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No one tries to speak to me, not during classes or meals. I think they are trying to make me feel shitty enough to leave, but little do they know I am enjoying the quiet.
He smirks and waves an arm at me, like a king entertaining the petty whims of a peasant. I want to punch him. In the dick.
“If you're willing to do that for your enemy, then what you do for your friends must be really special.”
My skin itches and crawls with irritation and I’m going to have to throat punch someone to calm the fuck down.
Sweet lord. Jesus have mercy. Fuck me, my soul has left my body. They’re some damn good nipples.
“You’ll need to come up with better insults than that. The guy sings like a fucking audible orgasm.”
Again, I adore this girl so fiercely I wish I were a lesbian and I could lock this shit down. Alas, I like dick.
No one fucking cares that your dear old daddy is scum. I don’t, Ash and Harley don’t, and, if she were honest, Lips would tell you to tuck your vagina back into your jeans and get over it.”
It's only in the black light that you can see the ink that covers me. The skeletal structure I've had tattooed to my skin, the jaw opening wide etched in my cheeks with vicious teeth. Every inch of my body is covered in the whorls and arches that imitate the pelt. The black light shows that underneath the human facade I wear the truth of who I am. The Wolf.
think I’ve lost the filing cabinet. I think the office is closed for maintenance. I hope they repaint.
“I'm weird. I wear guys’ shirts and sweaters with booty shorts and skirts. I listen to the same three albums on repeat. I like French toast, coffee, and cherry anything. I don't function my birthday or Christmas. I can kill a grown man eight different ways with nothing but my bare hands. I’m never going to be normal.”
That is the best, worst idea ever and you know what? I'm all fucking in.
Harley groans and curses at the ceiling. “Mounty, is there any fucking chance you could stop attracting psychos and serial killers for five fucking minutes while we dig our way out of the mountain of shit we’re already in?”
She blinks at me, then turns on me with vicious intent only to falter as Blaise says, “There you are, Star. I’ve been summoned to rescue you from the cougar. Harley’s afraid you’ll catch the clap from sitting too close to her.”
He laughs. “Kid, I live for this shit. I even got to torture the last guy. I julienned him as if I were a sous chef and he was nothing but a fucking carrot. I’ll send you the tape, looks fucking sick.”
“What the fuck is a study of peas? They’re vegetables; they can’t go to fucking college!”
He’d have to admit he was wrong about lying to your mother and men usually have the emotional range of a fork.”
He watches me closely and then holds out his arms. Holy shit, he wants a hug? “Poe taught me sisters need hugs,” he grumbles, and I step into his arms.
Well, fuck me. Fuck me sideways and eight times on a Sunday, what the hell does that mean?
