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“What’s going to happen,” he breathes, “is that I’m going to carry you through this door. I’m going to draw out every single moment until you’re exhausted. And I’m going to move so slow that three months ago will feel like yesterday. And tomorrow will feel like today, and no one in this fucking universe will be able to say your name without saying mine.”
My vows. The four personal rules I set for myself, unlike the blacklist that my therapist set for me. No porn. No masturbation. Less compulsivity during sex. And never, ever cheat on Loren Hale.
“I don’t know how to live without you.” And I shake my head quickly as tears pool. “And I don’t want to know how. I don’t want to find out.”
“I will never learn how to live without you. I couldn’t fucking bear it.”
He is as much a part of me as the sun is a part of the sky, as the Earth is to the universe.
Only with my girlfriend do I have to basically negotiate her out of giving me head.
As much as I hate to believe it, he is me—without Lily. Without Ryke or Connor. He’s my future if I drink again.
“We all have secrets; the ones we keep, and the ones that are kept from us.” – PETER PARKER, THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN
“You knew Rose when she was a teenager?” I ask. Connor sets down his empty wine glass. “Since she was fourteen. We both attended the circuit of academic conferences with our schools, Model UN, Beta Club, National Honor’s Society.”
“Because I think she loves you more than she loves sex. And you love her more than you love alcohol, but you two just haven’t let yourselves believe it yet.”
One of my short-term goals is coming true. Rose Calloway is definitely going to be drunk tonight. I’m not as happy about it as I thought I’d be.
The news stations are congregated outside Penn, and the bottom of the screen reads: Fizzle heiress has over fifty sexual partners and counting. Rumored sex addict.
“One day, you're going to have to make a choice. You have to decide what kind of man you want to grow up to be. Whoever that man is, good character or bad, is going to change the world.” – JONATHAN KENT, MAN OF STEEL
I think the six of us—we’re all strong. We’re each just a different kind of strong. But we all have a different kind of weak too. And I’m figuring out how to bottle my weakness to help them all.
“The most important and last item on the list…” He reaches into his suit jacket and reveals a small black box. I don’t look at Lo. My eyes zone in on the case as Jonathan opens the lid, a shiny diamond ring inside. “Congratulations,” Jonathan says, his voice more rough than enthusiastic. “You’re now engaged, and the wedding will be held in a year.”
In this moment, I truly feel like I have a brother. One that’s probably too good for me.
Lo has to read original comics (not all good) and choose which ones he wants to publish for Halway Comics.
And for once, we’re doing something good with our inheritance rather than wasting it away. For two people unwilling to let anyone in, sharing this intimate part of our lives—the nostalgic happiness of comics—has to mean something.
“Sometimes the person we think we’ll become is the person we already are, and the person we truly become is the person we least expect.”
Tears well. Ryke made this elaborate plot, infiltrating our lives, just to cause Lo more pain—to ruin his life because he destroyed his just by simply existing. Why is it that the people you come to love are the ones that seem to hurt you the most?
And then Lo pulls him to his chest, for a hug. Ryke hesitates for a second, and I wonder if he’s going to release his aggression on Lo by punching him. Instead, he fists the back of Lo’s shirt, and they stay like that, with Ryke choking, with his body vibrating in agony and guilt, and Lo clutching tightly, not letting go.
She is my past, my present, my future. So when I open the door and slide into the driver’s seat, I’m not surprised that it feels like I’m returning home.
I pull out a small box from my pocket. Colorful and wrapped in comic book strips. All my nerves seep out of me. I am filled with something else, something warm and pure that makes me never want to leave this moment. “Lily Calloway, will you marry me? For real this time?”
“I confess, that I’d very much like to make love to you.” My heart flips at the last words. We never say make love. We fuck. We screw. We bang. Making love is for the soft-hearted without tar-coated pasts. Lily claims she doesn’t deserve to make love, but I’m determined to change her attitude. “Is it different than fucking?” she asks me with wide eyes. “Very much so.” Frown lines crease her forehead. “How?” “I’ll show you.” Her eyes brighten with possibilities, but she doesn’t insist, doesn’t ask or compel me for more. She waits for me. Just as I asked.
