“We're all broken, fucked up, in one way or many. None of us are going upstairs when we die. I just…” he trails off, and there's frustration in his gaze and the skin round his beautiful lips is tight. “I just don't want to drag you down too.” He looks away, his face pained, all hard lines and sharp angles. “Hey,” I whisper, my hand coming to cup his chiselled jaw, turning his gaze back to me. “I'm broken too. I've been to Hell, and I'm not sure I ever left. I don’t need angels, or knights in shining armour. And you don’t need a sheltered innocent princess.”
