Beautiful Agony (A Tale Of Savage Love, Part I) Read Online Free PDF

met a guy in a bar and talked to him for hours, and felt like you’d known him since birth, he could be a cold-blooded, psychopathic killer, and there was no sense giving him the key to your identity right off the bat.  With this number, I knew I could use it safely, and this guy, Adam, would never be able to track me down if I decided I did not want to meet with him in person again after our first public outing .   Well, that was if he contacted me back.
    The photo I was providing did not have any indentifying factors in it either, and like I’d said earlier, the email address was brand new .  I did feel a little uncomfortable giving him even half of my real name ( as he’d demanded ) , but I didn’t really see how he could do anything with it.  I wasn’t listed in any phone books, I had no public Facebook or LinkedIn account s , and I pretty much remained anonymous in this c ity of millions.  Besides, those rare times when I had me t someone at a bar that I’d decided to go on a date with, dishing out my name was something I typically couldn’t get around .
    So, now that I had hit reply, pulled up a blank em ail, and attached my picture, w hat next?  What in the hell did I say in re sponse to those cutting, starkly-cruel words of his?  He spoke like he already knew the inner depths of me, as if he’d already somehow mapped out the twiste d and warped pathways o f my secret-most psyche .  But he was nothing more than a stranger who hadn’t even yet see n my face.
    Would he possibly think I was pretty?  ‘ If I like what I see, I’ll respond ,’ he’d said.  Was there really even any thing here for him to like?  I had a very edgy cut to my glossy, dark chestnut hair.  It was shorter in the back than in the front, and on both sides of my face, it tapered at an angle towards my chin.  Once it had been so short, the longest part had barely even met my jawline , and my stylist had trimmed the very back with an electric shaver.  Recently, however, I’d let it grow back out, and it was now only an inch or two shy of brushing my shoulders.  At work, I always kept it straight-ironed so severely, it was as flat and shiny as a sheet of glass.   But a t home, at play, when I went out in search of danger, I liked it tousled and gelled so heavily, it actually looked wet.
    My body was ave rage, I suppose.  Being only 5’2 ”, I always wore 4 or 5 inch stilettos to work. I was extremely thi n, severely svelte , but regardless of how little I ate or how methodically I starved myself, I never lost my heavily- rounded breasts .  Overall, m y figure was carved more by nature than by design , the bones beneath my fine skin leaving me with a defined waistline, cu rved hips with sharp-edges , and slim, tapered legs with tiny feet. While other women in my circle seemed to stay perpetually tan, I preferred to remain as pale as possible, religiously avoiding the sun like the B ubonic P lague.  This left my skin soft as velvet, my face youthful and line-less even though I was nearly three decades old.
    I’d once been told I had the visage of an anime girl, with large, wide-set, heavily lashed eyes, and a very slender nose and pointy chin.  Probably the most interesting thing about me was the color of my eyes.  They were such a deep sky-blue that they appeared purple.  Somewhere between lilacs and bluebells, I guess.  I didn’t think they were anything special, but regardless, they always seemed to captivate my chosen prey.
    Men I used temporarily, for affection, for sex, for a diversion – but never really for any true length of time. No matter who I met or how much I liked him, there always remained this thick, impenetrable wall between us.  It had gotten even more difficult over these past five or six years, though, which was why I’d only had one-night stands the last three times.  And all of this made it even more difficult for me to say why it actually mattered to me so much all of a sudden, whether or