Roses of May (The Collector #2)

by Dot Hutchison

Weirdly enough, I kind of like that, the contradiction and messiness, the awareness that our intentions tend to go fuck themselves and our vices are right there waiting.

After a few years of trying to balance what my body needs against what my emotions insist I need, I’m still not great at it.

Sometimes—mostly only on bad days, anymore—I still eat myself sick at the realization that Chavi isn’t here, she’s not here and it just hurts so fucking much in a way that doesn’t make any sense, because anything that hurts this much should be able to bleed out, should be able to be fixed and it can’t be, so eating Oreos until I’m bloated and cramping and vomiting just gives a way for the pain to make sense.

“You’ve got your own war, don’t you, girl?”

A war needs an enemy, but I’m not sure anyone can sabotage me as well as I do myself.

This was a case to ruin you, to utterly wreck you for the rest of your life because how can people do this?

for sure there are worse but yes this is one of those

“Knowing doesn’t change how you feel once it happens.”

Playing to lose lets me keep playing without any kind of pressure or drama.