by trying to do me here and calling me a whore.” “Don’t be ashamed of what you are.” I slapped him. And not a dainty slap, but with the back of my hand so that my rings left red and pink stripes across his face and broke skin. Yes, I was pissed and was only getting angrier, but a bit of my former self trickled to the surface. Anxiety bubbled out. My pulse raged. Sweat formed on my brow. I trembled. Because what if Mike did try something worse? Could I defend myself? Sure, he’d get pretty hurt, but so would I. And emotional wounds were not easily healed. Case in point? Me. Myself. Right here,
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