I whisper and you close your eyes. I speak and you turn away. If I scream, will you finally hear me beg you to hold me close to you, promise you'll never let go?

Do you know how beautiful you are?' I shook my head 'I'm not. But you make me fell like I am.' I wanted to be beautiful. To him. For him. I didn't care how anybody else saw me. Only Ethan.

I told her about the man, not my daddy, she said, He was only making you into a real girl. I didn’t understand. But I made myself believe her. I was a real girl now. But what was I before?

All I can do is lie here, brain turning somersaults. It's nights like these when memories stir, whipping themselves into stiff peaks of pain.

Grown up? Me? I suppose I have. Killing things, and almost killing myself, must have changed me some, after all.

Ask me, it's a sin to pervert faith with religion. Despite every church, mosque, & synagogue in it, this is not the world any God worth his salt would have created.

I'm in love. And I like how that feels. And I hate how that feels. Because love is an invention of fiction writers.