Cute. I think I would prefer to be stabbed in the eye rather than be called cute.
Morfran thrust his axe straight up. He pretty much seemed to have one sign for everything: poke a hole in the sky.
Oh my God, she was retarded and I was going to kill Jim.
He strained to say something else. I leaned toward him. He focused on me. “Rape,” he promised. “Many, many times. Until you bleed . . .” “I’m so flattered.
Screwy," I said. "Is that a medical term?" "Of course.
When I'm with him, I can feel myself getting better. It's like he's picking up broken pieces of me and putting me back together, and I don't even know he's doing it. We never talk about it. We don't go to therapy. He just loves me and that's enough.