“Don’t act so fucking surprised. You’ve known from the beginning what kind of men we are,” he mutters angrily. “If you can’t handle that, fine. But we never lied to you about who we are. Unlike you, who’s been lying to yourself about who you are since the day I fucking met you.” It’s like a slap in the face to hear that, and I take a step back, stung. I have enough trouble with the constant war going on in my head, caught between what I want and what I feel like I should want. I remember Ransom telling me that I’m a bad girl, trying too hard to pretend to be good, and it feels more like a
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