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I call him the Strawberry Man. In my head, I mean. Because he makes me feel exactly how I feel when I’m craving the fruit I’m allergic to: restless and out of control, breaker of rules and avoider of common sense. I know I’m not supposed to want it but I do anyway.
“Something that’s fresh and beautiful. Something that’s perfect. But then, what about the things that are imperfect? Things that might not be as pretty or as conventional. Things that might be weird, outdated or outcast? They’re not in much demand, are they? They’re not wanted. But I do. I want them. So they don’t feel rejected.”
“It means I’m a masochist, Mr. Edwards. I like the pain. The pain doesn’t scare me. You don’t scare me. And let me tell you another secret – masochists like me? We have really tasty skin. You can eat me up all you want. You can eat me up a hundred different ways. I’m gonna like your teeth and your tongue and I’m gonna fall in love with the sting of it all. You’re my Strawberry Man. At least, that’s what I call you in my head.”
“Something made of moon and magic.”
“No, Violet, I’m not saying that you’re visible. I’m saying that you’re the only thing that a man sees. I’m saying that you’re a thing that drives a man to distraction. You make him forget what’s right and what’s wrong. You’re a thing so terrible and beautiful and fucking breathtaking that he can’t escape you. He can’t think of anything else, not about his job, his responsibilities, his promises, his family, nothing but you. You undo him. You make him helpless. You turn him into an animal who wants to rut. You’re a girl who makes a man go bad.”
“Because you’re my Jailbait.” He presses the pads of his fingers on the apple of my cheek as he continues, “And I’ll destroy anyone who dares to hurt you. All the people who made you feel less and called you names for that kiss. Everyone. You’re not a slut, all right? I won’t let you think you are.”
Love isn’t about asking someone to love you back. It’s about loving. It’s about finding that thing you love and letting it kill you because you’re going to die anyway. And what better way to go than at the hands of someone you love.
“Because I always have. Right from the start. Because you make me feel safe. Protected and warm. And because love isn’t about asking someone to love you back. It’s about… loving. It’s about jumping off a cliff with both arms open wide and hoping that those arms become wings and you can fly. But even if you can’t and you hit the ground and you die, it’s okay. It’s okay because very few people get to die in love. Very few people get to die while doing what they love. Very few people get to be that shiny and luminous and bright and… and brave, you know? And…”
