So, 'reaper' is really just a nice word for 'covert pervert?' Is that what you're saying?

I was fine with that. The very idea of Death knowing my name made my skin crawl. Even if this particular Death was only one of many, and almost too pretty to look at.

Em didn't truly understand about my panic attacks - no one did. But she'd never pushed me to explain, never tried to ditch me when things got weird, and never once looked at me like I was a freak.

So could we please not mob the three-thousand-plus-year-old reaper like tweens at a boy-band concert?

Oh fine. I'll play nice with the pretty people.

I grabbed another. Aerosmith. Nope, can’t throw classic Aerosmith. I snatched a copy of the Thompson Twins’ greatest hits and chucked it at him.

How is it wrong to put everything you have into getting what you want most in the world?