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399 pages, Paperback
First published July 16, 2013
"This book is for everyone who has survived. You are not broken. You can love and be loved, despite what may feel like the eternally brutal nature of the world. Even when you're drowning and so far under, there is always time to reach for someone who will teach you how to breathe again."
"I wish he wouldn't look at me, I also wish he'd never stop."
"We both have pasts full of pain and... he emanated survival in the way I want to."
"I could breathe him in forever. I could fall in love forever."
"I went too far with you and I shouldn't have. I'm not really boyfriend material." …
"Did you ever consider that I'm not girlfriend material?"…
"Yes, you are. You're outstanding girlfriend material. I'm the one who's all kinds of fucked up. Trust me."
This isn't about sex or lust. It's about closeness, and safety…
"You'll stay?"
"Always," he says.
"I want more than anything for the power of us together to be stronger than the power of the damage. If I still believed in God, in anything, I would be praying."
"This is all sorts of fucked up."
"I know, baby. I know. But the best kind of fucked up."
"What are you doing?"
"Loving you," he says simply. "If you'll let me."
"Always. God, always."
One thing has become crystal clear to me overnight: I have never felt as close to anyone as I do to Chris. It is not from the amount of time we've spent together, but from the strength of the unquestionable bond we share.
I am hit with the enormity of the impact that this family is having in my life. They, and mostly Chris, are saving me. Or teaching me to save myself.
Other people have problems and haunted pasts, just as I do. I am not alone.More than anyone else, Chris is able to break down some of Blythe’s barriers. Get her to open up in a way she hasn’t since her parents died.
‘Being with you let me feel, feel everything, and I needed that. I remembered better with you, I healed better with you, and you made... you made everything real.’ I stop. Now I really understand.
I am going to fight with everything that I am to save him and to save us, but I won’t be able to do it alone.
‘We’re like... puzzle pieces that fit together.’
‘I love you simply because I do. And that’s it. That’s the only goddamn thing that matters. I love every single part of you.’
When we are together, the world gets sharper, the past becomes unobstructed, and...the floodgates open.
"Some people believe in God; I believe in Chris."
—Blythe, page 127
I can't be your boyfriend Blythe. I'm not boyfriend material.
I never said I wanted you to be my boyfriend. NOW GET THAT COCK INSIDE OF ME!
I can feel my orgasm start, and the sensation is so intense that it's nearly enough to make me cry. I let it wash over me while I writhe against him like I'm never going to see him again.
[..]
And then I realize what has happened between us tonight.
We just fell in love.
—Pages 244-245
Seriously, my dear sister, what's with all the travel-size liquor bottles?"
"So what? I had an impulse purchase at the liquor store. You're driving, I thought I'd have a drink." I pour the mini gin into my half-empty bottle of lukewarm tonic water and take a straw from my purse. [..] "What I'm doing is illegal and stupid. So don't ever drink in a car."
"I don't plan to."
"And you shouldn't be driving with a passenger who is drinking."
"I know that!"
—Page 298
"I can do a half marathon, but not a whole fucking one. [..] Don't tell anyone. It's embarrassing."
—Blythe, page 312
I've read countless literary works that detail the longing and ache that characters have for someone they love, and over time, I have developed a strong belief that it's just dramatic bullshit meant to entice readers. Today, however, I understand that it's not bullshit. It's very strange the way my stomach and chest are tight and fluttery and how his presence is so entirely magnetic.~Blythe
“So continues my endless search for physical feeling, sensation. Anything.
“Not that I would classify myself as depressed. Sure, I have numerous depressive symptoms, but I think that I have a good reason… I think back to my psych textbook and grimace as I think how clearly my symptoms match up to the clinical definition. Fine, fine. I’m depressed. There, I said it.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why I haven’t gone to bed yet? Given our close relationship, I’d think that my whereabouts would be an extremely pressing issue here. Your curiously should be driving you insane. Was Sabin at an all-night karaoke amusement park? Was he abducted by alien cowboy ghosts?
For no discernible reason, it feels unfathomable not to tell him. “My parents are dead.”
“So, I guess that it’s fucking cream of turnip soup, cabbage, and soda bread for you two.”
“Seriously, Estelle, enough with the swearing. I can cuss up a storm, but you’re my little sister and I can’t take it.”
“There is no God. Not for us.
“…are punishment for masturbating. For masturbating a lot. I think that I may have an addiction. A sex maniac beast has awoke and I am a horny mess nearly all the time.”
“Every time that he laughs at a line from the play or mutters to himself—or for Christ’s sake, sniffs—I practically shudder with lust.”
“Chris and I are inextricably connected Do I have factual reasons to know this? Proof? Assurances? No. None.
"Some people believe in God; I believe in Chris.
“We’ll make it to that finish line, won’t we, Blythe?”
“Always.”