How could I not love you? No one has ever affected me like you do. When you told me goodbye last month, I tried to let you go. I told myself it was the best thing for you because you wanted it. But you’re wrong, Dori. I’m good for you even if you don’t know it yet. I know because I’ve never been good for anyone before.

That macho protective bullshit is just some asshat man pissing on his territory so the other dogs will stay away.

I'd basically described myself: a quiet, studious bookworm who would go to bed at a decent hour. A non-partier who wouldn't bring a parade of boys through our room, or make it the floor headquarters for beer pong.

I noticed you the first week. Not just because of how pretty you are, though of course, that played into it. It was the way you lean onto your elbows when you 're listening in class, when something catches your interest. And when you laugh, it's never to get attention, it's just-laughter. The way you obssevively tuck your hair behind your ear on the left side, but let the right side fall down like a screen. And when you 're bored, you tap your foot soundlessly and move your fingers on the desktop like you 're playing an instrument. I wanted to sketch you.

I miss you Emma." I'm not sure, but it looks like her eyes tear up. "I was fine for months without you," she says, the words hushed and forlorn. "Why does it hurt now?" I'm sighing and shoving a hand through my hair, which I know from experience leaves strands of it stabbing out in numerous directions, defiant and crazy-looking. Maybe crazy is exactly how I feel. "Because now we have hope of something more.

Over the past three years, we'd become each other's habit. And though he'd broken his habit of me when he walked away, I'd not broken my habit of him.

We were encouraged to propose safetyprevention suggestions, and write them all down— locking doors, walking or exercising with a friend, wearing shoes that don’t hinder running. Erin’s suggestion of “Avoid assholes” was popular.