The one with the tattoos and the look in his eyes that told me he was bad news.
The look that came with all sorts of warnings.
I knew what I was doing.
I knew by the way he put his hands on me, how he owned me with his forceful touch.
I couldn’t say no to him, not that I wanted to.
That was then, and it seems like forever ago.
Years later, I’ve grown up and moved on. But he’s still the man I married.
Dangerous in ways I don’t like to think about.
Sexy as sin, he attracts all the wrong kinds of temptations.
The kind that’s unforgivable.
The kind that splits up marriages.
I did this to myself. I knew better than to love him.
And now I’m fucked.
I married the bad boy from Brooklyn. And I don’t know how I’ll survive this.
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