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“I think you care very little,” she goes on, “because you think that keeps you safe. If you care for very little, you have very little to lose.” A knot forms between my shoulder blades, making me shift again. “But you know what?” Smee says. “Caring for so little means that when you actually do care, losing it has a much higher cost.”
I’m no artist, but I’m an expert at violence and I will paint a fucking masterpiece with your blood.”
“I can feel it,” he says, a soft utterance, a quiet secret. “Feel what?” “Your love,” he says. “In my chest.” He kisses my cheek, lingering close. “I can feel your love like a million golden stars in the endless abyss that is me.”
“You’ve changed,” I call out. I’ve grown soft. He’s grown soft. What is this world coming to? “I like it!” I yell at him. “Fuck off.”
Apparently us Darlings have a thing for morally grey assholes with rock-hard abs and cunning good looks.
“Yes, but time means nothing to heartbreak.”
She’s the brightest shining light in the dark. The second star on the right.
