A Stroke of Midnight

My father had taught me to be nice first, because you can always be mean later, but once you've been mean to someone, they won't believe the nice anymore. So be nice, be nice, until it's time to stop being nice, then destroy them.

Love is too precious to be ashamed of.

A flower may be beautiful all on its own, but a person is never truly beautiful unless someone's eyes show him that he is beautiful.

No name-calling truly bites deep unless, in some dark part of us, we believe it. If we are confident enough then it is just noise.

Some wounds cut us so deep that they stop us. Stop us from letting go, from growing up, from seeing the truth.

I cannot do it. I cannot bear it. I cannot go back to what I was here. I cannot stand at her side and watch another take her. I am not that strong or that good.

You should hit him in the face with frying pans more often," Said Rhys "he seems to like it

The police await us, our men stand in the cold, and you don't like your coat! Such delicate sensibilities for someone who just fucked a stranger on the floor in front of us all!

You cannot die from grief, though it feels like you can. A heart does not actually break, though sometimes you chest aches as if it is breaking. Grief dims with time. It is the way of things. There comes a day when you smile again, and you feel like a traitor. How dare I feel happy. How dare I be glad in a world my father is no more. And then you cry fresh tears, because you do not miss him so much as you once did, and giving up your grief is another kind of death.

The feeling of being trapped, of being helpless against his strength, his lust, and what my body needed was almost overwhelming. My eyes shuttered closed at the effort of not struggling in his harsh grasp. He whispered against my face, and I could not focus enough to see him. “Do you want to ride the storm?” His breath was hot against my skin. His voice promised no gentleness, no compromise. I knew the kind of sex he was offering, and the thought of it tightened things low in my body, drew another small sound from my throat. “Yes,” I whispered, “yes.” The roll of thunder echoed down the hallway, shuddering between the stone walls. The sound seemed to vibrate out of his body and into mine as if my body were a tuning fork struck against the rim of some great metal cup. His voice growled against my skin, with the taste of thunder in it. “Good,” he said and forced me to my knees.

My father had taught me to be nice first, because you can always be mean later, but once you've been mean to someone, they won't believe the nice anymore. So be nice, be nice, until it's time to stop being nice, then destroy them!

Thanks, but I don't drink," she said as she ignored his arm and breezed past him. "I'm just here to get laid.