In the end, though, I did not kill my sister. She did it all on her own. Or at least this is what I tell myself.

I close my eyes, thinking that there is nothing like an embrace after an absence, nothing like fitting my face into the curve of his shoulder and filling my lungs with the scent of him.

Until this moment, I had not realized that someone could break your heart twice, along the very same fault lines.

I watch her do the simplest things: brushing her hair into a ponytail, feeding the dog, tying Sophie's shoelaces, and I want to tell her what she means to me, but I never actually say the words. After all, to acknowledge Delia as a drug, I'd have to face the fact that one day I might have to go without her and this I can't do.

Doing the right thing for someone else occasionally means doing something that feels wrong to you.

You know how I get angry sometimes? That's because it's the only way I can still feel. And I need to test myself, to make sure I'm really here.

I’d much rather pretend I’m somewhere else, and any time I open the pages of a book, that happens.