Eric was holding my hands, and I was digging my nails into him like we were doing something else. He won't mind, I though, as I realized I'd drawn blood. And sure enough, he didn't. "Let go," he advised me, and I loosened my grip on his hands. "No, not of me," he said smiling. "You can hold on to me as long as you want.

It was time to pull my moral socks up and behave myself.

I thought about making biscuits, but there seemed to be more than enough calories on board.

I often cried when I got angry; I hated that. Crying just made you look weak, no matter what triggered it.

Sometimes you just have to regret things and move on.

If Hunter hadn't been there, I would've picked up the phone to call Eric. I would've asked him to bring a shovel and come to help me dig a body up. That was what a boyfriend should do, right? But I couldn't leave Hunter alone in the house, and I would've felt terrible if I'd ask Eric to go out in the woods by himself, even though I knew he wouldn't think anything about it. In fact, probably he'd have sent Pam.

There's not much I dislike more than being addressed as "Hey you" and being poked with a finger.