I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC, #2)

by C.M. Stunich

I give in, not because I’m weak, but because I want to be the sort of person who can feel a spectrum of emotions. I don’t want to leave this world with nothing but the brilliant red of rage painted across my soul. I might not be ready for a rainbow just yet, but the deep blue of sadness is something that I know very well. Instead of shoving that down like I always do, I let it out. It consumes me.

“I’ve been through things that people three or four times my age have never seen, that they wouldn’t understand. I’m not saying it makes any of this right, but what in this world is? We all can’t measure up to the same rubric. Every person has a different threshold.”

“Dying is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I’ve a call,” he reads, frowning and then turning back to me.

permission from a place of submission is often just coercion at its finest.

If you have strength in yourself, it’s a blessing to be able to gift it to others. It’s a blessing to stand up and fight.

passion has ruined me. Passion has tainted me. But passion is also the only thing keeping me going right now. Joy, as I’ve said before, is so fragile. Passion, on the other hand, burns like fire and destroys everything in its path. It’s meant to cause destruction; it’s meant to burn.

That’s why love sucks. That’s why I hate it so much. Because it doesn’t matter if I love my dog, or I love Reba, if I loved my sisters, if I love these men. Love is pain. It’s also the impetus of everything. The be-all, end-all.