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We don’t fuck the Darlings because fucking Darlings is what got us into this mess. We don’t fuck the Darlings. We just break them.
“Because I will chase you,” he says, with a sinister bend to his voice. “And you don’t want to know what happens when I catch you.”
“Maybe pause for a second and consider the options—” The sun sinks below the horizon and I yank the door open. “All right. Violence it is.” He follows me up the stairs. I take them two at a time.
“Three, two, one. One, two, three. Better watch out: Peter Pan is going to murder thee.”
“Pretty little Darling whore,” he says. “Trying to pretend she’s bigger than she is.” “Vicious shadow of death,” I say, “trying to pretend like this is all beneath him.”
“Even the mighty oak believes she is strong until a man comes along with an ax to chop her down.” “Is that you then? Do you have an ax?” “All men are born with an ax in their hands, Darling. To take the measure of a man, you just have to pay attention to how he wields it.”
