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The closer you got to anything beautiful, the less beautiful it became. Allure was in the mystery, not the appearance.
Three years ago, curious little Erika Fane wanted to play with the boys, so we indulged her, and she betrayed us.
Not that I ever held out hope he would. He wasn’t Michael, of course.
girl you're pathetic
“Toughen up,” he bit out in a whisper as his breath fell across my cheeks. “You’re not a victim, and I’m not your savior. You handled it. End of story.”
“You did well. Did it feel good? To fight back?” I caught the hint of amusement in his tone, and my stomach fluttered. Michael had been right. I wasn’t a victim, and even though the thought of him showing up to save the day would’ve given me some kind of hint as to what he felt about me—if anything—the fact remained that I never wanted to be someone who couldn’t fight their own battles.
“There are too many people that try to change us,” he went on, “and not enough people who want us to be who we really are. Someone once made me see that, and I wanted to give that to you.” I stared up at him, my heart racing but so happy I wanted to cry. He knew. He understood what I wanted more than anything. Freedom. “Own who you are,” he commanded. “And don’t apologize. Do you understand? Own it or it will own you.”
What did I see in him? The answer was so easy, I didn’t even have to think about it. It was the same thing he saw in me all those years ago down in the catacombs. The hunger. The need to break away, the desire to find the one person on the planet who would understand me, the temptation to go after all the things they tell us we can’t have . . . I saw me, and through all the times growing up that I felt alone or like I was searching for something I couldn’t put into words, I didn’t feel so lost when he was around. It was the only time I didn’t feel lost.
I was losing. When she was around, she made everything else small, and all I could see was her.
I hated her. I had to hate her.
see pg 379
“No one fucks with you but us,” he warned with a sinister smile.
Yeah, I’d been to every basketball game he played in high school. No, I couldn’t tell you a single play or what teams they beat. I wasn’t paying attention to that.
this is that limerance shit they talk abt on the internet
“You have money and girls, cars and clothes, but I still have more than you in this little box.”
And the things that were irreplaceable in life were the only things of value.
“He was in love with a woman, they broke up, and he married her sister on a whim.” I looked down, my heart going out to him a little. “And every time I see him he looks just a little worse.” I couldn’t imagine how hard it was to see the woman you loved all the time and not be able to have her, because you married the wrong woman.
foreshadowing is a beautiful thing…
It never escaped my attention how she hid it around my brother, as if it made her less beautiful. No. Our scrapes and bruises, tattoos, scars, smiles, and wrinkles told our stories, and I didn’t want a pristine piece of wallpaper. I wanted her and everything she was.
I still remembered the day she was born. Sixteen years, eleven months, and eighteen days ago. That crisp November morning when my mother let me hold her and then my father immediately took her out of my arms and laid her next to Trevor, who was just a baby then, too. Even at three I understood. She was Trevor’s. And I just sat there, wanting her back, wanting to see the baby, and wanting to be included in the fun, but I didn’t dare approach my father. He would’ve pushed me away.
I walked up to her, wanting to pull her up and take her with us, but when she raised her eyes, meeting mine, I knew I couldn’t. I wouldn’t stop if I did. I wouldn’t be able to give her back.
So many times of needing to be close to her, talk to her, see her smile at me, and now I had her in my arms, I never wanted to let her go.
It’s odd to see how no one is really human to us until we talk to them and realize there’s barely any separation between who we are and who they are.
“You’re threatening us?” Michael’s menacing tone made my stomach flip. “No,” I answered. “That’s what you did to me. I’m simply playing your game.”
I need her. I want her.
from pg 112: the juxtaposition from his previous sentiment is so good
Was all the power I felt pretending like she didn’t exist greater than how fucking good she felt when I had her in my arms? No. Not even close.
“What are you doing to me?” I asked, not really expecting an answer. She was tearing me up, and I wasn’t sure I cared. I just wanted to burn.
He was everything. My entire life, I only felt completely alive when he was close, and while I knew nothing would ever be easy with him, I also knew nothing would ever be good without him, either.
Something crossed his face, a weariness bubbling under the anger and hate he tried so hard to keep on like a mask. There was something playing behind his eyes, a scene or a memory, but I couldn’t figure it out.
a mask he wears bc of his trauma and fear of showing vulnerability
She was everywhere. Always everywhere. Years and years, and there was no shaking her. Every time I closed my eyes she was there. It feels like you. Sixteen and looking at me like I was God. You’re in everything.
