This is going to be so hard. I equate it to bleeding and I just hope that I don’t eek out so much that I’m empty, have nothing left to offer anyone. Then again, how can I not do this? Someone has to tell this story; someone is trying to survive it and she deserves to have a voice, doesn’t she?
It is I who am trying to survive it.
Hi, my name is Anna Grace, the woman behind the fiction writer that goes by the moniker Sapphire Snow. I am forty-three years old, have been writing erotic fiction all my life, and would still be writing it had my marriage survived. But it didn’t and I’m not writing make-believe stories about make-believe men at this point. The man this tell-all concerns itself with is the real deal. Yeah, I’ve changed his name because (let's be logical) I have to. He is an actual flesh and blood, living and breathing (and smoking and drinking) person though if you can get beyond the things about him that make him seem less human and more like wolf on the prowl.
Do I hate this man?
No, I don't.
Do I wish bad things to happen to him because he messes with my sanity to this day and probably always will?
Well, sometimes, but nothing too grave, I suppose.
The question is, will I survive the bad things he did to me?