Scarred Roses, Burning Vengeance
They trembled with that nauseating satisfaction he drew from me with pain, and I despised the manner in which it knotted something inside my stomach, a mixture of rage and fear I was unable to untangle.
“Leave me alone, you shit,” I spat, the harshness of my tone worse than I was, venomous.
I stepped back, flinching as if his presence alone was toxic, full mouthed with bile. My fingers trembled, yearning to hit him, to rip that sneer from his lips.
Did he have any idea what he'd done?
Did he have any idea the destruction he'd left behind—my trust, my marriage, my life?
Did he care that he'd wrecked my world, piece by ugly piece?
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