Beautiful Malice

The trouble with words is that no matter how much sense they make in theory, they can’t change what you feel inside.

And when I look into his eyes there’s a feeling of something I can only describe as familiarity, a sense of safety. Like coming home.

Katherine:Anyway, if you're not bad, you can't be good. Robbie:What? You have to be bad to be good? That's stupid. It doesn't make any sense at all. Katherine:No. It doesn't, does it? What I mean was that if you see the bad in yourself, and dislike it, and try not to feel it, then that's good. Nobody's really good through and through. At least I don't think so. Trying to be good, or at least trying not to be bad, is probably as close as we can get. Robbie:Maybe you're right. Katherine:Maybe I am...

True. But your're sad." I sit up. "Am I?" "I don't know. Are you?" "I don't know. Are you?" He laughs. "I am if you are. I'm not if you're not.

Nadie es completamente bueno de pies a cabeza. Al menos yo no lo creo. Intentar ser bueno, o al menos intentar no ser malo, es lo más parecido a ser buenos.

Truth or Dare?" she asks. I hesitate. "Truth," I say finally. "I can imagine one of your dares, and I don’t fancy running down Oxford Street naked tonight." "Truth," Alice says slowly, drawing out the vowel sound as if she’s savouring the word. "Are you sure? Are you sure you can be completely honest?" "I think so. Try me." "Okay" And then she looks at me curiously. "So. Were you glad, deep down? Were you glad to be rid of her? Your perfect sister? Were you secretly glad when she died?" Katherine has moved away from her shattered family to start afresh in Sydney. There she keeps her head down until she is befriended by the charismatic, party-loving Alice, who brings her out of her shell. But there is a dark side to Alice, something seductive yet threatening. And as Katherine learns the truth about Alice, their tangled destinies spiral to an explosive and devastating finale.

Katherine,” he says when we finish. We’re breathing each other’s air and lying side by side, our noses almost touching. “Mick,” I say. “I love your name. It suits you perfectly. Katherine. Katherine. Katherine and Mick.” And when he says my name like that, right next to his, everything is different. I’ve never really liked being called Katherine—all this time, despite what I’ve said, I’ve desperately missed being called Katie. I’ve missed being Katie. But I’m no longer Katie, I’m Katherine—and tonight, for the first time ever, I don’t want to be anyone else.