“I can’t tell him no. Some people have a relationship that’s sunshine and roses. Ours is darkness and vengeance.”
“Another pair of cop cars heads over the hill. “You just drive nice, okay?”
“Nicely,” she snaps.
“What?”
“Drive nicely, that’s how you say it. Not drive nice.”
Oh God. Nicely. Correcting my grammar even at gunpoint. I’m so fucking hot for her, I think I might burst into flames.”
“She’s mine to do what I want with, but that also means she’s mine to care for, to protect.”
“This isn’t a fucking fairy tale. I’m not going to turn into a good guy because her cunt is made of velvet and rainbows.”
“I know how it feels when your stomach hurts like it’s trying to eat itself. I know what it’s like to fight with a grown-up and lose.”
“Her eyes flash at me. “Fuck you,” she says. “Are you offering?”
“Act “naturally.” It’s called an adverb, asshole, I think, but I don’t say it. He seems to get perverse pleasure when I correct his grammar.”
“The scary part is, I don’t know what I’ll do if she says no. Let her go? I can’t—she’s mine. But there’s this new thing going on in my head where I’m not sure I can fuck her mouth if she doesn’t want it. I’m not sure I can use the soft palate of her mouth to jerk off. Not sure I can come all over her face unless she tells me it’s okay. A little fucked up, but there it is.”
“She kisses the tip of my cock. Kisses it. Like she’s fucking courting it or something.”
“Because guidelines are made to broken. Like rules. Like people.”
“Everybody would say we’re wrong in everything we’re doing. But we don’t feel wrong to me.”
“We’re together. I’m his.” I don’t realize the truth of it until I actually say it aloud. I’m his. And that makes him mine too, and it’s messed up and beautiful. “I’m his and he’s mine.”
“It’s an answer to the question I should never have asked. You want this, baby? And God, she does. She couldn’t tell me in regular words. Not like yes or please or fuck me. Not my Abby. She has to speak in library words as she gives me the hottest, dirtiest, smartest blowjob on the planet.”
“Is this you giving me advice on how to survive a guy like you? Because that’s a little fucked up, even for you.”
“He won’t ever let me go—not ever.”
“It’s part of a vow we made up: One blade to protect my brothers, one blade for vengeance.”
“But the truth is, whenever I’m around him, I’m ready for him to use me and mount me and fuck me. I’m done fighting it. I want to lose to him. I want him to make me lose.”
“He’s going to kill me. He’s going to rape me. Though just now, with my tongue curling against his, it doesn’t feel like rape. Is this what death will be like? Will he make me want that too?”
“Sometimes, Abigail, you have to punch a fucking hole in your soul to survive.”
“All I can do is go to him and put my hands on him. To speak to him in some twisted language of love that only we two speak, where we hurt each other just to soothe the wounds that follow.”
“It’s like with every passing mile, I am farther and farther away from safety—and farther from myself. From being human. I’m turning into this other type of being, one who jerks off criminals in crappy motel rooms. One who wants to be kissed in a getaway car.”
“All the girls I ever had, fucking one-night stands in some shit bathroom and wherever. It’s nothing compared to—” I gesture in her direction. “That’s black-and-white, and this shit is color. When you find somebody and you know.”
“Most people never have to find out what kind of shit they’re really capable of. Most people don’t have to turn themselves into something they hate just to make sure they can get that next breath.”
“Her gaze finds mine, and something flares in me. Because I would catch her. And the hottest thing is that I think she knows it. Maybe nobody has ever caught her, but I would. I would catch her. I would keep her. Make her mine.”
“Two long years without a woman’s touch. I’d be mad with lust for any woman.”
“But that’s just sex, and I figured out a long time ago not to trust my own body. Stimulation. Physical reaction. It can be anyone rubbing me, fucking me, and as long as they do it the right way, I’ll orgasm. That doesn’t mean I won’t kill them.”
“She’s back, and I’m the devil, breathing in her fire, consuming little bits of her soul.”
“She hated me once, but it’s not hate I see in her eyes now. Not even fear. It’s love. I don’t deserve her love, but I have it anyway. I don’t deserve her at all, but she’s mine. Beautiful, smart. And so fucking strong.”
“I do what I promised I never would: I let her go.”
“When I think about dying, I think about not seeing Grayson anymore. Like I’ve just crossed a border into a country that’s somehow magical and dark and amazing, and I don’t want to miss it now. I don’t want to lose my connection to Grayson.”
“....and I gazed at these forms incomprehensible to me, but which revealed the immortal thoughts of the greatest shatterer of dreams who had ever dwelt on earth.”
“Chronic systemic inflammation plays a key role in more than just age-related diseases. Inflammation contributes to a long list of conditions that you may be dealing with right now. Like asthma, allergies, acne, eczema and other skin conditions, depression, ADHD, and mood swings. Do”
“Reading these stories, it's tempting to think that
the arts to be learned are those of tracking, hunting,
navigating, skills of survival and escape. Even in the
everyday world of the present, an anxiety to survive
manifests itself in cars and clothes for far more rugged
occasions than those at hand, as though to express some
sense of the toughness of things and of readiness to face
them. But the real difficulties, the real arts of survival,
seem to lie in more subtle realms. There, what's called
for is a kind of resilience of the psyche, a readiness to
deal with what comes next. These captives lay out in a
stark and dramatic way what goes on in every life: the
transitions whereby you cease to be who you were. Seldom
is it as dramatic, but nevertheless, something of
this journey between the near and the far goes on in
every life. Sometimes an old photograph, an old friend,
an old letter will remind you that you are not who you
once were, for the person who dwelt among them, valued
this, chose that, wrote thus, no longer exists. Without
noticing it you have traversed a great distance; the
strange has become familiar and the familiar if not
strange at least awkward or uncomfortable, an outgrown
garment. And some people travel far more than
others. There are those who receive as birthright an adequate
or at least unquestioned sense of self and those
who set out to reinvent themselves, for survival or for
satisfaction, and travel far. Some people inherit values
and practices as a house they inhabit; some of us have to
burn down that house, find our own ground, build from scratch, even as a psychological metamorphosis.”
“Yesterday's rain had left a bitter, springlike smell in the air; the vehemence that beat against her in the street and hummed above her had something a little wistful in it tonight, like a plaintive hand-organ tune. All the lovely things in the shop windows, the furs and jewels, roses and orchids, seemed to belong to her as she passed them. Not to have wrapped up and sent home, certainly; where would she put them? But they were hers to live among.”
“Aurora, you’re going to bring attention to yourself,” he scolded in a stern whisper. “We are trying to hide you from them, not give you away.” - Astral”
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