I looked at him like he was an idiot, but he didn’t notice. Or maybe he got it so often, he thought that was how people looked at him.

What I told you before is still true. I want to know that when you're with me, it's because you want to be, not because you have to be.

He hadn’t been peeping intentionally; he’d been trying to sneak into my room. So that was slightly less creepy, I supposed.

No! If you die, I die! You asked me to spend forever with you, and I'm going to!

There was something almost painful about that, the intensity of being so vulnerable and so intimate with him.

It's not my fault everybody wants me

I’m not a bloody cockroach. What’s all this about? What are you trying to find out?