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.

Great. I'm psychotic and sparkly.

A smart woman would have shut up. Did I? Hell no. Intelligence is overrated anyway.

In the office, Michael sat behind our father’s desk, clicking away at the computer with his right hand, and making notes with his left. Ambidextrous freak.

Sophie glanced from me to Sabine, then back, scowling. "I'm not scared of her. I can handle myself." "Yeah, and hissing kittens think they're badass too," Sabine said.

But I had no plans to end my own life, and accidents couldn't be predicted. Neither could murder, unless my aunt and uncle were planning to take me out themselves.

So, what now? We’re friends?" Yeah. If friends could be in love, but not together. In sync, but out of touch. Willing to die for each other, but unable to trust.