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That girl’s pretty, I would think. Amelia is so fucking beautiful it makes your chest hurt, it would remind me. Nice smile, I notice. But it doesn’t compare to hers.
She’s…. light. She’s literal sunshine. And it makes a burst of anger shoot through me because I know that for so long, she was with someone who did nothing but dim her.
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“You don’t talk about her,” I warn, my voice low and threatening and so deadly fucking serious. “You don’t look at her. You don’t even think about her. If you do, fucking trust me, I will make what I did to Dylan last night look like a fucking spa treatment. Okay?”
“Is it so hard to believe that I like spending time with you?” Yeah. It kind of is. “You do?” “No,” he deadpans. “I always spend three hours at the gym every single night. And I love the food at Greenies.”
“You’re sweet to me.”
Honest to God, it could do a girl in, watching Nicolas Silva interact with children.
“You don’t fucking get it, do you?”
“Sometimes, I find it hard to look at you,” he murmurs, “because you’re so fucking beautiful I can’t think.”
Yet even now, my brain won’t turn off. Amelia this, Amelia that. Amelia, Amelia, A-fucking-melia, it wouldn’t, it won’t, stop. It’s like the drunker I am, the worse it gets. I keep finding myself thinking about silly shit, like how I need to start buying oat milk because it’s the only kind she likes. And how I should probably start stocking the kitchen with a fuck ton of sugar because she goes through that shit in her coffee like crack. And shampoo, I need to find out what shampoo she uses, and conditioner, so I can keep some in my bathroom. And I truly go down a dark hole when I start
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if sober thoughts are drunken words, God knows what trouble drunken thoughts would cause, and I wasn’t willing to find out amongst the present company.
“You’re gonna fight someone for staring at my ass?” “Querida, I wanna fight people for staring at your face.”
it made me wonder whether Nick gets truly plastered all that often. Because if he does, it’s a wonder he’s garnered that reputation of his—Drunk Nick is a big freaking softie.
“Hey, Pot,” Luna taunts mockingly. “It’s Kettle. You’re black.”
It wasn’t possessive, it was protective, and it took me such a long time to learn the difference that my eyes burned at the recognition.
“Gosto mais de você do que desejo.” “I don’t know what that means.” Nick laughs. “Me neither.”
Pathetic, weak woman with floor-level standards.
Plsssss
He’s dead because of me, I want to yell, and the words cut me like knives, accompanied by vivid memories of a boy who once meant everything to me.
I want to pummel whoever messed her up so bad she can't let me in,
I needn’t have worried about Nick breaking my heart. I did it to myself.
“I need to leave because you are everywhere, all the time, and I can’t fucking think straight. I can’t fucking breathe, Amelia. I can’t stop wanting you and I hate it because you don’t want me.”
Home, I realize. That’s what kissing Nick feels like. Safety and peace and home.
“Fucking ruined me, beautiful girl.”
"If I can't touch you in public, I'm not touching you in private."
I’m not an expert on the matter, God knows that, but if I had to put a name to the goddamn warm, fuzzy feeling constantly plaguing me, I’d call it love.
The three little words are once again perched on the tip of my tongue as I doze on the girl I—fuck it—love, as she combs gently through my hair, her voice a low murmur as to not disturb as she talks into her phone.
too busy gazing at her with fucking stars in my eyes.
Head shaking in disbelief, I can’t help but laugh; not only did she leave, she did a pretty shit job of it.
group of dark blobs
Deceased i love dark blobs
“Fear only has the power you give it,” she whispers, “and I don’t wanna give it any more than I already have.”
“Menace to society,” I repeat thoughtfully, chewing on my lip. “I want that written on my gravestone.”
“There is nothing that you could possibly do to ever deserve anyone putting their hands on you like that. Nothing.”
“You gotta stop thanking me for common decency, meu amor.” It crushes me that she thinks not being left to sob and suffer alone deserves any praise.
“I love you.”
“I love you,”
“Why?
“Why the fuck wouldn’t I?”
“Amelia,”
“I love you. And every reason you’re conjuring up for why you think I don’t only makes me love you more.”
“I love you, Nicolas.”
In a moment that I don’t think I’ll ever forget as long as I live, Nick breaks out in the most breathtaking smile I’ve ever seen. “Thank fucking God.”
Girassóis para o meu raio de sol
I've got a one-track mind that constantly loops back around to my girl. Especially when I'm drunk. Double especially when I'm drinking rum. Fuck, I bet she's forgetting to eat.
You didn't do anything wrong, kiddo. You just fell in love.”
“So everyone really just figured it out? Fucking hell, I feel like a dumbass.” “At least you're pretty,”
Pitbull—my neighbor, not the rapper,
“To finding love in unexpected places,”
“and to finding strength in hard ones,”
The love of my fucking life.
