I’m pretty certain my worthless heart shatters inside my chest, and she steals one of the pieces. If it didn’t already belong to someone else I probably would have handed her all the pieces right then and there.

He tastes like mint and need, as he overpowers me with his tongue.

So I let my shame own me, kill me, wilt me away into a thousand dead flakes, knowing if I kept it all in, she would never have to learn the dirtiness that was forever inside me--the bad, the ugly, the twisted. She could go on living her life happy, just like she deserved.

You can't just change who you are on the outside and expect it to change who you are on the inside.

You really need stitches," she tells me."Or you're going to have a scar." I try not to laugh. Stitches aren't going to help. They fix skin, cuts, wounds, heal stuff on the outside. Everything broken with me is on the inside. "I can handle scars, especially one's on the outside.

I try not to laugh at the fact that even when she’s drunk, she has a hard time saying it. “Where do you want me to take you?” She drops her head back against my chest. “You can just keep carrying me. It’s very relaxing.

Always ask for the truth. Just make sure the time is right.