After another half second, he's locked me in a bear hug, crushing me into his chest and lifting my feet a couple inches off the ground as I kick furiously with my heels, twisting my head back and forth, snapping at his forearm with my teeth. And the whole time his lips tickling the delicate skin of my ear. "Cassie. Don't. Cassie..." "Let...me...go." "That's been the whole problem. I can't.

Tampons. I’m constantly worrying about my stash and if I’ll be able to find more.

Self-pity is egotism undiluted, after all—self-centeredness in its purest form.

I didn't save you," he whispers, lips tickling my eyelashes. "You saved me.

To hell with monsters and to hell with men. There is no difference to me.

Prayers and promises. The one his sister made to him. The unspoken one I made to my sister. Prayers are promises, too, and these are the days of broken promises.

Dr. Warthrop chopped off my finger with a butcher knife.