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“Don’t you know that you can have anything you want?” His eyes searched mine. “I’ll hurt anyone for you.”
“I think he meant that we change, and she would, too. It’s not that she’s growing up. It’s that she’ll outgrow him, and he’s scared.”
“He loves the idea of her,” he finally told Townsend, sounding finite. “When she eventually faded from him, the dream of her would still be there, haunting him. That’s what he meant.”
You broke my life.
“Abuse can feel like love.”
“Starving people will eat anything.”
he was primed to relapse again. Like an addict. Like a disease.
“Always following,” I taunted him. “Never the leader, and always latching on to anyone who loves you.”
“Real monsters don’t wear masks, William Grayson III,” I retorted. “They look like everyone else.”
I guess I understood people letting themselves be used, even for just a night if it meant not being alone for once.
New people. And that’s what scared me the most. People change us. Others become important, while others become less, and soon, we’d be gone.
I liked someone needing me.
He loved to love. He loved to be happy. He’d wanted to make me happy once.
“That’s the thing about broken people, Guillaume. If we ever give you our heart, then you know that you deserve it.”
Because when people know what you love, they know your weakness, and I didn’t trust
“There were people who loved me, and I wasted time on someone who didn’t.”
“Did you grow up with an addict?” he asked. “Why?” He shrugged. “I can usually spot liars fairly easily. They keep their explanations vague, fidget, break eye contact . . . You’ve had practice.”
“Who was the addict in your family?”
“He did not happen to you, Emory. You expected it. It was supposed to happen. It was all part of the plan. You knew it was coming.”
“Forced to make a choice, he won’t choose you,” he told her. “You’ll have to look out for yourself. Get used to it.”
The weight had crushed that spark, and I couldn’t muster the energy to even try anymore.
There were always two sides to a story, and everything was just a matter of perspective.
“I could never figure out why he hated me so much,” she continued. “Like, where did the anger come from, you know?
You smile and laugh, not just because your head and everything in it feels lighter, but because when you’re drunk or high, it’s like a vacation.
All she did was think that night. She overthought everything.
I needed to like myself as much as I loved him.
“Live for your love,” the judge said, “love your life, and raise hell.”
I
