I'm surprised you know that," I say quietly, " since you left halfway through my one and only fight." "It wasn't something I wanted to watch." he says. What's that supposed to mean?
Killing you is not the worst thing they can do to you," I say. "Controlling you is.
We are not the same. But we are, somehow, one.
He looks like a man who has spent most of his life frowning.
Sometimes it isn't fighting that's brave, its facing the death you know is coming.
I should probably be afraid. But instead a hysterical laugh bubbles inside me, because I just remembered something: Maybe I can’t hold a gun. But I have a knife in my back pocket.