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His satisfied smile stretches from cheek-to-cheek. Somewhere in some alternate universe, I’m a philosopher writing dissertations on that fucking smile. And its sheer effect on me.
You know Beckett Joyce Cobalt as a principal dancer of an elite ballet company in New York City. His tattoos and extracurricular activities cause a stir for tabloids. But they also fill seats for shows. You call him the bad boy of ballet and he doesn’t bother proving you wrong.
If he weren’t Charlie’s fraternal twin, maybe we’d find common ground. But if there really are sides in my family, Beckett will never be on mine. Fair Warning: if you fuck with Beckett, I won’t hesitate to team up with Charlie and rip you limb-from-limb.
“Mom was crying,” Beckett tells his sister, “and you know, Mom. She says she only sheds tears for the ones she loves. She really felt like shit for not believing you.” “Good,” Jane snaps. Beckett continues, “She also told Dad they needed to cut out their hearts for the betrayal and gift each to you in a glass jar.” Jane tries not to smile. “Encore mieux.” Even better.
“The thing about addiction is that it changes you,” he tells me. “You don’t care about the people you love. All compassion and kindness dissolve in the face of your own wants and needs.”
I never even dreamed about falling in love until I fell in love with him.
“You can hate me for two days, Maximoff, but I’ll love you for a thousand more.”
Hello Mr. Moretti, I’m in need of some oral assistance. Would you be so kind to spread my knees?”
“Tell me something that isn’t new,” I say. “I love you,” he says deeply. “And when you hurt, I hurt.”
“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”
