I loved how that four-letter word tickled the tip of my tongue as it dove free. Those four little letters wielded such power. Nothing could get in its way once it leapt from the tongue. I wished my mother would’ve said the word fuck more often and meant it. Maybe she would’ve amounted to more in life than someone who served as a punching bag to a man with a dick for morals. I sounded angry still. I hated that after two decades he could still offend me, still get under my skin and scratch at it. No matter how much you cleansed a soiled past, the stench still emanated through from time to time. As a kid, I hated the yelling, the fighting, and the frightening nights I’d spent huddled under layers upon layers of blankets to muffle the sound of my stepfather taking out his frustration on her. The mornings after were especially difficult because I expected to find her crying, but instead found her doting on him like he was the fucking king of the new world order, like he hadn’t impressed upon her milky skin the lashings from his belt, like he hadn’t covered her legs in purple.
What do You think about Staying True - A Contemporary Romance Novel?
