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415 pages, Kindle Edition
First published November 17, 2013
I don't know what it is about him that makes me want to grab his face in place so that he'll never look at anything but me. I'm not sure what bothers me more: the realization or the fact I can't remember feeling this way about anyone before him.









Sadness envelopes my heart, with each step I take, and I welcome it. Sadness is my home, I belong in it, it belongs in me; we are one and the same.
“I really, really want to kiss you, Brooklyn,” he murmurs, his voice raspy and soft and filled with need. “I really, really want to.”
“So do it,” I whisper against his lip.
He shakes his head, rubbing the tip of his nose against mine. “I don’t want to share you,”
“I’m not yours to share,” I breathe.
“That’s why I’m not going to kiss you,” he whispers against me, so close I can practically taste his tongue on mine.
“What’s up, bithces?” She greets. “You got coffee? Or are hens not domesticated?”
Hendrix grumbles something that sounds like “fucking moron” under his breath as he reaches in the cabinet to get her a mug.
“Sweeeet,” Nina says placing her mug on the table and serving herself coffee. “I like this mug, you asshole.”
I laugh, covering my mouth with both hands to keep the cereal from sputtering out of my mouth when I read the mug he handed her: I am surrounded by fucking idiots.
“You can thank Bee, she gave it to me for Christmas,” Hendrix says.
Nina rolls her big brown eyes at us. “Why do I hang out with you? You guys are so fucking weird.”
“Because you have no friends,” Hendrix comments.
“Because you love us,” I say at the same time.
Hendrix makes a face. “That’s not corny,” he says, looking at me.
“I read somewhere that by the age of twenty-five, women are more sure of themselves, more comfortable in their own skin. Sometimes I want to find the person that wrote that and stab her in the eye with a rusty fork”
“Have you worked with her?”
“I hope to,” he says with a smile that makes jealousy bubble up inside of me, which is so stupid…
“Professionally,” he adds, near my ear again in a way that makes my insides tingle at his voice.
“I didn’t say anything,” I protest quietly.
“You didn’t have to,” he responds just as low.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he says, his voice a strained whisper. “Tell me that this-,” he says, fully sliding his cock into me, the fullness it provides making my legs shake uncontrollably. “Is mine”
“I’m going to take her home with me every single day to remind her that my heart beats only for her. That my day starts with her running through my mind and ends with her sleeping in my arms.“
“Men are fucking stupid. That’s why they think women are complicated. Women want three things: Keep your dick in your pants. Be honest with us. Worship us. That’s it. That’s all. You motherfuckers can’t do all three without getting your brain mixed up”






I asked you who you are. I dont give a fuck about who your parents are



"Depression is a cruel bitch. She starts by planting little seeds all over your mind, knowing that life’s troubles will water it daily until it grows into a massive bonsai tree that crowds your thoughts and feelings, not leaving any room for leaves of hope to spur from it."
"I’ve been kissed a million times, yet none at all. That’s how this kiss makes me feel. Like I’m freefalling, like I’m dying, like I’m breathing for the first time. Like I’m high on ecstasy and a million expert hands are massaging me. This kiss is my life."