For She Is Wrath

by Emily Varga

Good. He should be fucking sad. He should regret every moment of every day since he betrayed me.

The problem when someone you loved betrayed you was that you had a lifetime of good memories with them that you had to examine in a different light. What was once a safe place to be—beside him, engulfed in his arms, inhaling the smell of rainstorms and pine—was actually the most dangerous place of all.

My love never came with a price, even if his did.

A history of women and girls being wronged by men who never had any consequences. Now I would be the consequences.

“With you I feel like I can be myself too,” I said quietly. “I feel free.”

You had to choose to become this, to forsake all joy in favor of destruction. That would not be me.

“I feel raw, hurt, but still alive. And that’s got to count for something.”

“I can choose,” I said, for the first time believing it was true. Believing that I had my own power, my own freedom, the ability to make my own destiny, and not be held back by the past.