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She said I needed to crave the blood, welcome the pain, and harness the fear. After four weeks, I did none of those things. At best, I ignored the blood, took over-the-counter meds for the pain, and hid the fear from her.
We kissed without urgency. We kissed like it was our language.
“I missed you,” he said. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t desperate. It was … life. I paused at the top of the stairs. “Jericho missed you too. But … not as much as I did.”
Livy sat on the back step looking like the life I would never have,
“Oops …” He grabbed my wrist to look at my watch as he stood. “Ten-oh-five. My bad. Please tell your dad it was my fault.”
He had one goal … to prove he had more influence over my actions than my dad.
I had this feeling … a terrible unexplainable feeling that he wasn’t simply going to break my heart, he was going to shatter it beyond repair. And I would live my life as a jaded lover who would never trust another man again.
Smart women saved a part of their hearts—like if even a small part were left intact, it could grow a full heart again. One cell at a time. Nope. I let the whole fucking organ dive off the cliff, which meant he would leave me heartless and broken.
“Fuck … I’ve met my match,”
“Raisins are not even close to chocolate chips. You can’t sneak those little fuckers in food without warning people.”
