Iris Kelly Doesn't Date (Bright Falls, #3)

by Ashley Herring Blake

Her anxiety would flare, and she’d spend the next week convinced her friends hated her, she’d die alone and miserable, and wasn’t worth a damn to anyone. Then, when said friend or family member eventually got ahold of her to tell her that, no, of course they didn’t hate her, why in the world would she think that, her anxiety would crest once again, convincing her that she was terrible at understanding people and could never trust her own brain to make heads or tails of any social situation.

umbrellaed

I don't know if I have ever seen this word spelled out...

“Anxiety definitely has a lot to do with it, but it’s hard to tell if it’s from my disorder or if it’s just me, or what. It’s not always easy to separate myself from my illness, or to even understand if I should separate myself at all? Like, what is my personality and what is my anxiety? Or are they the same thing? It’s confusing sometimes.”

HEA

Nobody would say this out loud like this

She sounded like an asthmatic hippo right now, her breathing tight and raspy.

Quite a sentence

“It’s July now, but read queer all year, right?”

“I cry over a book at least once a week.”

“I’m just a girl standing in front of another girl, asking her to fuck her senseless.”

“What’s your favorite flower?” Iris asked. Stevie gazed at all the irises. “Tulips. Yellow ones.” “Why?” Stevie shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re simple, but strong, you know? Like, their petals are really thick and sturdy. I like that, withstanding wind and weather.”