"Shut up!" my father hollered to me from the dimly lit hallway. 

My three-year-old self was hiding under the bed, crying. My brother, eleven years older, sat on the floor near me. 

There was yelling, screaming, and objects flying down that hallway as my mother and father had the worst fight I could remember. 

The lights in the house went out and the front door shut soundly. I found sleep under my bed that night from exhaustion.

In the morning,  I was told my father left, and most likely would not be coming back. I would miss spending time with him, while we fished and danced around to his favorite music. My chest tightened with that thought. 

My father was the first man I loved, and he left me. 

My brother and I shared the same father, but not the same mother. My brother stayed with us for as long as he could, but I believe he looked for belonging. He tried to find his mother, who left him when he was a baby. He had to find himself, and eventually enrolled into the Army. 

My brother was the second man I loved, and he left me. 

The losses hurt and scarred me. I learned quickly not to give my heart and love too freely.

***

At age thirteen, I had my first boyfriend. He was sweet, attentive, and a great kisser. We were young and in love. 

I suppose I didn't want to wait for him to leave me, so I sabotaged our relationship by kissing another boy. 

Alec was the third man I loved, and he left me. 

***

I dated through highschool and college, but found I was afraid of giving myself only to get hurt again. 

I had only felt a man’s love briefly and I wanted true love more than anything in the world. Trust was not a strength of mine. 

It was a cold night in Boston, as I walked through the thick, dirty snow to the beach. I wanted to be alone to think. I watched as my snow boots went in and out of the snow as I walked on the sidewalks, my gloved hands buried in the pockets of my warm coat. My breath left my mouth in puffs of smoke, and my nose was cold. I pulled the scarf up higher from my neck to cover my face to avoid the frostbite.

When I arrived at the beach, I climbed over the three foot beach wall and jumped down into the sand. I left footprints in the sand as I made my way down to the water. Then I just walked  along the edge of the cold Atlantic Ocean. 

I was not a religious person and did not pray, but I wanted to beg and plead to God to teach me how to love and to be loved. I was hopeless. I wanted a fairytale love, like the ones I read in books. But I didn't know what to say to God. What if I asked and he gave it to me? Then what?

I decided I would put my love and life in God's hands and let him teach me. 

"God, please teach me how to love and be loved. I don’t want to hurt anymore nor do I want to hurt anyone else. If there is a man for me, please let him appear to me. I will try hard to do right by you, and not take your gift for granted."

I found myself on my knees in the wet sand, head bowed, and hands together on my thighs. With my eyes closed tightly, I sent God a thank you and sat in silent prayer for a few more minutes. 

***

My chocolate brown hair was long, I had a few stress lines on my forehead, but I was still young and in shape. 

I graduated college a few months ago with a degree in business management, and found myself a job as an administrative assistant in a major corporation. 

It had been a few years since that day on the beach, since I asked God to help me. Although, I didn't feel any different, I knew I changed that day. It seemed my touch made men fall in love with me. 

The first time I realized it was during my coffee shop job in college when I handed a male customer his change. His head snapped up and he began stuttering. He looked at me with longing, and I wasn't sure what happened. That happened a few more times, and I realized that my touch caused their attraction. 

It was flattering, but not what I wanted. That wasn't true love; that was love made by me. I avoided touching men after that.

I made my way to work like I had the past few months, and saw a new face on the employee bus.

He was beautiful. His long legs were stretched out before him, his dark black hair and his naturally tanned skin caught my eyes. His long fingers were tapping out notes on his thigh, while he had his eyes closed in concentration.

I sat in my chair staring at him. I couldn’t look away. He must have felt me staring, because his eyes snapped open and those sparkly greens locked with my cinnamon browns.

He gave me the most beautiful smile just as our bus stopped. I felt my heart skip a beat.

The high sun brightened the blue sky, as we walked into the building. Mr. Green Eyes walked along side me to the time clock. His dark hair was brushed back in waves, and I had the strongest urge to run my fingers through it. 

I turned to him and introduced myself. I didn’t offer my hand, but I gave him my name.

Justin asked me out. We spent a lot of time together. Because of my gift or curse depending on how you perceived it, I had to be careful not to touch him, which was difficult. It was important to build a strong foundation before I secured him as mine. I wanted him to love me for me, and not because my touch made him love me. 

And we talked, went on dates, texted, emailed, ate lunch together every chance we could.

When he asked why he couldn’t kiss me or hold my hand, I told him that I wanted to move slowly. He was patient with me and my rules, and made me fall in love with him so much more. 

When he told me he loved me for the first time it took all of me not to kiss him, but I had to be sure we would last. 

Six months later, he asked me to marry him, and when the priest said he could kiss the bride that was our first kiss. There are no words for what it felt like the first time I touched his skin, his hair, and kissed those lips. My heart has done triple time ever since. He has made me the happiest woman alive and I know he will never leave me. God gave me that security, and I thank him everyday for it.