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There was nowhere I wouldn’t go, nothing I wouldn’t do, if it meant Sadie would stare at me with concern like I was her entire world. Her priority.
In fact, a teacher had once told me, “You’re going to die someday in a violent, terrifying way.” To be fair, I’d made a farting noise with my armpit every time she’d spoken, and had spread a rumor that she shit in the shower. I was thirteen, for sun god’s sake; what else was I supposed to do?
Maybe that was what growing up was? Recognizing that it wouldn’t be all right unless you made it so. That sometimes you couldn’t do what you wanted to, only what you had to.
Remember, hate is obsession, and obsession is the purest form of love. You never move on, and it festers within you until it’s all you know and all you can focus on. It becomes your only hope. But sometimes, it’s not enough, and everything falls apart around you.”
“Then why aren’t you dead?” “Jinx!” Jess and Jala said at once. “It’s rude to ask someone why they aren’t dead. We’ve talked about pretending to be normal,” Jess scolded her younger sister.
He had a knife fixation, rage issues, trauma, and an inability to express his emotions. But didn’t we all?
“It’s hard work being a ho, but someone’s gotta do it.” Aran bowed her head low, just like everyone did to the don. “Thank you for your service, oh impressive skanky one.”
Hours passed, and I watched Aran withdraw deeper into herself, as if sharing her trauma had made it real. No drug was powerful enough to shield her from herself.
“I love you so fucking much it terrifies me. I don’t know how to fucking take care of someone. Don’t know how to be something for anybody. But I want to be someone for you.”
“Don’t be such a man about it.” I huffed over my shoulder as I pushed past him back onto the endless golden carpet. Aran rolled her eyes. “Everyone is so sensitive these days. I only choked him a little. You just can’t do anything anymore. It’s ridiculous.” I nodded in agreement. “I’m worried for the next generation. They’re too soft.” Said generation (four girls ranging from twelve to twenty years old) stared at us with concern as we attempted to race them down the carpet.
