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632 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 4, 2022




She went to the fridge. It was nearly empty: a box of baking soda, a few slices of American cheese, and a single egg. Payday was Friday, which meant they always did the grocery shopping the following Saturday. I should have taken some of the pizza. Dahlia grabbed the cheese and ate it out of the wrapper, wincing a little at the slick, hammy texture of it as she picked up the Arakelyan & Arakelyan letter.
Because she wanted sex, yes, but she wanted candlelight and romance, too, and sometimes it felt like a girl could only have one or the other. Never both.
The thought of spending her last night of high school in a dark corner somewhere getting Ricky Mabalay off was so depressing that Dahlia suddenly felt as if she might cry.

“There was something devastating about being handled gently by a cruel man. Maybe because it felt so intentional, so excruciatingly deliberate.”
There were rules for victimhood, it seemed, the way that there were rules for everything else, and people really only believed in justice for the privileged, white, and pretty.
“The heroes without hope of redemption are the ones we root hardest for because in our own unshakable faith in romance, we cannot fathom a heart so deep or dark that it cannot be turned.”
“Je veux saigner pour toi, mais tu es si grand et j'ai si peur.”
“It still felt wrong sometimes. Like something she shouldn't want. But other times she'd catch herself looking at the marks he'd left on her skin, pressing them just to feel the shallow echoes of his touch, and something would catch in her throat and in those moments she could almost understand. The lines had been blurred and redrawn so many times that she was sometimes no longer sure where they were until they were wrapped around her throat.”
“This house bleeds memories," he whispered, with his fingers stroking down her cheek, her neck. "There's no fucking escaping it. It's all rotten and gone to shit and I can feel it dying all around me." She felt his sharp nose brush against her scalp, through her hair. "If you're not careful, I'll drag you down with me.”
“It's hard to give up something once you've already decided it's yours. It's like picking up a rock at the beach and seeing it in the light for the first time. Maybe at first, it looks dull and flat. But then you notice that spark, that flare of color. And now that it's in your hand, blazing with fire, you can't bring yourself to throw it away because you're not sure you'll be able to find it again if you lost it. Or if it'll even be the same.”
"I thought you couldn't wait to get rid of me."
"Why the fuck would you think that?" he asked, seeming genuinely surprised.
"Because you're... you're mean."
”Because she could feel this—the bullying—changing her, shaping her, against her will. She began second-guessing every outfit, setting up rules for herself. No midriff, no cleavage, no bare arms or legs. No lipstick. Nothing that would ask for it. She knew, deep down, that the rules wouldn’t help, but couldn’t seem to stop herself from scrabbling for some small amount of control over situation.”(Page, 118).
”Sometimes it took pain to remind yourself you were still alive.”(Page, 108).
”No girl is like other girls,” she said, biting off every word. “Every girl is different. Her own body. Her own mind. They’re not the same.”(Page, 347).
I maaayyyy have died on the spot upon seeing this and I maaayyyy come back to life to read this and be destroyed, after which I maaayyyy continue crying for eternity cause [incoherent OMFG noises] 😭🤩😍🥰😘🖤