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A kiss that was almost a bruise, almost a bite, and how he wanted both—he wanted kissing and bruising and holding and biting. And he wanted to shelter them from the rain and force them to kneel in the mud too, and he didn’t know what it meant or why it was happening or even why they were letting him yank them close.
And I am hopeful and reckless and curious, but I am not stupid
I’m so susceptible to this kind of touch; I bloom like a rose when I’m handled like a weed,
The place claims you, it knows your name and the crooked corners of your heart, and you’ve pledged yourself to it before you’ve even realized what’s happening.
“I hate him because he deserves it. I hate him because once upon a time, I gave him a piece of my heart.” He closes his eyes, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “And then he fed it to the wolves.”
“For a long time, I was the only fat girl in my circle,” she says pensively. “Or even in the circle outside of that one. I started my accounts because I needed to feel like all the parts of myself were real and that they were real all at the same time—that I was well-dressed and interesting and cultured and fat.”
“This would be hotter if Becky had his collar on,” Delphine whispers. Rebecca shushes her.
Her voice is so mild, so unaccusing, and meanwhile my face is flaming so hot under the mask that I think it might catch on fire despite the antioxidant-laden slime.
Delphine wants to whine and kick her feet; she wants to stomp around like Veruca Salt because she wants to be fucked and she wants it now.
