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Being a bitch could be a survival technique. They get respect. There was no honor in people thinking you were a slut.
Was he having a hard time entertaining himself without his favorite chew toy? Aww, poor baby.
“You’re a miserable piece of shit, Jared. But then, I guess I’d be miserable, too, if my parents hated me. Your dad left you, and your mom avoids you. But who can blame them, right?”
This is how bullies are made.
“No, we’re practically strangers now.”
I wouldn’t care if you were alive or dead.
“You were my tempest, my thunder cloud, my tree in the downpour. I loved all of those things, and I loved you. But now? You’re a fucking drought. I thought that all the assholes drove German cars, but it turns out that pricks in Mustangs can still leave scars.”
We can be confused about what is good for us but not about what we truly want.
“I wasn’t protecting you,” Jared said matter-of-factly, pinning me with a heated stare. “I was jealous.”
“You were never clingy or a nuisance, Tate. The day you moved in next door I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I fucking loved you.”
This was my oasis. As silly as it sounded, the bathroom should be revered more. It’s the one place where absolute privacy is respected.
Yesterday lasts forever. Tomorrow comes never. Until you.
“The lantern is you, Tate. The light.
“I love you, Tate.” Jared looked at me like I was the most important thing in his world.
What he took from me was honest and pure even if he thought it was all a joke.
