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“You were always saying you were gonna shoot him," he mutters, but it's kind of half-hearted. "Stupid fucking little tit, he needs a bullet in his head. What do you keep him round for, anyway?"
Because he makes me laugh. Because, fuck knows why, he adores me. Because he needs somebody to look after him and nobody else knows how. Because everything about us is wrong and I never ever want to be right. Because I wake up in the morning and see him sleeping next to me with his stupid dyed hair and his stupid painted nails and his stupid toy monkey and I remember I love him so much I don't know what to do, I love him I love him I LOVE HIM.”
― Stockholm Syndrome
Because he makes me laugh. Because, fuck knows why, he adores me. Because he needs somebody to look after him and nobody else knows how. Because everything about us is wrong and I never ever want to be right. Because I wake up in the morning and see him sleeping next to me with his stupid dyed hair and his stupid painted nails and his stupid toy monkey and I remember I love him so much I don't know what to do, I love him I love him I LOVE HIM.”
― Stockholm Syndrome
“Real-time creeps back in, and Lindsay realises the kid's on his knees beside him, saying his name over and over and over.
"What?"
"Oh, thank fuck... Jesus, you're bleeding like hell."
"Thanks, Sherlock."
"Can you see a bright white light?"
"Yeah."
"Oh fuck. Fuck! Okay, listen to me, don't go near it, okay?"
"What?"
"Stay away from the light."
"What are you talking about?"
"That's death, innit? Don't go near it, promise me."
"I mean I can see the electric lights on the ceiling, you berk."
"You berk! You knob, I thought you were dying."
"You didn't specify what kind of bright light, you just said bright light,
you might've been testing my eyesight."
"I ain't fighting with you when you've been shot.”
― Stockholm Syndrome
"What?"
"Oh, thank fuck... Jesus, you're bleeding like hell."
"Thanks, Sherlock."
"Can you see a bright white light?"
"Yeah."
"Oh fuck. Fuck! Okay, listen to me, don't go near it, okay?"
"What?"
"Stay away from the light."
"What are you talking about?"
"That's death, innit? Don't go near it, promise me."
"I mean I can see the electric lights on the ceiling, you berk."
"You berk! You knob, I thought you were dying."
"You didn't specify what kind of bright light, you just said bright light,
you might've been testing my eyesight."
"I ain't fighting with you when you've been shot.”
― Stockholm Syndrome
“Ha ha ha. But what if, right, when you come home, what if I ain't wearing nothing but Nutella?"
"Your double negatives make me want to kill you.”
― Stockholm Syndrome
"Your double negatives make me want to kill you.”
― Stockholm Syndrome
“Valentine clears his throat. "So. Why can't you just say it?"
"Say what?"
"You know what."
"It's hardly the time or place."
"It is if you're dying."
"I can't."
"You're a dick. Just fucking say it!"
"I can't! I'm... English."
"What am I, a Martian? I say it all the time. I know you love me, why can't you say it?"
"If you know, then why do I have to?"
"You're missing the point a bit."
"I took your bullet, you little twat, don't you dare question whether I love you."
"Yeah, but you could say it."
The throb of the gunshots is pounding all down his arm and body. The pain's so bad he wants to cry, like he's five and he's skinned his knee coming off his bike.
"Je t'aime," he says, through gritted teeth, to shut the kid up. "Je ne sais pas pourquoi. Tu es... complètement bête, tu t'habilles comme une pute travestie, je hais ta musique, tu es fou, tu me rends fou, mais je suis fou de toi et je pense à toi tout le temps et je t'aime, oui. Tu comprends? Je t'aime. Seulement... pas en anglais. Je ne peux pas."
Valentine's shifting about like he's uncomfortable. "I ain't got no idea what you just said but I think I need to change my pants."
"Maintenant, ta gueule.”
― Stockholm Syndrome
"Say what?"
"You know what."
"It's hardly the time or place."
"It is if you're dying."
"I can't."
"You're a dick. Just fucking say it!"
"I can't! I'm... English."
"What am I, a Martian? I say it all the time. I know you love me, why can't you say it?"
"If you know, then why do I have to?"
"You're missing the point a bit."
"I took your bullet, you little twat, don't you dare question whether I love you."
"Yeah, but you could say it."
The throb of the gunshots is pounding all down his arm and body. The pain's so bad he wants to cry, like he's five and he's skinned his knee coming off his bike.
"Je t'aime," he says, through gritted teeth, to shut the kid up. "Je ne sais pas pourquoi. Tu es... complètement bête, tu t'habilles comme une pute travestie, je hais ta musique, tu es fou, tu me rends fou, mais je suis fou de toi et je pense à toi tout le temps et je t'aime, oui. Tu comprends? Je t'aime. Seulement... pas en anglais. Je ne peux pas."
Valentine's shifting about like he's uncomfortable. "I ain't got no idea what you just said but I think I need to change my pants."
"Maintenant, ta gueule.”
― Stockholm Syndrome
Κατερίνα’s 2024 Year in Books
Take a look at Κατερίνα’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
439 books
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33 friends
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728 books
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123 books
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263 books
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69 friends
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