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But that’s what people think when their loved ones die, isn’t it? They keep thinking it’s only temporary.
Maybe that’s how you get through death, by telling yourself your father will pick up the phone, and that if he doesn’t that he’ll call you back soon, and so in the back of your mind, at the back of your heart, you’re just waiting. Waiting for them to return and for life to go back to normal again. The idea that they’re never coming back is…it’s more than unbearable. It goes against everything you’ve ever known.
done. You can call me Death. And I will call you mine.”
“Never trust the living. Never trust a God. And never trust a redhead.” He glances at me. “I’m afraid you’ve already done all three.”
“You might like it in the end. Oh, you’ll fight me on everything, you’ll hate me with all your fury. But you might love to hate me, and that will make all the difference.”
“Like it or not, you’re mine,” he murmurs, his voice thick and husky and brimming of promise. “But if you choose to like it, you might even love
