“Help me,” a voice whispered, and I was so surprised I fell back on my butt, nearly taking the knob with me.
Granted, I did warn him of all of this before we became committed, but I doubt he could have understood the true complexity of the situation.
I’m sorry I waited till it was too late to say this. I love you Dad.
I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to hurt like I hurt. I wanted someone to share this feeling with.
We really do only get one shot at this.
Snooping on his Facebook has been so lethal for me. So endlessly time-consuming and toxic. So many pictures and posts opened a window to a person I’d never get to know more about.
For my friend, her days ended much sooner than she would have liked. Quite frankly, it ended much sooner than any of us would have liked.
No one tells you how hard it is to keep your secret, the vicious little ember deep in your stomach that knows you’re glad he’s dead.
Something as bleak as the death of a husband made them appear wildly provocative, and for no other reason than the fact that they were no longer tied down to a man.
And when that midnight blackness does bear down, wraps it razor blade-studded tentacles around your throat, you take your beating and you towel off and bandage up and you keep on truckin’. If you can.