Kat Jauregui

“There is not even a Scrabble word for how bad I feel.”
― E. Lockhart, We Were Liars

“Then he pulled out a handgun and shot me in the chest. I was standing on the lawn and I fell. The bullet hole opened wide and my heart rolled out of my rib cage and down into a flower bed. Blood gushed rhythmically from my open wound,
then from my eyes,
my ears,
my mouth.
It tasted like salt and failure. The bright red shame of being unloved soaked the grass in front of our house, the bricks of the path, the steps of the porch. My heart spasmed among the peonies like a trout.”
― E. Lockhart, We Were Liars

“I wanted to touch him like he was a bunny, a kitten, something so special and soft your fingertips can’t leave it alone.”
― E. Lockhart, We Were Liars

“One day I looked at Gat, lying in the Clairmont hammock with a book, and he seemed, well, like he was mine. Like he was my particular person.”
― E. Lockhart, We Were Liars