The one with thick, dark, raven hair that hangs down my back.
My eyes, the shape of almonds, the color of honey.
My body. Virtuous, lithe, lean. Mine for the keeping. His, or so he thinks, for the taking.
This isn't the story of a girl who falls in love with her captor.
This is my story. The truth of what it means to be a victim.
To tell you what it feels like to be degraded, demeaned, to be sexually abused until you're on the brink of suicide.
It's not glamorous. It's not fucking sexy. There's no romantic gratification. My captor is not a love interest, and anyone who thinks he is, is just as fucked up as him.
The only way this story has a happy ending, is if he's dead.
This is my story of survival, and if I don't get out of it alive, I'll at least die trying.
Tessa is a twenty-something book junkie who's also obsessed with sports. She's a research analyst by day, writer by night, and married to her best friend for over a decade. If she's not writing, you can probably find her curled up with her Kindle and a glass of wine or cheering on the Reds, Bengals, and Buckeyes!