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From childhood's hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw; I could not bring My passions from a common spring.
My New Year’s resolutions are simple: Get my sister back from Jeremiah. Don’t fuck anyone that’s kin to me. And maybe kill my dad if I’m feeling ambitious. Surviving Noctem would be good, too.
“I know a devil when I see one.” “And just how many devils have you met?” I ask her, leaning down close, the blade still against her neck.
I hear her swallow. “Not many,” she admits, “but every time I look in the mirror, there’s one staring back at me.”
when you’re raised with monsters, those with the dullest teeth seem the most angelic.
This is about a girl you can’t love. You can’t love her, and you can’t let her go. I grit my teeth. Because you know Ria is going to die, too.
The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins? The Premature Burial. The premature burial.
He is different. Doesn’t mean he’s good. Will he let her go? Of course not. Not unless I marry her. Coagula.
I don’t know what to tell her, so I don’t say anything, which is as good an answer as any.
“No,” she finally says, and I exhale, although I’m not sure it’s with relief. “No, Maverick. I don’t want to
marry you. You have too many demons.” She laughs quietly.
“I don’t want to see ...
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Romantic comedies never have devils in them.
It’s why they’re so easy for me to watch. I don’t get attached to the good guys.
“Ella,” he whispers in my ear. “Be a good girl.” His breath is soft against my skin, soft and warm. “I’ll take care of you if you’re good, you know that, don’t you?” This isn’t a game. Is this a game? “If you’re not,” he continues, stroking his fingers down the side of my wet face, “if you’re not good for me…” he trails off, and I wonder if he’s going to say anything at all. But then he finishes his sentence. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Don’t be stupid, Sid.” “Jeremiah. You need to leave.” “I’ve called you. I’ve waited outside of your little compound.” He exhales, still holding my face. Still looking at me. He runs his finger over my lips, smirking as I inhale sharply. “You never leave, baby.” My knees feel weak. It’s almost like he’s talking to me. You never leave. Get out while you still can.
“She’s gone,” she finally says, staring at me. “She’s gone, Mavy, and now all you’ve got is me.” “You’re insane.” I push her head into the carpet, pull her panties to the side and shove down my shorts. “You have no respect for me, do you?”
Factum fieri infectum non potest. It is impossible for a deed to be undone.
“Hate me. Hurt me. Heal me,” he says again. “Well, come on, baby. Play God with me.”
I don’t wanna go anywhere you’re not going, even if you take me straight to hell.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
“There’s no difference between love and hate, Mavy. The opposite of those is indifference, and if you could hurt me, if you could like it, I mattered to you. Just like I mattered to her.”
Sometimes you leave the things you love, to keep them safe from just how strong your love can be. Because you love them enough to save them from yourself.
