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Kicks dreamed of a house. Of owning a home with a little fence and maybe a dog.
Kicks wasn’t afraid to die, but he was afraid to give in to the madness he sometimes felt clawing at his edges. Stronger men had been taken down by a lot less, and he knew that there were days he was hanging on by the skin of his teeth. It was really only a matter of time before he cracked—before his threadbare hold broke, and he descended into the darkness. But he wasn’t giving up. At least, not yet.
“A man who has lost the ability to question himself and his own morality is the only true evil left in the world,”
“The only person I ever want to give me advice is someone who continues to actively seek the same for themselves.”
“It’s a series of moments and what we do with them determines our suffering.”
“We blind bros need to stick together.” Kicks rolled his eye. “I’m only halfway there.” “Which is why you’re driving,” Rory said, then laughed like he found his bad joke actually funny.
Maybe he just needed to be himself, because this was the one place he’d found that seemed to mold itself to what everyone else needed. And he didn’t think there was anywhere like it in all the rest of the world.
“But I know that my heart isn’t lying to me. I know that love comes in so many forms, it’s impossible to name them all. And I know that these last beats of my heart have been for you and only you.”
