More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Simon says my mother and I are two peas in a pod. “She’s you in twenty-five years, when you give even fewer fucks.” I don’t see it. Mum’s much tougher than I am. And much smarter. And much more confident about her hair.
“Hell’s spells . . .” Mum says, whistling. “You are well and truly fucked, young man.”
And then my father figured out—I’m not sure who told him, Fiona wouldn’t have—that Simon and I were being extremely homosexual together.
You’re all I have left to lose, and eventually I will.
“I want to . . . try. Because—Because I love you, Baz. I love you, and I didn’t think that I could keep you. But if there’s a chance . . . If there’s any chance at all . . . I can’t—I want—I need—”
Snow nods. “Yeah,” he says, “of course.” Like it’s obvious. It isn’t obvious. It has not been obvious. “You never said,” I say. “Haven’t I?” “No.” He frowns. “I thought—I mean . . . I’ve killed so many things for you.”
He’s wearing one of my old football shirts. (Have I manipulated this whole scenario just to see Snow in my Watford shirt? Perhaps. Take it up with the courts.)
Then he pulls back, still smiling. What a ridiculous creature. Happy that I put butter on his sandwich. As if I wouldn’t make the world spin backwards if I thought he’d like it better that way.
I think I might be willing to make him miserable just for the thrill of making it better. That’s fucked up, isn’t it?
I thought maybe Snow didn’t want to share a bed with me because he was afraid I’d bite him in my sleep. But apparently that’s fine! Bloodletting is fine—intimacy is the real taboo!
He drops his hand. “All I really know is that nothing I’ve experienced so far compares to you. Maybe that makes me gay.” He swallows. “Or maybe that just makes me yours.”
“No,” I repeat. “I can touch you less gently, but I won’t love you less kindly.”
Fine, you fucker. Have me. Just have me. Do your worst, you stubborn twat. Be the death of me. You’ll be the death of me.
Anything worth believing in should stand up to some interrogation!” She hits the table again. “Truth doesn’t burn in the sunlight!”
It’s his eyes that I fell in love with. Not their beauty. But the way they see everything. And feel everything. Martin takes the whole world in. That’s a tremendous thing—to be able to hold the world inside of yourself, and still feel compassion for it.
It’s like I dreamed of kissing him in black-and-white, and now I’m kissing him in colour.
“That’s how you’re going to kill your vampire boyfriend, Simon,” Penelope says. “Sandwiches.”
