If she were going to die, I’d already be screaming. I’m a Banshee. That’s what we do.
In the office, Michael sat behind our father’s desk, clicking away at the computer with his right hand, and making notes with his left. Ambidextrous freak.
Most aspects of my training didn’t agree with me. There wasn’t as much bossing around as I’d hoped for, and there was way too much following orders.
But more than any of that, I was thankful for the possibility he’d shown me: that a man really could love a woman enough that he’d do anything to protect her. That’s how much Tod loved Addy. That’s how much I wanted Nash to love me.
I’m saying that I can wait. For now. But when things get back to normal – assuming that ever happens – I want my shot. We can make each other happy, Faythe. I know it. And I’m done walking away from things I want just because they don’t come easily. You’re worth the work.
Can’t clean up after you anymore, baby brother, so don’t punk out. Make it count.
Marc didn’t want to win by default. He wanted to win for real. Forever.
Pain is what I feed from when nothing else will nourish the noxious fury in my heart. It’s what I cling to when everything else – everyone else – slips right between my grasping fingers.
Eastlake High makes Buffy’s hellmouth look like a crack in the sidewalk.
Sorry, but the whole walking corpse epiphany kind of threw me off my game.
Uh, yeah, I do. The scythe was a little tricky at first, but – much like golf – turns out it’s all in the swing.
Because the alternative sucks!
From adult diapers to bedpans? Move over, Elvis, I’m the afterlife of the party!
I’d just stepped out of the kiddie pool and into the deep end, with no floaties. And drowning was not an option.
I could take care of that obstacle for her – I’d tear down anything standing between us – but I couldn’t destroy what I couldn’t even see.
Her mouth was open, as if she wanted to say something, and I wanted to kiss her to show her that sometimes you don’t need words. Sometimes they only get in the way, and you end up talking yourself out of things you need. People you want.
You don’t know me. Don’t ever think you know me. The only things you know about me are the things you made me do, and that illustrates your character, not mine.
Not even if you fed me your firstborn, still wet and screaming.
He was half again my size, but when we embraced, I felt like I was holding him up, and it was all I could do to remain standing. He buried his face in my hair, his body shaking against me with the spasmodic rhythm of unrestrained sobs. It was almost more than I could bear gracefully.
Wonderful, a death match on my first day behind bars. Some girls have all the luck.