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“When you’ve been lied to by everyone around you, when you have nothing else, you realize the one currency you can carry is truth. So a single word does have meaning. A promise does hold importance. And a pact is worth carrying to the grave.”
His kiss is a demand for more, the sealing of a deal, like some kind of fucked-up reverse fairy tale. This time, I'm not kissing the prince to become the princess, I'm tonguing the villain to guarantee the destruction of others.
“I wish I could take care of us all,” Aaron says, squeezing my hand, his green-gold eyes boring into mine. “I wish I was strong enough.” His expression says that one day, maybe he will be. No matter what that sort of strength costs. No matter if he has to sell his soul to get it.
See, that's the thing with pain. Once it finds you and grabs hold, it doesn't let go easily. It's always there, a demon with reaching claws.
Confucius says dig two graves before embarking on a journey of revenge. But what if that revenge is the only thing keeping you alive? And what if the people you're seeking revenge on deserve it? If Batman had just killed the Joker from the get-go, how many more people would still be alive? Sometimes the bad guys have to die, so if I have to dig two graves, so be it. Better than digging three.
Guilt tastes like ash on my tongue. I'm tasting the remnants of yesterday. But a cherry-red Camaro can't take away the question in your eyes: Who are you? And what have you done to me?
She cannot have you Not when I have yet to taste Passion on your lips
Bad girls like bad boys Sometimes they even love them Not understanding their truth
I’m falling for Victor. Shit, I fell for Victor years ago, and it’s just now coming to bite me in the ass. I’m like one of those idiot heroines in a bully romance who falls for her tormentors.
Vic pauses, snapping his fingers. A good dozen boys appear out of the crowd, ready to fight. “Havoc is bigger than just the five letters in its name,”
They didn’t do those things because they didn’t want to hurt me. They didn’t want to hurt me. They didn’t. Victor Channing punched me in the face between first and second period for saying Bernadette Blackbird was hot. The words from that box come drifting back to me, and my heart begins to pound. Havoc has done worse. They could’ve done worse. They chose not to.
You tormented me I thought you were all demons Were you always there?
“Black vodka and clove cigarettes, now that’s Halloween,” Hael groans in pleasure as Callum breaks out several dark chocolate bars. We each take a square and then toast our shot glasses. “To All Hallows’ Eve,” Vic says as we clink our glasses, down our shots, and enjoy the decadence of the chocolate. He glances over at me and smirks, the expression devilish buried under all that makeup. “To dark pasts, bright futures, and the power of Havoc.” “To Havoc,” I say, and then I light up.
