The one with the tattoos and the look in his eyes that told me he was bad news.

The look that comes with all sorts of warnings.

I knew what I was doing.

I knew by the way he put his hands on me; how he owned me with his forceful touch.

I couldn't say no to him, not that I wanted to. That was then, and it seems like forever ago.

Years later, I've grown up and moved on. But he's still the man I married. Dangerous in ways I don't like to think about. Sexy as sin, he attracts all the wrong kinds of temptations.

The kind that lands a couple like us in the gossip columns.

The kind that's unforgivable.

The kind that splits up marriages.

I did this to myself. I knew better than to love him.

And now I'm fucked.

I married the bad boy from Brooklyn. And I don't know how to survive this.