The Age of Almost. A Story About Mistaking Control for… | by Luna Rivers | Sep, 2025

A Story About Mistaking Control for Love

by Luna Rivers

🌸 Dedication

For every girl who thought being chosen meant she was ready.

May your heart be held gently as you learn what love is and isn’t

🌙 Prologue: The Age of Almost

I was fourteen when I thought love meant being chosen.

There’s a photo tucked in a box somewhere — me in a pink dress, smiling like I knew what forever felt like. I didn’t. I just knew I wanted to be seen. Wanted to be wanted. Wanted to believe that being picked by someone older meant I was ready for everything that came next.

I wasn’t.

Back then, I didn’t have words for the way control can wear a kind face. I didn’t know that jealousy could feel like protection, or that silence could be a kind of survival. I thought growing up was something you earned by falling in love.

This story isn’t about blame. It’s about becoming.

It’s about the quiet ways we learn what love isn’t. About the moments that shimmer with magic and the ones that ache with truth. It’s about the age of almost — when you’re not quite a child, not quite grown, and everything feels like it matters more than it should.

I’m telling it now because someone else might be standing in that same pink dress, thinking they’re ready. Maybe they are. Maybe they’re not. But they deserve to know they’re not alone.

***Content Warning: This story contains detailed descriptions of teen dating abuse, emotional manipulation, coercive control, teen pregnancy, and sexual content involving minors. It discusses patterns of isolation, jealousy, and psychological abuse that some readers may find triggering or distressing. If you’re currently in an unsafe relationship, please prioritize your safety. The resources at the end of this story can provide confidential support.

Author’s Note: I’m sharing this story because recognition can be the first step toward healing. The details have been changed for privacy, but the patterns are real. If any of this sounds familiar, please know you’re not alone.

📘 Chapter One: Pink Promises

My name is Krissy, and I’m fourteen years old. Right now, I feel like I’m floating — like Cinderella stepping into a dream spun from pink satin and nervous laughter. I can’t believe I’m going to prom with Ben, the cutie from church. He’s a junior in high school, and I’m just an eighth-grader, but I don’t care what anyone thinks. My parents know him from church, and they trust him. So do I.

It all started at a church bowling night. I rode with Ben and his sister, and I guess my flirting worked — he noticed me. We started calling each other, and before I knew it, we were boyfriend and girlfriend. I couldn’t believe it. A high school junior liked me. Me. Krissy. I’ve always felt older than I am, and boys my age never really got me. Ben did.

He’s sweet. We talk on the phone for hours, and he’s come over to hang out a few times. My parents even let me go to the movies with him and his sister last week. I fell asleep halfway through — too many late-night calls — but he thought it was cute. I haven’t smiled this much in forever.

When Ben asked me to prom, I thought my heart might explode. I ran straight to my mom and blurted it out. “Can I go? Please?” She looked surprised, but not upset. “Let me talk to your dad,” she said. That night, they sat me down and asked a million questions — where it was, who would be there, how we’d get there. I told them everything. I even reminded them that Ben’s family had been part of our church for years. That seemed to help.

The next day, my mom said yes. I screamed. I called Tess immediately and told her everything. She squealed and said, “You’re basically a high schooler now!” We spent the afternoon flipping through magazines and talking about dresses. I couldn’t stop smiling.

A few days later, my mom took me to the fancy dress shop in town. I tried on a dozen dresses — some too sparkly, some too grown — but when I stepped out in the pink one, she gasped. “That’s the one,” she said, her eyes misty. I turned in front of the mirror, watching the fabric shimmer under the lights. I felt like I was glowing. Like maybe I really was Cinderella, and this was my fairy tale.

That night, I called Ben and told him about the dress. He asked what color it was, and when I said pink, he said he’d find a tie to match. I imagined us walking in together, matching like real couples do. I imagined slow dancing, holding hands, maybe even kissing under the lights. I didn’t tell him that part.

The night before prom, I could barely sleep. I laid out my dress, my shoes, even my earrings. I painted my nails and practiced smiling in the mirror. I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted to feel like I belonged in the world Ben came from — the older, cooler, more grown-up world.

Finally, the day arrived. I spent hours getting ready — curling my hair, reapplying lip gloss, checking my outfit a hundred times. Tess texted me good luck and said, “Don’t forget to breathe!” When Ben’s car pulled up and he honked, my mom hollered up the stairs. I floated down, heart pounding. My dad hugged me and told me I looked beautiful. My mom insisted on pictures, and Ben’s jaw dropped when he saw me. He whispered that I looked amazing, and I could tell he was nervous too. My dad gave Ben a firm look and said, “We trust you. Be safe and have fun.” And just like that, we were off.

Ben surprised me with a steakhouse dinner. I felt so grown-up, even though I was too nervous to eat much. The waiter called me “ma’am,” and I tried not to giggle. We made small talk, laughed a little, and tried to pretend we weren’t both trembling with nerves under our fancy outfits. After dinner, we drove to the school gym for prom. The parking lot was packed, and we had to park toward the back. As we walked in, I saw a few older girls glance our way. I wasn’t sure if they were judging or just curious, but I held Ben’s hand tighter.

The gym was magical — twinkling lights strung across the ceiling, glittery streamers hanging from the rafters, and a giant arch of balloons framing the dance floor. The prom committee had outdone themselves. The music was loud, but not too loud, and the DJ was already playing a slow song. Ben pulled me close, and we started to dance.

We danced for hours. Slow songs, fast songs, songs I didn’t know but pretended to. He kissed me a few times — soft, sweet kisses that made my heart race. I felt like I was glowing from the inside out. I didn’t care that I was younger than everyone else. I felt like I belonged.

At one point, we sat at a table near the punch bowl, and Ben brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re the prettiest girl here,” he said. I blushed so hard I had to look away. I noticed a teacher watching us from across the room. She smiled, but it felt like she was studying me. I wondered if she knew I didn’t go to this school. I wondered if she could tell I was only fourteen.

After a while, we got tired of dancing and decided to leave. Ben drove us out to the country, to a quiet spot where no one would bother us. We sat in the car, talking and kissing, and one thing led to another. We were both nervous. We realized we needed a condom, and Ben remembered the truck stop with the vending machine. He ran in and got one.

Back in the car, we were quiet for a moment. Then we went for it.

It was awkward. We didn’t really know what we were doing. I bled a little, and it hurt more than I expected. But Ben seemed happy, and I guess that’s what couples do, right?

He got me home on time. My parents were watching the news. I told them prom was magical, and we had a really wonderful time. I said I was tired and headed to bed. Ben called as soon as he got home. We talked for hours, whispering I love yous and dreaming about forever.

I fell asleep with a smile on my face, thinking about how lucky I was. I had the perfect dress, the perfect night, and the perfect guy. I didn’t know what love was supposed to feel like. I just knew I didn’t want it to end.

— — —

I didn’t know then that some nights stay with you forever — not because they were perfect, but because they marked the beginning of something you couldn’t yet name. I thought love was pink dresses and whispered promises. I thought being chosen meant I was ready. But I was still a girl chasing fairy tales, not knowing how quickly they can blur.

📘 Chapter Two: Summer Heat

The week after prom felt like a dream I didn’t want to wake up from. I kept replaying everything in my head — the dress, the dancing, the way Ben looked at me like I was the only girl in the room. I felt older. Different. Like something had changed, and I didn’t want it to change back.

But not everyone saw it the way I did.

A few days after prom, my parents sat me down in the living room. My mom looked serious, but not angry. “We got a call,” she said. “Your fifth-grade teacher was at prom. She saw you and Ben kissing on the dance floor. She said it was… a lot.”

I froze. My heart thudded in my chest. “We were just dancing,” I said quickly. “It wasn’t anything bad.”

My dad leaned forward. “She said it looked heavy. Not just a little kiss.”

I felt my face burn. “It was innocent,” I insisted. “We were just caught up in the moment. Everyone was dancing like that.”

They exchanged a look, then nodded slowly. “Just remember,” my mom said, “people are watching. And you’re still young.”

I nodded, trying not to cry. I didn’t want them to think I’d done something wrong. I just wanted to feel grown-up. I just wanted to be loved.

By Monday, I was back at school, trying to shake off the awkward feeling from the weekend. I hadn’t told anyone about the teacher or what my parents said — I just wanted things to feel normal again. Tess pulled me aside the minute she saw me. “Okay, spill,” she whispered. “Did you go all the way? I turned red and didn’t say anything, but that was enough. She squealed and hugged me like I’d just joined some secret club. “I knew it! Was it amazing?”

I shrugged. “It kind of hurt.”

She nodded like she’d heard that before. “It gets better. Trust me.”

We sat together at lunch, giggling and whispering while the other girls tried to eavesdrop. I told her most of what happened, but not everything. Some things felt too private. She promised not to tell anyone, and I believed her. Tess was the kind of friend who could keep secrets, even the big ones.

The rest of the week passed in a blur — final projects, yearbooks, countdowns. I saw Ben at church on Sunday, but we didn’t get much time together. He was helping his dad with something after the service, and I had to leave early. I missed him already.

Then summer arrived, and everything felt wide open. Softball started up again, and my dad was coaching. I loved being on the team with Tess and the other girls. We laughed through drills, swapped secrets in the dugout, and made plans for sleepovers and movie nights. I felt like I was living two lives — one with my friends, full of sunshine and snacks, and one with Ben, full of whispers and late-night phone calls.

One afternoon, I was sitting on the porch swing when Ben called. “Hey,” he said. “There’s a church concert in Derby next weekend. Want to go?”

I perked up. “Yeah! That sounds fun.”

“You’ll have to ask your parents,” he said. “It’s kind of a drive.”

I hung up and went inside. My dad was in the kitchen, flipping through the mail. “Can I go to a concert with Ben next weekend?” I asked. “It’s a church thing. In Derby.”

He looked up. “Just the two of you?”

“Yeah. It’s a Christian a cappella group. Ben said it’s really good.”

He nodded slowly. “Let me talk to your mom.”

Later that night, they sat me down again. “You’ll be back by ten,” my mom said. “And no detours.”

“I promise,” I said, trying not to sound too excited.

The day of the concert, I spent all afternoon getting ready. I curled my hair, picked out a cute outfit, and counted down the minutes. Tess texted me, “You’re gonna look so good!” When Ben pulled up and honked, I ran into the kitchen to tell my mom I was heading out. She hugged me and said, “Be home by ten.” I promised I would.

We held hands in the car, snuggled close, and talked about how nice it was to finally be alone again. At the auditorium, we found our seats and listened to a few songs. The music was beautiful — soft harmonies, lyrics about grace and forgiveness. But Ben leaned over and whispered, “Want to leave early?”

I nodded. I didn’t really care about the concert. I just wanted to be with him.

Back in the car, we started kissing. It got heavy fast. He stopped and said, “Let’s find a quiet spot.” I said okay. We drove out to the country, to a place where no one would bother us. I asked if he had a condom, and to my surprise, he pulled out several from his glove box. I didn’t ask where they came from. I just knew we had more time than last time, and we went for it.

It felt better this time. Less awkward. We were more relaxed, more connected. We did it twice before heading home. He kissed me goodnight and said he’d call when he got back.

Inside, my parents were watching TV. “How was the concert?” they asked.

“It was really special,” I said. “We had a great time.” I didn’t mention that we’d left early. I told them I was tired and went to bed.

Ben called, and we talked for hours. We told each other we were in love. That we wanted to be together forever. I fell asleep with a smile on my face, feeling like everything was perfect.

— — —

I didn’t know yet that love could shift. That closeness could turn into something else. I just knew I wanted more of this feeling — more of him, more of us. I didn’t see the shadows gathering. Not yet.

📘 Chapter Three: Jealousy in the Shadows

Summer was in full swing, and everything felt golden. Softball practices filled my evenings, and sleepovers with Tess and the girls were already being planned. Ben and I talked constantly — before bed, after practice, whenever we could. I felt like we were getting closer every day.

Tess had met a boy at the movies. His name was Devon, and he’d started showing up at our softball practices to hang out. He seemed cool — quiet, funny, kind of shy. Tess was smitten. I told Ben about him one night on the phone, just casually, and suddenly his tone changed.

“Why does he need to be at your practices?” Ben asked.

“He’s there for Tess,” I said, laughing a little. “It’s not a big deal.”

Ben didn’t laugh. “I just don’t get why he needs to be around you.”

I tried to explain, but he kept pressing. “Is he going to be at the sleepover too?”

“No way,” I said. “Tess’s parents would never allow that.”

He finally calmed down, but something felt off. I didn’t know what to call it. I just knew I didn’t want him to be mad.

Later that week, Ben stopped by after work. My dad was working late, and my mom was in her room watching TV. I told her Ben was here and we were going to watch a movie downstairs. She said okay and reminded me not to let him stay too late.

We curled up on the couch in the family room, picked out a movie, and watched a little. Mostly, we just kissed and talked. It felt normal again. Sweet. Like everything was okay.

But after that night, things started to feel different. We were both getting jealous. Possessive. I didn’t see it as toxic — I just thought it meant we really loved each other. I wanted to be with him forever, so I ignored the tension. I didn’t want to lose what we had.

Friday night finally came — the sleepover at Tess’s. It was me and three other girls, all camped out in her basement bedroom. We were excited, loud, and hungry. Tess’s mom realized they were low on snacks, so we all piled into her car and headed to the store.

Inside, we split up to grab what we wanted. I was walking down the candy aisle when I felt someone behind me. I turned — and there was Ben.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered, heart racing.

“I just wanted to see what you were all up to,” he said, eyes scanning the aisle. “Any boys stop by?”

“No,” I said quickly. “We’re just getting snacks.”

He nodded, but his jaw was tight. “Text me later.”

I rushed back to the front, hoping no one had seen him. We got back to Tess’s house, and everything seemed normal. But while we were eating in the living room, I saw Ben’s car drive by. Ten minutes later, he drove by again.

Back downstairs, we changed into pajamas and picked a movie. I checked my phone — five missed calls. A bunch of texts. He wanted to know what we were doing, why I hadn’t answered, if Devon had come over.

I texted back, told him we were watching a movie, that I hadn’t had my phone while we were eating. I asked if he’d driven by. He said yes — just making sure no boys were lurking outside.

I told him he was being silly and promised to call him tomorrow. Then I put my phone away and tried to enjoy the night. We laughed, made popcorn, and stayed up way too late. But part of me felt watched. Like I had to be careful. Like love had rules I didn’t understand.

The next morning, I woke up to another string of texts. Ben wanted to know what time I’d gone to sleep, who I’d sat next to during the movie, whether I’d talked to Devon. I answered everything, trying to sound cheerful. I didn’t want to fight. I just wanted things to go back to how they were.

Later that day, Tess asked if everything was okay. “You seemed kind of distracted last night,” she said.

I shrugged. “Just tired.”

She gave me a look, like she didn’t believe me, but didn’t push. I was grateful. I didn’t know how to explain what I was feeling. I didn’t even know what I was feeling.

— — —

I didn’t know then that love isn’t supposed to feel like surveillance. I thought jealousy meant passion. I thought being protected meant being loved. But love should feel like trust, not tension. And I was starting to feel the difference

📘 Chapter Four: The Rules I Didn’t Know I Was Breaking

Sneaks, my cat was the only boy who didn’t make me feel small.

He was part Siamese, huge, and lazy in the most regal way. When I was younger, he won “Fattest Cat” at the fall festival and got a whole bag of Science Diet cat food. He didn’t care about trophies — he just wanted sunbeams and snacks. I used to curl up next to him when things felt heavy, bury my face in his fur and pretend I was somewhere else.

That summer, Tess and I became basketball assistants. We didn’t play, but we wanted to be part of the team. The coaches let us set up drills, pick up after practice, run the scoreboard during games. It felt good to belong to something. We wore matching shirts and joked about being “bench bosses.” I loved it.

Ben didn’t.

He didn’t like that I was part of something without him. Didn’t like that I was around older boys. Didn’t like that I had a role that made me feel proud and independent. He’d call right after practice, ask who was there, what I was wearing, whether any guys talked to me. I tried to laugh it off, tried to make it sound like he was just protective. But it started to hurt.

I didn’t tell Tess. I didn’t want her to think something was wrong. I just smiled through it, made excuses, and kept showing up.

One weekend, my parents took me out of town — just a short trip to visit family. I should’ve been excited, but all I could think about was the fact that I wouldn’t be home to call Ben at our usual time. I panicked. My chest felt tight. I kept checking the clock, trying to find a moment to sneak away and call him. My parents noticed. “Are you okay?” they asked. I smiled and said I was just tired. I made it sound normal. I made it sound like nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing.

One afternoon, Ben started pinching me. He said it was a game. I told him it hurt. I bruise easily — fair skin, sensitive — and the marks showed up fast. He laughed, even when I asked him to stop. “I’m just playing,” he said. “Don’t be dramatic.”

I didn’t talk about the bruises.

Not to my friends. Not to my teachers. Not even to myself, really. I just wore long sleeves and made excuses. “I bruise easy,” I’d say. “It’s just a game.” I said it so often, I almost believed it.

One time, my cousin saw the marks on my arm. “What happened?” she asked, her voice sharp. I laughed it off. “Ben was just playing around. I’m sensitive-skinned.” She didn’t look convinced. Later, she told my mom.

My mom pulled me aside. “Are you okay?” she asked gently. “Did Ben hurt you?”

I shook my head. “No. It’s just something people do. He didn’t mean it.”

She stared at me for a long time. I stared at the floor.

I didn’t know how to explain the way it felt — how something could hurt and still feel like love. How I didn’t want to get him in trouble. How I didn’t want to be alone.

Ben never came to my softball games. Not once. He said he didn’t like sports. Said he didn’t want to be around all those guys. But when a church youth group visited that summer, we went to every event — cookouts, game nights, worship services. Not because we cared about the group. Just because it gave us excuses to be together.

Freshman year came. Ben was a senior. We were together all the time.

I stopped eating lunch with the girls. I rode to and from school with him. I didn’t hang out with friends anymore. I did play volleyball with the girls and was actually good — quick, focused, strong. But Ben hated the uniform. “Those shorts are way too short,” he said. “You shouldn’t wear that in front of guys.”

I started losing weight. I couldn’t keep anything down. I had braces, and every morning after brushing my teeth, I’d throw up. I told myself it wasn’t bulimia. You have to make yourself do that. This just happened. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe it was something else.

I got lightheaded during practice. Had to sit out. My body felt like it was slipping away from me.

One night, I looked in the mirror and whispered, “I think I’m pregnant.”

I told Ben. He panicked. We didn’t know what to do. We decided to run away together.

— — —

I didn’t know what I was running from. Or what I was running toward. I just knew I couldn’t breathe inside the life I was living. I thought love meant staying close, no matter what. I didn’t realize that sometimes, closeness is the thing that breaks you.

This is Part 1 of a three-part series. Part 2 will continue Krissy’s story as the situation escalates, and she faces the consequences of her choices. Follow me to be notified when the next part is published