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My favorite books, love songs, movies, the ones that resonated with me, have kept me grieving long after I turned the last page, the notes faded out, or the credits rolled.
The only love I’ve ever known or craved is the kind that keeps me sick, sick with longing, sick with lust, sick with need, sick with grief. The distorted kind that leaves scars and jaded hearts.
I want him, in the worst fucking way, and I find myself resenting him for the fact that I’m this strung out, while he seems completely at ease.
He’s wrapped up in me constantly when we’re around the guys but leaves me every night with a chaste kiss, his mixed signals driving me up the wall.
He’s not harmless, that much I do know. I don’t know if Sean’s a good guy or a bad guy.
“I mean, the idea of America is great, the execution not so much. But we’re still a young country. There’s still hope for us.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to be a politician.” “Why?” “I’d rather be part of the solution.”
“Help me, baby. The madness finally got me.”
“Honey, I know you,” she nods over her shoulder, “but they don’t. I wouldn’t spend any time trying to convince them otherwise—people only hear what they want to.”
“If there’s a back door into heaven, maybe I’ll find it for you too.”
This girl will be your undoing.
I prefer sober and aware—at least that’s what I try to tell myself.
I feel a bit like an alien in my own skin. That girl, what she did, I don’t even recognize her. I just let two men share me.
I’ve been played. I let them in. I let them use me. I convinced myself it was real. That they cared. I thought it was love. But I was a game to them.
They set me up, lifted me as high as I could fly only to watch me fall.
I played with fire, and now I’m singed beyond recognition.
“Not all love stories have happy endings,”
“You do fucking care. You belong to us.”
