Time seemed to still to a halt.
As a teenager, I was fascinated with the prospect of a domineering, handsome, powerful man; like a majority of the teenage girls I knew were. I remembered gossiping with them at lunch about the latest chapter in their novel, or the latest movie that was released, and talking about the influence of a controlling man on a, more or less, submissive or reliant woman.
It had been romanticized for as long as I could remember. Abusive, dominant men who could always overpower the woman—their woman. Being so young, I wasn’t able to decipher how wrong it was. How it was represented on television, and how it was written on paper, made it seem so appealing. The man loved his woman, so he was unhealthily protective over her. At the time, it didn’t seem so much of an is
