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“Nightmares are chemical,” his boyfriend, Adam, had told him once. “Inappropriate adrenaline response to stimulus, possibly related to trauma.” “Talk dirty to me,” Ronan had replied. Here’s what nightmares were: real.
Ronan was beginning to understand that Bryde’s first instinct was always to play with his enemies’ heads. He would fight if he must, but he always preferred having his opponents defeat themselves.
This has always been the way of it; those who take the credit get the credit because, as Ronan Lynch has discovered, when the world shouts, other people listen, whether or not they are right.
“Self-hatred is an expensive hobby paid for by other people,” Bryde said. “Look. Here he is.”
She’d forgotten how she’d been in the middle of one when Declan realized she was a dream. She’d forgotten why she had understood why it would drive him away. No one wanted to be the only man left awake.
Funny how a handful of people loving a song you couldn’t stand could make you feel inhuman.
The forger had to find ones that already existed and slide the story in, making as small an incision in the truth as possible in order to promote unscarred healing to the timeline. Sometimes,
A coworker at Alpine Financial had told Farooq-Lane once that, neurologically, most people saw their future selves as a totally different person, and so treated them with less empathy, like a stranger. High achievers, though, saw their present and future self as one person and accordingly made wiser decisions.
