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“You've said all that needs to be said…I'll play the role I've been given.”
―
―
“Such an unexpected will to survive from someone who has nothing to live for.”
― The Foxhole Court
― The Foxhole Court
“Will had kissed Nico for the first time in a moment of impulsiveness, something Nico didn’t know Will had in him. The kiss had been just like this one, short and sweet.
Then Will had pulled away, worry on his face, an apology tumbling from his lips.
Nico had stopped him. Then kissed him back.
In a moment so full of grief and rage and sadness, Will had given him …
Light.”
― The Sun and the Star
Then Will had pulled away, worry on his face, an apology tumbling from his lips.
Nico had stopped him. Then kissed him back.
In a moment so full of grief and rage and sadness, Will had given him …
Light.”
― The Sun and the Star
“I never answered your question, if I’d ever thought about being human. Once. I was on a track in the andes, and a hummingbird flew up to me and just hovered there staring at me. Its tiny heart was pattering like a machine gun… And I thought, ‘what a thing, you know, to have to work that hard every day just to stay alive, to be constantly on the verge of death, and how satisfying every day must be that it survived…’ And that was the only time I thought about being human.”
―
―
“Shirt off.”
Neil stared at her. “Why?”
“I can’t check track marks through cotton, Neil.”
“I don’t do drugs.”
“Good on you,” Abby said. “Keep it that way. Now take it off.”
[…] “I want to make this as painless as possible, but I can’t help you if you can’t help me. Tell me why you won’t take off your shirt.”
Neil looked for a delicate way to say it. The best he managed was, “I’m not okay.”
She put a finger to his chin and turned his face back toward her. “Neil, I work for the Foxes. None of you are okay. Chances are I’ve seen a lot worse than whatever it is you’re trying to hide from me.”
Neil’s smile was humorless. “I hope not.
“Trust me,” Abby said. “I’m not going to judge you. I’m here to help, remember? I’m your nurse now. That door is closed, and it comes with a lock. What happens in here stays in here.”
[…] “You can’t ask me about them,” he said at last. “I won’t talk to you about it. Okay?”
“Okay,” Abby agreed easily. “But know that when you want to, I’m here, and so is Betsy.”
Neil wasn’t going to tell that psychiatrist a thing, but he nodded. Abby dropped her hand and Neil pulled his shirt over his head before he could lose his nerve.
Abby thought she was ready. Neil knew she wouldn’t be, and he was right. Her mouth parted on a silent breath and her expression went blank. She wasn’t fast enough to hide her flinch, and Neil saw her shoulders go rigid with tension. He stared at her face as she stared at him, watching her gaze sweep over the brutal marks of a hideous childhood.
It started at the base of his throat, a looping scar curving down over his collarbone. A pucker with jagged edges was a finger-width away, courtesy of a bullet that hit him right on the edge of his Kevlar vest. A shapeless patch of pale skin from his left shoulder to his navel marked where he’d jumped out of a moving car and torn himself raw on the asphalt. Faded scars crisscrossed here and there from his life on the run, either from stupid accidents, desperate escapes, or conflicts with local lowlifes. Along his abdomen were larger overlapping lines from confrontations with his father’s people while on the run. His father wasn’t called the butcher for nothing; his weapon of choice was a cleaver. All of his men were well-versed in knife-fighting, and more than one of them had tried to stick Neil like a pig.
And there on his right shoulder was the perfect outline of half a hot iron. Neil didn’t remember what he’s said or done to irritate his father so much.”
― The Foxhole Court
Neil stared at her. “Why?”
“I can’t check track marks through cotton, Neil.”
“I don’t do drugs.”
“Good on you,” Abby said. “Keep it that way. Now take it off.”
[…] “I want to make this as painless as possible, but I can’t help you if you can’t help me. Tell me why you won’t take off your shirt.”
Neil looked for a delicate way to say it. The best he managed was, “I’m not okay.”
She put a finger to his chin and turned his face back toward her. “Neil, I work for the Foxes. None of you are okay. Chances are I’ve seen a lot worse than whatever it is you’re trying to hide from me.”
Neil’s smile was humorless. “I hope not.
“Trust me,” Abby said. “I’m not going to judge you. I’m here to help, remember? I’m your nurse now. That door is closed, and it comes with a lock. What happens in here stays in here.”
[…] “You can’t ask me about them,” he said at last. “I won’t talk to you about it. Okay?”
“Okay,” Abby agreed easily. “But know that when you want to, I’m here, and so is Betsy.”
Neil wasn’t going to tell that psychiatrist a thing, but he nodded. Abby dropped her hand and Neil pulled his shirt over his head before he could lose his nerve.
Abby thought she was ready. Neil knew she wouldn’t be, and he was right. Her mouth parted on a silent breath and her expression went blank. She wasn’t fast enough to hide her flinch, and Neil saw her shoulders go rigid with tension. He stared at her face as she stared at him, watching her gaze sweep over the brutal marks of a hideous childhood.
It started at the base of his throat, a looping scar curving down over his collarbone. A pucker with jagged edges was a finger-width away, courtesy of a bullet that hit him right on the edge of his Kevlar vest. A shapeless patch of pale skin from his left shoulder to his navel marked where he’d jumped out of a moving car and torn himself raw on the asphalt. Faded scars crisscrossed here and there from his life on the run, either from stupid accidents, desperate escapes, or conflicts with local lowlifes. Along his abdomen were larger overlapping lines from confrontations with his father’s people while on the run. His father wasn’t called the butcher for nothing; his weapon of choice was a cleaver. All of his men were well-versed in knife-fighting, and more than one of them had tried to stick Neil like a pig.
And there on his right shoulder was the perfect outline of half a hot iron. Neil didn’t remember what he’s said or done to irritate his father so much.”
― The Foxhole Court
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