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One

I didn’t mean to do it.

Not really.

That didn’t matter, though.

I reacted the same way anyone with a bleeding heart would have and truthfully, I wouldn’t change a damn thing about it. I realized that as I traced the tips of my fingers along my scraped up knuckles that barely had enough time to heal. There was a thin layer of flesh trying to conceal the opened wound, the blood, my blood. Compared to the scumbag on the receiving end, I was unscathed.

But he deserved it.

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