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Most blame others for their demons. We’re all victims one way or another, right? But not me. There’s no one else to blame. I got this way all on my own. I’m the fucking monster in this story.
We’re a cacophony of failures here. Some are worse than others, but we’re all fucking broken. We are the rejects of society, stuck in a broken system all in the name of experimentation.
The voice of irrationality is too loud. That’s the thing about delusions, they’re so fucking believable that discerning reality from fiction is impossible.
I’ve learned to not trust any guy, even the sweet ones. They will burn you just the same in the end.
He’s watching with a kind of morbid fascination for this brilliantly violent girl who’s giving as good as she gets. I know he’s a sick fuck like me. He’s probably hard at the sight of her bloody nose and scraped knuckles. We think in similar depraved ways.
Feelings are toxic to me. Numbness is my preferred state of being. But in the handful of days since she breezed in without any fucks to give, I’ve been more oversensitised than ever. My flimsy control has completely gone already. She’s broken in a way that is plain as day to me, calling out to my own greedy demons. I’ve always loved breaking things, and she’s teetering on the edge of destruction. I want nothing more than to shove her off the precipice and follow her all the way down to the depths of Hell.
I love the way her skin tarnishes, blossoming in shades of black and purple. I’d love to mark her myself.
There’s something fascinating about her pain. I desperately want to hurt her, but something stops me. I can’t be that person with her. It’s not normal.
She looks like a beautiful fucking disaster, one that I can’t wait to see unfold.
I want nothing more than to shove her against the wall and make her feel the pain that I do. I’ll pull her hair, bruise her skin and drag her down into the depths of Hell with me, no matter how much it’ll kill her inside. Life fucking hurts, and I want her to experience it with me. For the first time, I don’t want to be alone. Not one bit.
I recall the way Eli’s eyes tracked over me, his green irises darkening with desire as he pressed on my wound. He was fascinated by my pain. Fuck, I relished that sting, despite it not coming from my own hand.
“Nobody is all good, Brooke. We’re all somewhere on the spectrum of morality, dabbling in shades of grey. There’s no such thing as good and bad. Not really.”
She’s calling out to something inside of me, a layer of my personality that I’ve buried as deep as possible, hoping never to awaken it again.
She snuggles closer to me, almost like she’s comforted by the skeletons in my closet that I’ve just revealed. When I was playing the good guy, she stubbornly pushed me away. But now that I’ve owned my mistakes and shared my darkness with her? She’s cuddling up like a goddamn puppy and bathing in the grief. This girl isn’t right. Not one bit.
But the way she came for me… she’s not the timid, yet surprisingly fiery girl I once knew. This isn’t where they send angels. We’re all fucking devils here.
I wonder if he feels it—this unexplainable bond between us, like kindred souls reunited at last. We’re two lone wolves circling one another, both intrigued and a little afraid. I wonder what that feeling tastes like to him.
The way he looks at me is fucking addictive, like I’m the very oxygen he breathes. My entire world begins and ends with the look of awe that fills his emerald eyes in this exact moment.
There’s something forbidden about screwing amongst the dead buried in this graveyard with blood leaking from both of our arms, evidencing our shared fascination for the art of self-destruction. We’re twin flames destined for oblivion.
I’m utterly fascinated by the sight of Eli’s blood on my skin. Now we’re even, both claimed in crimson by the other. I don’t know what that means for us, but it leaves me feeling giddy.
“She was my fucking girl, and no one was allowed to steal her from me. Not even a stupid bird. After that… I called her blackbird every day. Just to remind her of who exactly she belonged to, and that nothing else was allowed to matter to her. Only me.”
It’s a small price to pay to taste my broken blackbird. Just like when we were kids, I’m fucking addicted all over again. All it took was one hit of her toxic poison to enthral me. One tiny taste, and I’m on my knees just where she left me, broken and begging for another chance. But this time, I won’t be walking away from her. She’s been mine since the day I laid my eyes on her five long years ago. When I get back, I’m gonna make sure she fucking knows it.
Those who battle hardest against it are the ones afraid of what they’ll leave behind. But when you have nothing—nobody to grieve you or notice the chasm you leave behind in the world—there’s nothing terrifying about death. In the end, it’s more appealing than living.
I want to consume her. Devour her soul and keep it locked behind my ribcage where it can’t escape.
I want to see my bruises all over her fucking body. I want to hurt her, see her pain and own her in the most twisted way possible.
He’s a fucking monster… just like me. I can’t resist his darkness.
We’re like two broken shards of glass, smashed and scattered beyond repair. As the pieces mingle together, you can’t tell which bit came from where. It doesn’t even matter anymore. You just have a worthless mess, but it’s still irreplaceable.
We need each other, and there’s no denying that ugly truth. I need his toxic love like a heroin addict needs his next fix.
I will keep this family together, one way or another. If Brooklyn wants to screw with my guys, then there isn’t going to be any special treatment. We’re a fucking family, and families share.
Do you ever stop to think about how the past defines you? Most people don’t. They just shake it off and move on. I’ve never been like that. I can remember every single event that led me right here. Blow by blow, slowly chipping away at my sanity, gradually adding to the expanding mosaic of my fragile mind. Every memory, twisted secret and filthy sin.
