“f**k me.” I cry out as Brandon bends me over the bed roughly with his fist wrapped around a few strands of my hair.
I need to feel something because right now I am hopelessly lost. On the way home we got into a big fight about the waitress. The whole time I found myself wondering “Why didn’t he just tell her to go “f**k off?”
Honestly, if I had allowed a man to talk to me that way in front of Brandon, he would have gone ballistic and then punched him or something like that. However, when he didn’t stop her, I couldn’t take it any longer and decided that I would either tell him or I would combust. In hindsight, I guess screaming at the top of my lungs while walking down the street, probably wasn’t the best course of action. Especially, when I alarmed an officer, who a minute later decide
