It was an addiction. A pointless, self-destructive addiction. But really, is there any other kind?

Faythe…?" The tremor in his voice broke my heart. Then understanding surfaced, and his tear-filled eyes searched mine desperately. "No. No," he whispered through clenched teeth. "This was not wrong. It’s the only thing I’ve done right in months. Don’t you dare regret this.

You don't know me. Don't ever think you know me. The only things you know about me are the things you made me do, and that illustrates your character, not mine.

But if there was a protocol for how to say goodbye to your newly ex-boyfriend's brother, right after you kissed him and probably sent your ex into the arms of his willing ex-girlfriend, I didn't know what it was.

Marc didn’t want to win by default. He wanted to win for real. Forever.

What matters is the face you show the world, not the quaking mess behind it.

It would be so much easier if there were a secret password, or handshake. Netherworld, open sesame! Yeah, that didn't work, either.