But instead of tears, when I press my face against the pillow, a horrible, primal scream comes out of me. It's unlike anything I thought myself capable of. Rage, unlike anything I've ever known.

She’s a commodity in a sea of broken girls.

But there’s no such thing as free. There are only different and more horrible ways to be enslaved.

I'm suddenly finding it hard to know the difference between nightmares and consciousness.

Gabriel's voice can reach me anywhere. Even in a hurricane.

There are so many of us, so many girls. The world wants us for our wombs or our bodies, or it doesn't want us at all.

I like the idea of something greater than us. We destroy things with our curiosity. We shatter with our best intentions. We are no closer to perfection than we were one hundred years ago, or five hundred.