I wasn’t a woman who minced words to soothe another person. Nor am I going to change my mind once I placed a person in my “trash” bin.
People described me as bitchy, stuck-up, scary, hot and crazy vindictive. Do I care? Yeah, right.
Wealth, beauty and all the attention were showered on me at a very young age—but one thing was missing. Love. Where do I even begin with this complex word?
Love led my father to his demise.
Love made me ache for my mother’s non-existent one.
Love ruined me for the rest of the male species.
It didn’t take long though until I discovered the power of beauty and sex. I got my euphoric highs from making men suffer—may it be emotional, mental, physical—blue balls anyone?
Validation. Needing to prove a point that I held the power, that no one could come close to hurt me any longer, and I was excellent at it. I was my own master. What else could be better than that?
But once again, Mister Cupid had a perverted way to scramble my very guarded personal life.
Would I let my fate choose for me? Or do I fight it tooth and nail as I’d have in the past?