Their relationship had made her fatalistic. The whips, the heavy hands against her tender flesh, and

Their relationship had made her fatalistic. The whips, the heavy hands against her tender flesh, and the slow squeeze against her throat had snapped something in her, the crack of realisation that can only come with a breakage. Revelation had woken her like a gunshot, and she’d been sprinting ever since.  She found herself wandering on the road-side of the pavement, one hand hovering out in the street, only popping back a second before the car would take it clean off. It was a thrill, and she knew it was a dangerous one, but that was the root, the twisted core that was guiding her. She flirted with death, and danced with danger. She’d spin like a top, and she wouldn’t stop until she was breathless and exhausted, home on her back and in his arms. His was the safe kind of danger. Outside was untamed, wild, and she was making it hers. -- source link
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