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Angel wakes, but is she ready to deal with the news.

She remembered falling but she didn't remember hitting her head on the cellar floor. She laid there like that for hours before getting her wits about her.

"Bitch," she remembered him saying before pushing a size 13 shoe against her shapely ass when she stood at the top of the stairs.

With dirty laundry flying everywhere, head over heels, she toppled down the entire flight of cellar stairs. She was lucky that he hadn't killed her. Yet, bleeding and unconscious, not checking on her to know if she was dead, alive, or severely injured, he left her there to suffer and/or to die. He closed the cellar door, turned off the light, and went to work. By the time he came home drunk hours later, she had packed her bags and, without leaving a note, saying goodbye, or expecting another empty apology, she was gone to live with her whore of a mother in Pennsylvania.

Over and again, long before she made the worst mistake of her life by marrying her ex-husband, cursed to be with the wrong man, she made the same mistakes with men. With her history repeating itself as if she was stuck in a Twilight Zone time warp with Rod Serling, she sure knew how to pick them. All the men she ever dated were brutes, criminals, felons, ex-cons, and men who had no idea how to treat a woman but they sure knew how to make love to and fuck a woman.

Perhaps because they had been in prison, as if this was their last, sexually intimate experience, they fucked her with wild abandon as if she was a bitch in heat and they were dirty dogs. Yet and alas, even though none of her friends had her wildly satisfying sex life, not everything was about sex. After seeing all of her friends happily married with children, envying them, she decided that she'd like to have a normal life with a good husband, a big house, and two children, a boy and a girl. She decided that she deserved better than being physically, emotionally, and sexually abused by men.

Yet, alas, instead of marrying a good man, she chose to marry a bad man. She married Bob. Perhaps, had she married a different sort of man, her life would have been different than it was now. Perhaps, she'd live in a nice house with a loving husband and two loving children. Perhaps, she'd be attending PTA meetings and driving her children to sporting activities instead of continuing to have sex with men who didn't respect her and who certainly didn't love her.

'Maybe it's time I dated a nice guy instead of a loser,' she thought before leaving Boston for Pennsylvania. 'Yet, where are all the nice guys? I'll never find my Mr. Right in a bar.'

# # #

The only life she knew since a child, she suddenly tired of being bullied, battered, beaten, and abused. John, a customer from the coffeeshop who sat at the same table every morning doing the crossword puzzle in ink in the newspaper always spoke to her. A bit shy and nerdy looking with horn-rimmed glasses, a suit, a white shirt, and a lackluster necktie, he found the courage to ask her out once but she declined his kind offer to dinner and a movie.

Perhaps, he or someone like him would have been the start of her having a normal relationship with a nice, good, kind, and caring man. Yet, interestingly enough, consciously or subconsciously rejecting that way of life, she turned him down for a date. She had never been with a man who didn't have muscles as big as his attitude and John looked as if she could take him in a fight. Nonetheless, tired of the lunacy and the endless drama, she was willing to look in a different direction to find the man of her dreams and to find love.

That morning, instead of allowing her long, lush, blonde hair to flow loosely over her shoulders ala Lady Godiva, instead of looking as if she had just been fucked all night, she tied her hair back with a ribbon.

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