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mean it,” he urged, turning to look at me now. “I can’t lose another person I love.” “You love me?” He nodded sadly as another tear trickled down his cheek. “I love you most of all.”
“You can’t be my sister, Claire.” “Why not?” “Because you can’t have the hots for your sister.”
“I don’t see anyone.” His lips tipped up in the smallest of smiles before he added, “Except for you.”
The present was the safest place for my mind to reside because the
past was horrific and the future terrified me.
My fear rested in my inability to love her the right way. In the potential I had to hurt her beyond repair or recourse. The same way he hurt me.
Lizzie and Hugh’s relationship, along with a lot of her relationships with other friends, had completely unraveled.
Especially when she focused all of her pain on Gerard because of a rumor that involved his stepbrother.
To this day, we were completely oblivious as to the inside details of their breakup because Hugh and Liz could hardly bear to spend more than a few minutes in each other’s company, let alone talk about it.
Some of the best things in life aren’t meant to last forever. That’s why we cherish them when they happen.
We enjoy the moment because we know it’s worth living in.”
“I have it,” Gerard announced, holding a hand up. “They are fucking with feelings!” “Fucking with feelings.”
with age came hormones and trauma that severed ties and fractured friendships. I suppose it was a testament to our friendship group to manage to hold the line when such trials and tribulations attacked our core.
I wanted to be smart like the rest of them. To hand in my homework and not sweat half my body weight out for fear of being called in class to read out loud
It was illegible because I couldn’t fucking spell so it was easier to scribble the words out and make it look so messy that the teachers didn’t call on me.
“Wife stealers are sleazy slimeballs.”
It hurt to be around Lizzie, to be the sole soundboard for her pain.
Our stories were entangled, and while I felt fucking terrible for all she’d been through, it wasn’t my fault.
I had grown weary of taking the abuse. Of being the punching bag for another person’s mistakes.
Lizzie’s cross wasn’t put there by me. I didn’t fucking hurt Caoimhe. She didn’t have any of the facts. She wasn’t there and she didn’t know shit about what went down between them.
I didn’t say anything because what was the point? She wouldn’t believe me anyway. Caoimhe hadn’t.
I desperately wanted to silence her with the truth. About the real reason her sister was dead. About what really happened that night.
Her words were poison, and if she knew my truth and used it against me, I would stop working. I knew I would.
desperate for the kind of affection that I could control.
“Don’t think I can survive without you, though.”
“I was seven years old when you first raped me!”
“I was eleven years old when you finally stopped!”
“Exactly,” Mam agreed. “Do you know how to tell when a teenager’s lying?” “When their lips are moving,”
I swear the mere sight of her caused a swelling sensation to my heart that could be mistaken for medical complications.
