Delicate Scars for Women

The moment I laid eyes on her, I knew I was going to ruin her. She was too naive, too innocent. I would wrap her in the darkness of my world until she no longer craved the light, only me. I should walk away, leave her clean and untouched, but I won't. I hold her delicate heart in my scarred fist, and I have no intention of letting go.

It all started with a book, doesn't that sound crazy? For your entire world to come crashing down around you over research for a book? But that is what it felt like the moment I met him. My world tilted, and nothing made sense anymore. I only know he became like a drug to me, and I shook with need until my next fix.

I should have walked away, turned my back on the temptation that he presented. But I couldn't. I was drawn to him, like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the allure of the darkness that surrounded him. He was a drug, and I was an addict, craving his touch, his attention, his very existence.

Each time we met, it was a rush, a high that I couldn't replicate, no matter how hard I tried. I needed him, like a drowning man needs air, and the more I had, the more I wanted. It was a vicious cycle, one that I knew would ultimately lead to my own undoing, but I couldn't bring myself to stop.

The deeper I fell into his world, the more I lost myself. My own identity, my own desires, faded into the background, replaced by an all-consuming need to be with him, to be a part of his life, no matter the cost. I knew it was wrong, that it would lead to my own destruction, but I couldn't stop myself.

The darkness that surrounded him was like a siren's call, luring me in, promising me a world of ecstasy and pain. And I, like a fool, followed willingly, ignoring the warning signs, the red flags that screamed at me to turn back, to run as far away as I could.

But I couldn't. He had a hold on me, a grip so tight that I couldn't break free, no matter how hard I tried. And so I sank deeper and deeper, until I was completely and irrevocably lost, consumed by the very darkness that I had once feared.

In the end, I knew that I had only myself to blame. I had made the choice to follow him, to give in to the temptation that he presented. And now, as I lay here, broken and defeated, I can't help but wonder if it was all worth it. Was the high worth the cost of my own soul?

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