To tell him even when I’m so angry at him I want to scream, I still like him. I always like him—and not the shiny, perfect side of him, either. I like the filth and the sadness and the darkness. I do crave his depravity, because I know it’s inside him whether he has somewhere to put it or not. I love being the place he puts his darkness. I love being the keeper of the secret of who Carter really is.
