And this is something I must accept - even if, like acid on metal, it is slowly corroding me inside.

He is my soul mate, my fresh air, the reason I look forward to getting up every morning.

He shakes his head with a slow smile. You'd better be right. If the phone rings, I'm unpluggining it, I swear to God-“ You'd do that to your five-year-old sister?“ I gasp in mock outrage. For one whole night alone? Jesus, Maya, I'd sell her to the gypsies!

Before there was anything, there was Lochan.

As the light begins to intensify, so does my misery, and I wonder how it is possible to hurt so much when nothing is wrong.

It's horrible being ashamed of someone you care about; it eats away at you. And if you let it get to you, if you give up the fight and surrender, eventually that shame turns to hate.

If I keep breathing, then I have to keep living, and if I keep living, then I have to keep hurting, and I can't - not like this.