makes your dopamine spiral out of control. Every waking moment consists of your first love. What I have gathered first-hand from mine is that every rose has it's thorn. The feeling that I had for this older man was very foreign. It was love, there was no denying that but also a sinister lust that set it on fire. My family hated him and that's what made me continue crawling back to him. Waiting sickly on his porch step from 2 A.M to 7 A.M, I would even show up to his casino when meant to be in school. It was a hopeless love that was bound to fail, yet I became those girls who were too blind. I built a shell around this older man, my life was to serve him. Whether it was giving him my innocence or money to fund his casino, I would do anything. But as the seasons began changing, so did he. It was a cold war between his men and my father's. It was no longer was about me or our unholy secret, but about him gaining power and turfs. He wanted what my father had and that was owning most of Los Santos by the strings in his tainted hands. I began to see less and less of the older man, even his own brother would not have me around the casino. But for God's sake, it wasn't even about me anymore. It was about the baby inside of my childish wounds that needed attention. I am looking for a tall dark mysterious man whose face is usually hidden under a pork-pie hat. Where are you Michael Bergmann?
The end to a start.
My father had me see a psychologist, he says that it's for the best. But I know that's code for I've been a crazy bitch since Michael disappeared. It is our fifth session and we have not covered much. I thought a psychologist's objection was to help you, yet all I feel is we're in rehearsal. Dr. Strauss asks me questions about how I am doing and I respond with bland answers. It feels so scripted and I am playing myself in this medicore film about a modern lolita with a broken heart. " ..And what is the problem in your viewpoint, Miss Dobre?" I hear her suddenly ask me, interrupting my thoughts. I release a silent cough, squirming amongst the faux leather chair I lay on. I avoid her old hazel eyes and focus on the cracks of the ceiling. "Miss. Dobre are you with me, honey?" I am, but how can I possibly answer a question when I do not understand the problem to begin with. I start to think back to that shitty note that Michael left me. Suddenly my calm mood has changed to a more sullen and angst one as I look at Dr. Strauss. " The problem? The problem is that I fucked an older man and got pregnant at fifteen," I pause there and look at her sadistically for a reaction, smirking once I see her eyes widen with shock. I feel too angry that I don't care if she dies on the spot in our fifth session. " I watched my father and his associates put a man in the meat grinder." I place my dominant hand on my lips and release a deviant laugh. I see her give me a familiar look, the same look that everyone gives me: you're fucking with me. I wish that I was joking, but this is my life and there's nothing I can do to erase these dark memories. She tells me we should take a break and that's code for : Get the fuck out. I hear her muffled voice behind the tall mahagony door, speaking to my father. I wonder what it will be this time, a slap or locked in the closet. Whatever punishment he has for me this time, is worth it after scaring Dr. Strauss. She reminds me just like a figure of marble statue, cold and controlled. Everything about her is masked behind her thick framed glasses and straight edge lips that never curl or bend. It's hard to tell what my psychologist thinks, if I wanted to speak to something so lifeless I would just go back to writing in my journal. Which is something that I will defiantly be needing very shortly when my father picks me up.

I should have picked another day to scare her, today is way too hot to be waiting outside. I'm waiting for him on this broken down bench and start feeling my stomach growl with a sickening throb. I should be used to this after one month with my где yet it demands to torture me. I quickly rush to a near by bush at the other side of my bench, uncontrollably puking up yesterday's borsch soup. The bush is then dyed with a light red liquid and flaked with some vegetables as I'm kept in this bent over position for fifteen minutes. Each time I try to get up, I just feel nauseus again yet craving for an entire grocery store. Pregnancy is a strange thing, yet it makes me love my где even more.