our ex boyfriend hovered over your beat up, limp, naked body. The bruises had stained your complexion, pale from the sadness and horrifying shock of what was happening to you.
You were lying on your stomach, and he was straddled over you, blade in hand.
“The world needs to know what you are,” he says, in that controlling voice he has.
You don’t even argue, one word, one cry would get you a slap across the face or a kick to the stomach.
He takes the blade, and starts cutting who you are into your back. You can feel him spelling out the words. Bitch. Whore. Slut. Worthless. Mine.
You bit...
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