I'll always want him. Until every sun goes dark in every sky, until I am nothing more than long-forgotten cosmic dust, I will want him. And even then I suspect my particles will long for his.
I’m not a woman you bring home to Mother, pick out china patterns with, or Mary forefend, breed. I’ve seen a chunk of the universe, true, but there’s still so much more to see. I doubt I’ll ever cure this wanderlust, and I’m content with dedicating my life to failing to sate it... He’s never going to sit at my feet and write me poems, which is good because I hate poetry, except dirty ones that rhyme.
He is not the same person as when wemet, but . . . neither am I. Time has refined us, but instead of pushing us apart, we’re closer than ever.
. . . and I don’t expect him to suborn his life into mine any more than I would change my dreams for him. We’re not one soul, one being, however much we love each other.
For I need this scar over my heart to remind me. Crazy as it sounds, if I can bear the wound on my body, it lessens what I must carry on my soul. How he knew that about me, I cannot fathom.
We stand a professional distance apart, as if I can’t feel his pain screaming in my head. Mine amplifies his; they share a joint sound—that of glass breaking—until they swell to a crescendo that deafens.
So I make no effort to hide my pain. I don’t ever put it all on display like this—but for today and all the rest of the days of the trial, I must. My every flinch, every flicker of pain, will bemagnified a hundred times over, then dissected by the pundits and talking heads. But I’m told it’s necessary; the world needs to see me vulnerable and wounded. I cannot appear not to care or to lack remorse, but that removes a crucial component of my self- defense mechanism and leaves me bleeding for all the world to see. I suppose that’s rather the point.
You can lie to yourself about all kinds of things. Until you can't, anymore. Until reality pounds a hole through your fantasy castle and the reality check must be cashed in.
Pull yourself together. People among the living still need your help, and I haven't given you permission to quit.
I knew exactly how he felt because I had walked in his shoes, wary and distrustful, unable to believe anybody could care about me without asking for something in return.
You think a man doesn't fall down, son? A real man falls down nine times and gets up ten. You think real men don't get scared? We do, all the time, especially when the people we love can be taken away from us. The key to manhood is being there, every morning when she wakes up, every night before she goes to bed. That's what a man does. It has nothing to do with how good you are with some shiny knives. And if you let her do this thing alone, then by God—
Lessons in magic from a mysterious boy who belonged to a hidden Ferisher court called the Wild — I couldn't think of anything that would horrify my parents more. Therefore, the proposition became exponentially more enticing.
I get it. You'd rather have him, broken, than me whole. If that didn't clarify my chances with you, nothing would. But you can't have what you want either, Deuce. I can't be your friend, feeling like this. Give me some time, and then... Maybe. No promises.
It was a thing that could not be articulated or explained. It merely was, like the sunrise or a sheer and sudden drop to the giant water that had stolen my breath, where the land ended in the ruins. My love for Fade strengthened me, made me determined never to give up. I would follow him until the world stopped or until I found him. I believed love hadn’t weakened me or left me soft; instead it made me powerful, determined beyond all belief.
Perhaps that was the point; life, if you did it right, meant learning and changing. If you didn't, you died- or stopped growing - which amounted to more or less the same thing. So I would slide in and out of different roles until I discovered the one that fit me best.-Deuce, (183)
I didn't ask if he meant his rescue or the deal with Stalker that involved kissing. I couldn't resist pushing, just a little. So it won't bother you if I find someone else?His jaw clenched, and I saw the muscle move before he got it under control. I thought you said you'd fight for me.And /you/ said it's too late. I offered him a faint smile along with his watch. So it's a good thing I don't intend to listen to you.
Mother Mary of Anabolic Grace, we got Teras incoming?” He levels angry blue eyes on me. “You’re a hex, lady, dark luck, powerful bad juju, ken?”“Only to people who try to kidnap me,” I tell him sweetly, and March snorts, so I feel obliged to add, “Or rescue me…” And then Dina makes a pfft sound. “Or who travel with me…” My gaze sweeps around the darkened interior, trying to find an ally, but nobody will hold my eyes more than two seconds, it seems. “Fine, frag you all, I’m dark juju, bad luck, and you’re all doomed.
Hey, that’s why they invented the Internet, hermanita. To talk about weird shit and download porn.
I missed you. I didn't mean to tell him so, even if it was true. Admitting need felt like weakness; it demonstrated dependence and vulnerability.
I resolved, then, deep in my soul never to let him go. I'd be the one never to leave him. I'd prove to him that some things could be for always- that we could be.
Realistically, it's a risk, I suppose, but in this day and age, you almost have to choose between freedom, which can devolve into chaos, and security, which can become a pair of shackles.