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Meet me at the finish line.
“I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.” —Edgar Allan Poe
Trying to reason with love is fucking pointless. It doesn’t care about your reasons, right or wrong. Love has no regard for circumstance, nor does it give a fuck what state it puts you in. It’s a relentless and unforgiving emotion that will never let you lie to yourself.
“I will kill anyone who threatens you. Anyone. I will fucking end them, Cecelia. I won’t think twice, and I won’t lose sleep over it.”
“I read books. Books make you smart.” “Then I’ll read books,” he says, “lots of books. And I’m going to get stronger. And smart, and then nobody can be mean to me ever again.”
Familiar shame chokes me up, and I vow to make enough money someday, so I never have to feel this way again.
Mr. Fucking. Handsome.
Day one, Tobias. Day one. No dead bodies on day one.
“The first time I saw her, she was eleven.” They both turn to me, but I continue typing, not sparing a glance at either one of them. “She was nothing but a little girl, but she was mine to protect from this fucked-up world. Mine to look out for. Mine to care for.” “Tobias,” Cecelia hisses in warning. “She came in later like a fucking wrecking ball and obliterated the image of the little girl I remembered. I claimed her then as mine to have, mine to touch, mine to possess, fucking mine.”
“And so, I would very much appreciate it if you would stop fucking looking at my future as if she may be yours. The answer is no, Greg, she won’t be dining with you.”
“Leave your address, and we’ll send you a save the date.”
“Come back, Greg,” she urges, her gaze lingering on him for ten fucking seconds too long as he makes his way out the door, whistling like a nutjob.
I decide I hate bubbles as much as I hate peas.
“Don’t disrespect women, period. They’re twice as evolved as most men will ever be. Don’t take your shit out on them, either. It’s a sign of weakness, and they aren’t punching bags. They’re a sanctuary, and you need to figure that out quick.”
there are bad men capable of doing bad things, and then there are good men capable of doing bad things for good fucking reasons.”
10/4 Good buddy.
Mother, greet me. Father, keep me.
Tobias: I hate this fucking book, and my calf is pregnant. Beau needs to be neutered.
Tobias runs like his ass is on fire in my kitchen apron, a hot pink ribbon secured around his waist.
It’s fucking wrong that I get you, while my brother rots in the ground.”
I just wish I could give you a better man. My brother was the better man.”
“I know that, Cecelia, but there are no magic words. There are no gestures grand enough or deeds good enough to make up for what I’ve done to him, to you, to Sean. I couldn’t figure out how to work my way around it then to get back to you, and I can’t figure it out now. So, maybe I need you to keep punishing me,” he chokes out. “Maybe it’s the only way I’ll be able to live with myself. I’ll endure it every day for the rest of my fucking life just to be with you. I’ll do anything,” he chokes again, “and we can joke about this situation, but this is truly hell for me. I love you, Cecelia, but it
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“Are you on your sugar pills?”
You’re so fucked. Pack a bag for your ass and kiss it goodbye.
“Don’t you fucking dare!” I boom. “I’d rather you take that fucking Beretta from your purse and shoot my cock!”
“I remember everything, Cecelia. Every word you said, every look you gave me. Your three kinds of laughs, the details of your dreams, the way your nostrils flare when you’re starting to get pissed. The sting of your slaps, the salt in your tears, the fit of your breasts in my hand. The feel of your mouth, the taste of your pussy,” he murmurs, sliding his thumb along my jaw, “so which part do you need me to remind you of?”
“Trésor, I want to Halloweenie with you and Thanksgiving with you, and Christmas with you, but—” I can’t help my giggle. “Halloweenie?” “Yes, with you.” “Hallow-weenie. That’s what you’re saying, right?” “Yes.” The line creases in his forehead. “That’s what I said.” “Tobias, there is no Halloweenie.” “Yes, there is,” he insists. “My mother said it all the time.” I snort. “Tobias, it’s just Halloween.”
“Ma chatte. Mon corps. Ma femme. Mon cœur. Ma vie.” My pussy. My body. My woman. My heart. My life.
“Non. I’m the devil you chose.” “And who am I?” “You’re the angel who constantly stabs me in the ass with my own pitchfork.”
“You fucking monster!” His voice is even when he speaks. “Only when I have to be, and for you, I will be.”
“I’m glad that you loved him, and I’m glad he knew what it felt like to be loved by you before he died, and it’s because of the way you love, Cecelia.”
Mr. Fucking. Handsome.
“You’ve got a horrible fucking tailor.”
And as the black spots fade, I realize fast that someone has sent a JCPenney-dressed Jackie-fucking-Chan-reject for me in small town Virginia.
“You made me a Raven. You gave me my wings, so I took it upon myself to use them.”
“The worst day of our lives was the day we broke your heart.”
“The second worst day of our lives was the day you broke our hearts—”
When one of us falters, when our wings fail us and we lose direction, there’s always another to coast us in.
“I g-guess . . . I guess if you can hear me, save me a place in the passenger seat.”
“I’m tired, Dom, so help me watch over us, okay?”
“I guess what I’m really asking is, can you keep a secret?”
