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I can’t breathe, ever. Why can’t anyone see that? Can they not see me turning purple? The hands of my mind choking me?
“Life left you empty so that you’d have room to fill it. We are only hollow if we allow ourselves to remain that way.”
“I don’t know how to live either.” “No one does.”
I’ve always believed love is like water, the way it flows between bodies and souls. You can’t stop the flow of it because one pathway is closed off. It just finds another exit.
A whispered language. One he hears when I’m in distress that lets him know how to anchor me. Words that feel like a soothing balm on my skin after years of standing in scorching flames.
Her futile attempts to put distance between us only feed my hunger. Coraline wants me to fear her, as if that lovely, dark thing inside of her is something to run from. She’s the only one who can’t see that it’s a siren’s call.
“You’re my wife, Coraline Hawthorne. If I want to cover myself in the blood of a thousand more men to protect you, I will,” I tell her. “They cannot hurt you without having to answer to me.”
I will bite my tongue and sleep on a bed that sits opposite my seventeen-year-old sister until she goes to college, just so I don’t fall into the one-bed trope. I will prevail.
Silas Hawthorne has a slutty fucking waist. But his hands. Silas’s hands are large, with wide palms and long fingers that move with subtle grace as he makes his coffee.
“Dude,” Sage sighs, as if it’s obvious. “You’re our fourth.” I furrow my brow. “Fourth what?” “You’ve never watched The Craft? 1996 cult classic?” I shake my head, which makes her jaw drop, like I’ve just told her I’ve committed a crime.
“We are all unbelievable circumstances that are complete truth.”
