In ‘93, I met a bitch in a motel room and beat her with a discarded strip of wiring insulation I’d picked up off the ground somewhere. The next morning, we snuggled and admired both her stripes and the .357 she’d brought with her, just in case I’d turned out to be something other than her preferred brand of crazy. Silly thing followed me home after that, and never left.
Finding a girl who’s willing to be hurt and used is trivial; society cranks them out at a tremendous pace. The tricky part is finding one you can trust.