There Are No Saints (Sinners, #1)

by Sophie Lark

just want to tell you that every part of you, the things that bring you pleasure and the things that bring you pain, the parts of yourself you’re most proud of and the parts that seem like your own worst enemy eating you alive from the inside…it all makes up your mind, and your mind is beautiful and perfect, because it’s the only one like it. You are irreplaceable. You are one of a kind. You are art. – Sophie

I’ve had a long and ugly history of people not believing me. Stories twisted, facts changed, people who weren’t what they seemed to be. It really starts to fuck with your sense of reality. Every time someone tells you that you’re wrong, it didn’t happen like you said it happened, it couldn’t, you’re a liar, you’re a child, you don’t understand . . . Each hack of the hatchet takes a chunk out of your confidence, until you don’t even believe yourself anymore.

Because the very act of breathing is rebellious in the eyes of an angry male.

He knows how good I am at spotting irregularities. I’m jumpy, sensitive—tiny details are glaring sirens to me.