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“Oh no . . . the tent,” I whisper. “We can’t damage the tent—it’s Michael’s.” “I’ll buy the poor prick a camper. This is fucking intolerable,” he splutters.
And I know that nothing could bring me undone . . . except her. She’s my only weakness. And weakness is something that I can’t afford to have.
“Go to hell,” I spit. His haunted eyes hold mine. “I’m already there.”
“You’re just not brave enough to love me.”
What kind of psycho rips roses to shreds with her bare hands while screaming like a lunatic? Shame runs through me.
“Being in love is like being on a deserted island, Jameson. You focus on them and them only, and you make everything else fit around that person.”
