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I refuse to live for a second longer than I’m made to.
there’s something attractive about someone defending you, even when you don’t need the help.
We’re all victims one way or another, right? But not me. There’s no one else to blame. I got this way all on my own. I’m the fucking monster in this story.
She’s a ball of anger and hatred. It’s making me sick to my stomach. Too many feelings, too many tastes.
This must be what winning feels like. More drugs? Yes, Doctor.
His skilled mouth almost makes his unbearable personality worth it. Almost.
All I wanted to do was lean in and lick the blood from her bruised knuckles, then fuck her so hard she wouldn’t be able to walk straight for a week.
Why am I such an asshole? Using people isn’t cool. I know that, yet I can’t seem to help myself.
I’m not ashamed to admit that his heartbreak thrills me. Tyler’s a good fuck, but screwing him over is even better.
Sure, I fuck like a degenerate and disregard any sign of commitment or emotional attachment. Still, it’s better than heroin, right?
Godfuckingdammit, he’s cute in a misunderstood, emo sort of way that makes my thighs clench.
Sometimes being alive is fun, but only occasionally.
She’s muttering to herself, probably cursing with that potty mouth of hers. It’s fucking hot if you ask me. I’d love to make her cuss and scream myself.
I know he’s a sick fuck like me. He’s probably hard at the sight of her bloody nose and scraped knuckles. We think in similar depraved ways.
Truly, I envy people that can simply move on, like it’s so fucking easy to do. Everyone should hurt as much as me. Everyone should suffer like I do.
I can see the appeal of violence now.
It used to be drugs, back when I lived in London. But in my sobriety, I have to rely on sex instead.
“Does it hurt, baby? Your chest burning? Eyesight swimming? Good. I want you to fucking hurt, you little whore,”
I own her right now. Her breath. Her mind. Her pussy. It’s all mine. My fucking property. Mine to destroy as I please.
She may be a monster, but she’s my fucking monster. I decide whether she’s guilty or not.
I want to steal some of her sadness for myself, lock it away for safekeeping and relish the power I hold over her rotten heart.
I’m not much of a fighter, never have been. But fuck me, there’s something good about breaking an asshole’s nose.
I don’t see the punch coming. I’m a fool.
I’ll catch all the tears he needs to shed.
I silently plead for mercy. Whether for death or salvation, I don’t know.
Broken people always band together, hoping to find the missing pieces of themselves in someone else.
“Delicious. Nothing quite like the taste of the insane.”
I may as well be dead. Perhaps, I already am. I should’ve known I’d go to hell.
Homemade shanks, knives, even loose bricks. Every creative weapon imaginable. We’re armed like savages and more than angry enough.
“I’ll kill them all, princess, and bring you their heads on fucking stakes.”
“I love your infuriating, crazy ass. I’ll kill you myself before letting anyone steal your attention from our family. Strangle you until you’re blue and make you watch as I break that son of a bitch’s neck. Maybe I’ll even fuck you next to his cold, dead corpse.”
I want to see the bloodthirst and rage swimming in her eyes.
We love the bones of you.”
It’s a brief second of panting before they break into raucous laughter. Once again, we find ourselves in another morally fucked situation.
Real life is a cruel motherfucker.
We belong together, in this world and the next. Where you go, I go.”
“There’s no way out of this, blackbird. The Devil wouldn’t dare challenge my claim on your soul. Hell will spit you out and back into my arms, where you fucking belong.”
Fuck the moral high ground. Never leave a job unfinished.
“You love me. Real or not real?”
I picture her in my head, cradling the receiver in her hands like a precious lifeline. My grip on the phone increases. If I squeeze tightly enough, it’ll be like she’s sitting here holding my hand again.
I’d take Eli’s rage above main-lining heroin any day of the week and be entirely satisfied with my choice. He’s a far better method of self-destruction.
