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It was hard for me to adapt to change; I was terrified of strangers. I’m not timid, but I’m reserved about my private life,
I didn’t understand what pleasure a person could take in inhaling carcinogenic smoke that left a nasty scent on your hair and clothes and was also bad for like a thousand organs.
Anything else and I’d start screaming like a banshee. I knew I was short-fused. One of the things I hated most about myself was my lack of self-control when I got angry, the way I could so easily raise my voice and turn to insults.
I wanted to shove all those glasses of champagne onto the ground and watch them break.
she didn’t get weak in the knees when she looked at me, she didn’t back down when I challenged her, no—she’d answer back, and her reactions were fiercer than mine.
I hardly knew him, and already, he was unearthing things I never let anyone see.
his chest was warm and comforting, and even though I felt frozen, somewhere deep inside me, a small fire had started to burn.
unable to ignore the electricity that crackled every time we were together.
Were we never going to get along? “You’re unbearable, you know it?” I hissed.
He hadn’t tried anything with me since he’d touched me in the kitchen that time I had almost cut my finger, and a part of me was bitter over it. The only time my life felt good in LA was when I was in his arms. He made me forget everything else. But I knew it was better for us to get along than to be constantly shifting between making out and hating each other to death, which was the way things had been before.
He was fire, and I didn’t want to get burned.
She was perfect…and I was falling in love like an idiot.