I’ll cook the water...
I am alone in the world, and yet not alone enough to make each hour holy. I am lowly in this world, and yet not lowly enough for me to be just a thing to you, dark and shrewd. I want my will and I want to go with my will as it moves towards action.
I couldn’t think of anything to say. I was idiotically entranced by the way he said “Grace.” The tone of it. The way his lips formed the vowels. The timbre of his voice stuck in my head like music.
No, you have to talk first. You wanted to talk. It means you say something and I respond and you talk back again. It’s one of the human race’s most shining achievements. It’s called a conversation.
She attempted to turn again; I held on. I wasn’t holding tight enough to keep her, but she wasn’t pulling hard enough to get away.
I was trying to decide if you still had free will as a wolf. If I was a terrible person for planning to drug my girlfriend and drag her back to my house to keep in the basement.
I remembered the pain as clearly as if I were shifting – the pain of loss. I felt the agony of the single moment that I lost myself. Lost what made me Sam. The part of me that could remember Grace’s name.
Sam reached his hand toward mine and I automatically put my fingers in his. With a guilty little smile he pulled my hand toward his nose and took a sniff and then another one. His smile widened though it was still shy. It was absolutely adorable and my breath got caught somewhere in my throat.
Sharing revelations is easier when it doesn’t matter.
Once upon a time I would’ve leaped at the rare opportunity of curling up with Mom on the couch. But now it sort of felt like too little too late. I had someone else waiting for me.
I didn’t want normal until I didn’t have it anymore.
Grace, who haunted my thoughts when I couldn’t dream.
I was born with these eyes. I was born for this life.
I was suddenly struck by how dissimilar we were. It occurred to me that if Grace and I were objects, she would be an elaborate digital clock, synced up with the World Clock in London with technical perfection, and I’d be a snow globe – shaken memories in a glass ball.
My wolf was a cute guy and he was holding my hand. I could die happy.
I’m trying to make you think I’m a decent person. Telling you I saw you naked while I was another species does not help my case.
We don’t have time to be sad.
I was losing sight of the wolf ahead of me; the one inside me seemed closer all of a sudden.
I wasn’t sure if I was charmed by his reluctance to share a bed with a girl or insulted that, apparently, I wasn’t hot enough for him to charge the mattress like a bull.
My hand aching because grace wasn’t underneath it 3!