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.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s