Losers: Part II (Losers, #2)

by Harley Laroux

Staying out of trouble wasn’t all that simple when trouble simply existed around me and I was caught in the crossfire.

“A sad person knows what another sad person looks like,” I said. I dared to reach out, brushing my fingers along her cheek to tuck a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear. Goosebumps prickled over her arms, and my eyes widened. “I hear it in your voice. I see it in your eyes. I feel it when I look at you. You deserve to be happy, but you’ll never find it with the people you’re choosing.”

if you try to force a plant to grow in a dark room, it will reach for the sun. Even helpless and rooted, with no hope of ever touching the warmth, it will reach because it has to.

Waiting made it sweeter.

I didn’t feel vulnerable because I feared being injured or hurt. I was vulnerable because I’d allowed myself to be.

Shame was just another toy we could play with, not a weapon.

You killed my pussy and then raised it from the dead.” “Mm, zombie pussy,”

“I’m a good driver; I’m just bad at maintenance.”

My fashion sense by the end of junior year had been stuck between “preppy private school” and “freshly-hatched punk,”

“Sometimes, hurt people end up hurting people too.”

My natural state was laziness. I firmly believed humans were meant to spend their days lying in the sun, eating fruit, drinking booze, and fucking.

“I don’t care if you’re wet,” I said. “I don’t care if you’re dirty or clean, or what you’re wearing or not wearing. You’re fucking beautiful and I can’t keep my hands off you.”

Dating had always felt like a drawn out test, where both parties were searching for something wrong in the other. It was awkward and tiring, a constant dance of saying the right thing and acting the right way.

“These damn brats and their terrible communication methods.”

for a man who liked to be called a God, he wasn’t nearly selfish enough.

“This is your life. Your choices. This is you.”

Despite the drama, the pain, and the confusion we humans went through, the world kept on turning anyway. It was reassuring, in a way. No matter how stressful or uncertain things felt, life would go on.

“The right person will change you for the better,” he said. “Sometimes, it’s a temporary change — someone comes into your life for a time and tweaks things a bit before they move on. But sometimes, it’s permanent. Things in your life shift around just right and they fit in like the spot’s been waiting for ‘em.”

It wasn’t luck, it was effort.

“This doesn’t depend on you saying anything. I love you. I’ve loved you. For so long. And I’ll love you, even if you don’t love me back. I’ll love you even if this is the last day I ever see you.”

you were my glimpse of heaven from hell,”

“Okay, hold up — I have to put my dick away for this.”

Art is personal. Sharing it is an act of intimacy; it’s letting someone inside your head. Would you trust most people you meet to come inside your head?”

“Are you okay?” I dreaded that question. Always had. Most people didn’t want an honest answer when they asked. They wanted a convenient answer, something that wouldn’t require them to feel anything or offer any sympathy.

It’s really foolish to think unconditional love even exists because it really doesn’t. Not from family, friends, lovers. Everything has a condition.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, and I groaned. “Can’t you punch me in the gut instead?” I said. “It would be a lot easier to take than…than whatever you’re doing right now.”

“I’m just glad to see you doing it,” he said. “Regardless of who or what it’s for. You’ll figure it out.”

I was afraid of him finally having enough, and walking away.

“You guys don’t even have a red room,” Jess said, sighing dramatically. “What kind of Dominants are you?”

“Hey, be gentle with him. Being forced to listen to nice things about himself is a soft limit.”

“I love you, Jess. Then, now, and always.”