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I’m sick of fighting. Fighting for my life, fighting for freedom, fighting to be happy. I just want to live.
Eh. What’s life, if not odd moments of peace between staring death in the face and giving it a big, old fuck you.
“I love you. There’s nothing you could say or do to make me change my mind.”
“It’s having one another’s backs,” he retorts. “It’s understanding that, no matter what, someone is always going to be on your side—even if you’re wrong. It’s knowing that you’re not alone. When you grow up not being able to trust anyone, knowing you have three people who will support you in anything you decide…it makes life bearable.”
“You are the sunlight on a dark day, the rainbow when it pours, the lighthouse in a storm. You’re my sunlight. My rainbow. My lighthouse. I was barely alive when I turned up here, but you helped me learn to breathe.
“You’re perfect for me, Little Warrior. We were always meant to be together. You’re mine—not because you belong to me, but because you own every part of me.”
“I love you,” I pant, loving how his eyes soften, and a boyish grin graces his lips. “I love you, baby. You're mine, and I'm yours. That’s the way it's always going to be.”
“You’re entitled to feel whatever you’re feeling,” I assure him. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else’s past is. That doesn’t negate what you experienced, or what you’re feeling with all these new developments recently.
Maybe, if you’re a good girl and don’t touch yourself all night, I’ll let you come when you get home.”
“You keep a knife in your boot?” Cam asks, sounding shocked, having picked up on what I would have classified as one of the least significant things I said, but whatever. “Yeah. Why, where do you keep yours?”
