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“Je suis désolé, ma soeur,” I say. “Faisons comme si tu n’étais pas une salope. Si cela vous aide à mieux dormir.”
No drug. No fuck. No cheap thrill. Nothing compares to Lennon, and it’s terrifying. She’s heaven and she’s hell. She’s my reward and my punishment. She’ll ruin me again. I know it.
Before therapy, I just thought Claire was a bitch. After therapy, I still think she’s a bitch, but I understand her better now.
“The heart is a lonely hunter with only one desire! To find some lasting comfort in the arms of another's fire.”
“Unforgiving. Difficult to master. You don’t want easy. You don’t want to erase your mistakes. You want to build on them and transform them into something beautiful. You’ve never wanted fine, Lennon. You want watercolors.”
“I’m an addict, Astraea. I don’t know how to do anything small. I feel intensely. I want intensely. I crave intensely. For me, if it’s not a healthy obsession, it’s not love.”
“What is this?” I whisper. “What is this feeling? I feel like I’m drowning. Like I’m suffocating and you’re my oxygen.” He presses his forehead to mine, lips ghosting over my lips as he speaks. “I think it’s love.” I feel him smirk. “You get used to it.” Love. I think it’s love.
“This life. The next life. Every life after that. I will love you in all of them, Lennon Capri. It doesn’t matter who you become or how you change. My soul will always belong to yours.”
