by Dirty Blonde
When he violently tore her out of bed was when she learned that he’d all but confirmed the affair. When he shoved her away and onto the floor, the only light in the living room was from the too bright neon signs on the adjacent building but she could still see his shadowy face dripping with rage and pain and still more rage. She didn't know that the cut on his chest was from the largest knife from the block on the kitchen counter. When she scrambled up from the floor to stop him from walking out, she didn't know that he'd cleaned up his own blood from the linoleum floor and the knife three days before. But then somehow he decided to stay. When he told her years later how he got that scar, she cried; not because she was the reason for him putting a knife to his heart but because she had never realized that a scar was even there.
Dirty Blonde, whose full 6S catalog is here, doesn't need you to know her true identity, but swears that she's a real writer and a real blonde.