I can’t answer either question. But the look she gives me reminds me of the look in the attack dog’s eyes in the aptitude test – a vicious, predatory stare. She wants to rip me to pieces. I can’t lie down in submission now. I have become an attack dog too.

Human reason can excuse any evil.

He's one of the last friends I have," she says, her voice breaking. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to look at you the same way again.

Looking away is submissive. Looking [..] in the eye is a challenge.

He slides his hand over my cheek, one finger anchored behind my ear. Then he tilts his head down and kisses me, sending a warm ache through my body. I wrap my hands around his arm, holding him there as long as I can. When he touches me, the hollowed-out feeling in my chest and stomach is not as noticeable.

It isn’t right to wish pain on other people just because they hurt me first.

It's not that I ever sat down and outlined a trilogy, but I always have a sense of what size an idea is when I start it.