My Stepfather, My Lover

I know if I tell people they will think I am sick. I understand why though, because I know that it is wrong. That he shouldn’t look at me the way he looks at my mother, or that he should not come to my room and slip into my covers. I know that it’s wrong. But in between all the mess, sometimes he groans that “he loves me “. Just like a father should right? He loves me. When I am lying there, vulnerable, “he loves me”. Words I never heard from my father or my mother. I know I should report him or stab him with the knife I now keep under my pillow, but then he huffs and puffs and says “I love you.”  Where else will I hear it?