Alexia Monteiro

“We’re not doing that, and you know it.” He doesn’t speak again I lean closer, lower my voice. “I know things are messy with us, but do you really think I could just walk away from you?”

This time he doesn’t look away. “Do you really think I’d let you?”
― Paula Weston, Haze

“I straighten and stretch my neck side to side. ‘I really need to hit something.’
Rafa’s mouth quirks. ‘I know what you need.’
‘In your dreams.’ I know where this is going: it’s been the same banter for about five decades now. Usually he saves it for an audience.
‘In my dreams, Gabe, you end up slick with sweat and moaning.’
‘I have food poisoning?’
He laughs, a beer halfway to his lips. Condensation drips from the bottle. He’s completely at ease here: three-quarter cargoes, frayed t-shirt, bare feet. ‘I’m just saying that if you need distracting, I’m your man.’
‘If I wanted to go places everyone else has been, Rafa, I’d take a trip to Disneyland.’
He leans in closer. ‘Yeah, but don’t you want to know why everyone loves Space Mountain?”
― Paula Weston, Burn

“How can you forgive what I did?"

"Because I know you. Because I've seen the best and the worst of you. Because of everything we've been through in the last hundred and thirty-nine years and what we've been through since you found me in the bar. God, because I want to move forward."

"Yea, but --"

"Because I love you, you idiot!”
― Paula Weston, Burn

“I knew this was still here somewhere." He pulls a knife from the back of the drawer, takes it out of its sheath and shines the torch on it. I move closer until our shoulders touch.
"That's beautiful," I whisper.
"You gave this to me."
I take the knife. It's heavier than I expect. "Please, tell me it was a gift and not something I stabbed you with.”
― Paula Weston, Shimmer