Well, I don't have much competition here." "You don't have much competition anywhere.

You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?" "All right," he whispers.

Entrails. No hissing. This is the closest we will ever come to love.

So I learned to hold my tongue and to turn my features into an indifferent mask so that no one could ever read my thoughts.

Positioned on my dresser, that white-as-snow rose is a personal message to me. It speaks of unfinished business. It whispers, I can find you. I can reach you. Perhaps I am watching you now.

This is the first kiss that we're both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another.

I'm not good at talking about myself.