More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
As a child, I got used to silence. The kind found in sleepy hospital rooms, hidden between the dull, intermittent beeping of an electric monitor and the steady drip of an IV bag. With each interruption, nurses entering to draw blood or family members coming to offer false moral support, my body craved the void. I fell in love with the innate stillness of it—the calm it provides, the secrets you can wedge into its depths. Learned to seek it out in times of chaos, a force to ground myself in. Eventually, it became a necessity. The most difficult addiction to curb. An obsession. A… condition.
Love this
Dysfunctional.
Where the violence coded into my DNA could be satisfied, the parts of me aching for death and destruction sated.
I learned I quite enjoy the taste of brutality on my tongue. Love the way it blossoms like a flower springing from the earth, igniting a compulsion like no other.
There’s something magical in the act of holding another’s life in your hands. A kind of symmetry found in nature, where you’re given the opportunity to bring beasts to grisly fates or heal them instead.
‘I’m not like the boys from your little private schools. I’ll ruin you and not think twice about it.’ ‘So ruin me,’ I’d said, so confident in my ability to withstand it. Now, I can’t stop wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.
