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What I see is that Kat is living in a fantasy land where A.J. Edwards is a gentleman, and not Lord Voldemort disguised as an enormous, tattooed musician.
“I can see why you’re so upset,” says Jamie. “That is dire.” “Shut up.” “I mean, a princess who doesn’t know a dick if it hits her in the face, well . . . that’s just tragic. What would she think it is, do you suppose? A random flying sausage?”
He used to say that the most beautiful creatures are always the most dangerous.”
“Idi spat, laskovaya moya. Spat.”
Idi spat, laskovaya moya. Ghostly and indistinct, the strange words appear in my mind like a warm breath blown on a cold pane of glass. I don’t know what they mean, but I do know that the tone they were spoken in was anything but angry. The tone was tender. Almost . . . loving.
“It’s like coming home to your own brightly lit house after wandering alone for years in the unwelcome dark.”
“Because you have a smile like a sunrise and eyes that could end all wars, and you have no idea, you have no fucking clue, that when you look at me, you’re looking at a dead man.”
Sometimes what looks like perfection is nothing more than a chocolate-dipped turd. And sometimes what you find in the gutter covered in mud that looks like a turd is really a diamond. A big old, chunky diamond that some other fool threw out because she couldn’t see that all it needed was a little TLC to make it shine.”
My hormones graduate from kindergarten and go straight to college, where they throw a toga party of epic proportions and burn down the dorm.
There are moments that brand you. There are moments that alter you, that you recognize, even as they’re happening, will leave you different afterward than you were before. It’s these life-changing moments that make you who you are, more so than the family you were born into or all the experiences you had leading up to them. For better or for worse, once you’ve lived through such a moment, you can never go back.
Faith is being sure of what we hope for, and certain of what we do not see.
“W-what happened to one week? What happened to our deal?” He takes my face in his hands. “What happened is that I told you all the worst shit I’ve ever done, and you told me you belonged to me. You told me you loved me. Love,” he corrects himself, “present tense. I’m not letting you go, Chloe. You belong to me, and I won’t spend another day without you. I can’t live without you, don’t you see? Without you I might as well be dead.”
“Of course I like water. Especially when it’s frozen into little cubes and completely surrounded by vodka. Good-bye.”
“Vy byli pravy. Ya lyublyu yeye.” As if she’s kicked me in the stomach, all the wind is knocked from my lungs. This is no ordinary hooker. This hooker speaks Russian.
“We watched this movie together once, Moulin Rouge!. There’s this part where someone sings something like ‘Suddenly my life doesn’t seem such a waste,’ and he turned to me and said, ‘That’s it. That’s how I feel about her.’
