may

“Are you?” he asks skeptically. “Are you really fine?” I glance up at him. He can’t just leave things alone, can he? I drop my pencil on the table and turn to face him. He’s always pushing for more truth. Always wanting to know what the hell I’m thinking. If this is what he wants, we might as well get it over with. I take a deep breath and prepare to answer all the questions he’s ever asked, and even ones he hasn’t gotten around to asking yet. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m not great. I’m not terrible. I’m just fine. I’m fine because I have a roof over my head and a boyfriend who loves me, despite the fact that he makes bad choices. Do I wish he were a better person? Yes. If I had the means, would I leave him? Yes. Absolutely. Do I wish there wasn’t so much constantly going on at my house that I could actually find a quiet place to do homework, or heaven forbid, get some sleep? Hell yes. Do I wish I could graduate sooner and get out of this mess? Yes. Am I embarrassed by the way Asa treats me? Yes. Do I wish you weren’t a part of this? Yes. Do I wish you could be the guy I thought you were the first time I met you in class? Yes. Do I wish you could save me?” I let out a short, defeated sigh and look down at my hands. “So much, Carter,” I whisper. “I wish you could save me from all this shit so, so much. But you can’t. I’m not in this life for myself. If I were, I would have left a long time ago.”
― Colleen Hoover, Too Late

“Asa,” she whispers, saying my name with desire. “Asa, I’m sorry.”
― Colleen Hoover, Too Late

“My hands are wet from sweat. The air conditioner is broken again and it’s too hot to go outside. I run my sweaty palm along the leather arm of the couch, leaving a streak of sweat behind the path of my hand. I wonder where sweat comes from? I wonder where leather comes from? My mother told me it’s made from cows, but I know she’s a liar, so I don’t believe her. How could leather be made out of cows? I’ve touched a cow before and they’re sort of fuzzy. They don’t look like leather to me. Leather looks more like it’s made from dinosaurs than cows. I bet leather really is made out of dinosaurs. I don’t know why my mother always lies to me. She lies to Daddy, too. I know she lies to him, because she gets in trouble for it a lot. Daddy always tells me not to trust whores. I don’t know what a whore is, but I know it’s something my Daddy hates. Sometimes when he gets mad at my mom, he calls her a whore. Maybe a whore is another word for liar and that’s why he hates them so much. I wish my mother wasn’t a whore. I wish she would stop lying, so she wouldn’t get in trouble so much. I don’t like watching her get in trouble. Daddy says it’s good for me, though. He says if I want to grow up and be a man, I need to see what a woman looks like when she cries. Daddy says a woman’s tears make men weak, and the more I see their tears when I’m younger, the less I’ll believe their lies when I’m older. Sometimes when he punishes my mother for being a whore, he makes me watch her cry so that I’ll grow up knowing that all the whores cry and it shouldn’t bother me. “Don’t trust anyone, Asa,” he always tells me. “Especially the whores.”
― Colleen Hoover, Too Late

“More like he was dumped out of a car by someone who didn’t want him.” “Will you go back for him?” “No.” “You’re mean.” “Yep.”
― Glendy Vanderah, Where the Forest Meets the Stars