For You and Only You (You, #4)

by Caroline Kepnes

a whiny Connecticunt kind of voice

not when they already have each other, when they are a “them” in a way that makes you a “you.”

What you and I have is real and intimate by design.

You want to jump over the counter and mount me right here in front of all the upstanding asshole citizens.

This is the part of our life where everything we do, everything we say is loaded with intention, two fucking peacocks that haven’t fucked, that might fuck, that want to be seen as worth fucking.

A.k.a. our love is going to be iconic.

Eyeroll

The Man Who Stares at Pictures of Life Instead of Living It. Glenn

Real love is quiet. A whisper between two people.

We take the terrible things that happened to us, and we pour them into our art.

I KILLED HIM FOR NOTHING.

I did sense the good in him because I didn’t pick up his head and bash it into the cement floor.

I let Ivy League girls get the best of me, I nearly died in the war to find a companion.

“I don’t know that I’d say I’m ‘well adjusted’ when it comes to women…”

Gently, Joseph.

that’s when she started to come around, that’s when she admitted that my book had potential.

And the answer is simple. Because he doesn’t believe in you.

But this is the magic of murder.

I sip my vodka soda and this is why people drink. To convince themselves they are having a good time when they are just trying to avoid solitary confinement.

wretch

Not the right use

We are in the company of a profoundly demented psychopath: Sarah Beth Swallows.

leaving me stuck in the middle of this marriage.

Miss Curly Hair Don’t Care

My dick shrinks and I am no Philip Roth and rejections are meant for email, not old-school fucking landlines and what kind of monster is this woman? What kind of monster goes around killing dreams so close to Christmas? What if I was the type to blow my brains out because some snooty, Choate-educated, Yale-educated woman turned her nose up at my prose, my heart, me.

That was fast

and the fairy-tale trees bend to the will of the wealthy, their bare branches forming a canopy—Hands touching hands—and I take a left onto Causeway Lane.

so far away, doesn’t anybody stay in one place anymore?

prezzie.

Jesus christ

I left them on her kitchen fucking counter.

“a freaking revelation”

“You are slut-shaming my freaking character.”

Eyeroll

He fills his book with patronizing and vaguely misogynist rants about how women always leave him,

meta shit

“Well, what else could I do? The look on your face, you get so needy… It’s passive-aggressive when you make what you want so clear without freaking saying it.

You’re always so disgusted with people. It’s like you wish everyone was dead…” Not true, only some people, only most people.

“The thing is, the people in your book… whatever their names are…” JOY AND DANE. “They’re in a vacuum but they’re not in a vacuum together. They’re not accountable to each other or the reader. It’s like you, the author, can’t decide if either is a reliable narrator and if you can’t decide then how can we decide?

You’re telling us what to think about her, ordering us to love her and pump our fists and shout You go, girl while she fucks every douchebag in the city and we all know how it ends.”

“It’s the way you look at me. You’re my family, Joe. I can do or say anything, and you’ll always be here if I want…”

I pray that you praise Sly’s style, her flair, her genius, and say that this letter kicks Scabies’s ass

‘A calm and modest life brings more happiness than the pursuit of success combined with constant restlessness.’ ”