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“Your grandmother’s fine. She made a deal with the devil to live long enough to annoy the rest of us to death first.
But it’s like my dick has become one of those divining rods, always pointing right at her hidden treasure. It’s obsessed with her.
She says softly, “Oh, Quinn. Not killing yourself wasn’t an act of cowardice. It was an act of courage. It takes so much more bravery to keep living when you’re in pain than it does to give up.”
“I guess I like that they’re written for women. The whole world is made to please the male gaze, but romance novels only care about what we want. What we need. They’re specifically for our pleasure. Some of the stories are great escapist fantasies.”
