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It has always been better to remain quiet than risk speaking words no one believes.
My name slips off his tongue. It’s not hurried. He takes his time with it, not rushing or shortening it, keeping it in his mouth until the last syllable is spoken.
A therapist I saw for a while said it was the grief. I’m grieving the girl who died in the basement and trying to make amends with the one that remains. I think I’m just tired.
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?
“Nothing bad happens when you’re just starting life, right?
“To fill.”
“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 want to die,” I whisper. “Then don’t.”
“I don’t know how to live either.” “No one does.”
I’d always thought it was beautiful, his grief. A living reminder of a love lost too soon.
“I had to learn how not to live for the trauma and loss. I’m living in spite of it. Don’t let him win.”
Life is loss.
The in-between spaces in time are just us figuring out how to cope with it. Distractions for all the inevitable experiences,
When do parents realize that after a while, we start analyzing them too?
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.
“Coraline.” He whispers my name like a secret. “Breathe for me, Hex. Breathe.”
“Touch him.” The click of the safety on my gun rings in the air, the end of the barrel tapping Easton on his temple. “Make this easy for me.”
He’s the sound goosebumps make when they appear along my arms,
When you hurt, you remember everything so clearly because the pain forces you to.
When you stop hurting, you forget.
Rosemary Donahue deserved someone who would hurt for her for lifetimes.
It’s often forgotten that we weren’t just in a relationship. When she died, I lost my friend.
Turned girls into a commodity. Stripped away their humanity and turned them into nothing but cash cows.
Being angry is easier than being sad.
Maybe somehow, my brain connected his voice to safety, some type of positive feedback loop. When I hear him, I feel lighter. Not this heavy, damaged person weighed down by pain.
Despite the years that had gone by, we’re still held hostage by the same captivating hunger for rebellion, our souls intoxicated for the thrill of what happens at nightfall.
vore kink.
A voice that heals, soothes, and makes my thighs tighten.
Apparently, my pussy is voice activated.
Every bedtime fairy tale, every date with Emmet. I admired
the way you chased love. Now, you just block it out.”
That was before I became unworthy of it, I ...
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I can’t just chase love because I know how fucking bitter the aftertaste is.
Love is a weapon, and I’ve killed too many people with it already.
She’s right though. I ...
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“I wish you could see yourself the way I do. The way others see you.
“You’re kind, and your heart was made to give. You’re fiercely protective, more afraid of hurting others than you ever are of wounding yourself. You are allowed to let love in, Cora. I’m not telling you to fall for him. I’m just asking if the opportunity presents itself, remain open to the possibility. I’m asking you to take a chance at being happy.
My teeth grind together. This is the problem with being silent—everyone assumes your feelings. They build your narrative without facts and spit it out at you like it’s truth, using context clues and bullshit to spin a web so they can understand you.
“Silas, I promise to be your peace when the world provides only war. To
be your secret keeper and safe haven. Today, I vow to be the one person who accepts you for who you are and who you will become.” She glances up at me, holding my gaze as she speaks the last line. “Till death do us part.”
“On this day, I vow to make your rage my own, to weather the storm of your revenge and keep you forever safe. I promise to stand by you. No matter what comes, you will never be alone. Till death do us part.”
I want to fuck my wife, right in this room, and I don’t care who watches. Let them see her spread open on one of these wooden pews. Let the world see how pliable and so fucking good she is for me, with her legs shaking as she begs me to stop making her come, only for me to keep going until she finishes twice more.
However, that isn’t my battle. I won’t force him to cope the way I think he should.
“We’ll live, we’ll remember him, and we’ll be happy because that’s what he wants for us. All he’s ever wanted. It won’t be easy, and there will be days you struggle more than others, but learning to love the memory of someone you’ve lost helps. It just takes time.”
Grief is not an uphill battle. It’s a process that has dips and turns, not just up.
all they wanted was to know me. To know the person their oldest son had chosen to spend his life with.
As much as she wants to deny her attraction, she wants to be a good girl for me more.
Completely, utterly at my mercy, watching her whine and cry for an orgasm she can’t have unless I say so.
“Does this make us even, baby? You letting me use your body? You think I’m gonna let you go after this? That smart mouth of yours is mine to fuck. This cunt will be my breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And when I’m feeling fucking sadistic, I’ll shove my cock in that tight
ass just ’cause I can.” I seethe, my voice a whisper in the darkness. “We’ll never be even,”
