When She Was Good (Cyrus Haven, #2)

by Michael Robotham

They’re scoffing food like fat kids at a cake convention.

It's more remarkable to read something without some slip of fatphobia these days than not. Sigh.

I called my social worker a fat fuckwit, but I’m not going to tell you that.

My skin crawls. My skin screams. My skin bleeds. Each prick of the needle creates an odd sensation, a mixture of pleasure and pain as the endorphins send signals to my brain.

The needle is my escape and my salvation. The needle turns art into suffering and suffering into art and speaks to nobody except me.

We want to live, but we know we are destined to die. Any other outcome is a self-deception, and the only way to avoid inflicting this fate upon others is to abstain from procreation.”

Not that I think there’s anything wrong with girl-on-girl action, or boy-on-boy, or them-on-them. Whatever rocks your boat.

night without dreams. Luxury.

Tell me about it

I see it coming. I always see it coming. I see it so early that I could duck, but that’s not the point. I feel it connect and the flash of pain. I taste the blood on my lips. “I’m calling the police,” says Davina as she hustles me away. I smile through pink teeth and yell over my shoulder. “Now you’re one of us. Another fucking delinquent.”

We walk to her car, a Mini, which is ridiculous given her size.

Eyeroll

When I let her into the house, she pushes past my legs, running from room to room, looking for Evie. She does that every day, living in hope that Evie might come back and live with me.

Some pictures tell stories that should never be told, not even in whispers.

And he spoke with a slight lisp because he’d lost his front teeth in a motorbike accident and wore a plate, which he took out at night and kept in a glass of water beside his bed. He’d drink the water when he got thirsty, which I thought was disgusting, although I don’t know why.

That IS disgusting lol

“I bet your mother was pretty. I bet you look just like her.” I want to tell her that pretty is bullshit! Pretty is an accident of nature. Pretty is for girls who live next door and fairy stories about magic mirrors or glass slippers. Pretty is for tourist paintings pinned to railing fences and postcards of castles on rocky headlands. Pretty isn’t for the likes of me.

Lord Everett is already a punching bag for the Daily Mail because they consider him to be a bleeding-heart liberal, one step removed from J. K. Rowling.

Oh, they probably like her better now that she's a proud TERF.

“A lot of people do unspeakable things, but a modern liberal democracy should not go down the path of institutionalized killings. This is the United Kingdom, not the Republic of Gilead.”

The three biggest lies in the world are these: it gets better; everything will be OK; and I’m here for you.

One of them told me to take my memories and to lock them in a chest using heavy chains and padlocks, and to drop the chest into the deepest part of the ocean, beneath millions of tons of water.

That would be a terrible therapist