hana > Recent Status Updates

“Nothing is left up to chance or accident. Our fates are written in the stars, the mountains, and the bathroom stalls.Often in blood.”

As if all that time I’ve been sitting in some sort of growth stalemate and not lamenting the fact that I didn’t go with her when we graduated.
I would have followed Lucy Wolfe to the ends of the goddamn earth.
I was just too chickenshit to admit it.
And now that I know better, I’m definitely not going anywhere.

These aren’t feelings I’ve harbored for anyone else, and I used to think it was because there was something else going on, like maybe I only liked men or wasn’t interested in sex at all.
Turns out I’m interested, but only where Lucy Aberdeen Wolfe is concerned.
I only want anything with her.

“as long as we both get in, and the people here will forget I ever existed.”
Impossible, I think, gritting my teeth. No one could ever forget you.

When her hand slides closer, her fingers interlocking with mine, I feel I might explode into a million little pieces.
I think this must be what death is like, and I wonder how she’d react if I told her.
Dying doesn’t seem all that bad. Not if it’s like this.
Not if it’s with you.

“I just don’t date.”
“Too committed to saving lives?”
Trying to save my own, I think.
But I don’t tell him that, I just shrug again and say, “Something like that.”

She’s still looking at me, like she loves me, but it’s not the same.
My mother looks at Sarah like she’s the most precious thing in the world to her. A shooting star she saw in the sky.
She looks at Nathaniel with this sort of understated reverence.
She looks at me like I’ve done her a sort of favour. She’s thankful for me, but she doesn’t really understand my value.

He grins, dimple illuminating in his cheek. “Sexy.”
It’s a beautiful smile, and it’s a beautiful dimple.

A husky gamer with a C average who never made varsity? He was replaceable; I would replace him.
But I never did. Because I didn’t want someone else. I wanted Wyatt Foster. I want what he felt for me.

“You’re the person,” he says like it’s an explanation.
“What do you mean?”
“People talk about levels of aggression, mimicry, those sorts of things. But if you read about it, ultimately, it comes down to whether you can care about another person. Until I met you, I was a psychopath. And then I was a sociopath.”

“We’re going to get married, Posy. You’ll have my babies. You’ll be happy.” He pauses, pensive. “It’s what you wanted. Right?”
I don’t say anything.
He knows the answer’s yes.
Just like he has to know the answer is “no” now

“You don’t seem to like me very much.” I don’t like the hurt audible in my voice.
“What do you mean?”
“According to you, I’m needy. I’m a clinger,”

“Fuck her a few more times. Get her out of your system. Then get rid of her.”
Posy Santoro isn’t in my system. She burst into life in my empty shell and made it into something. She is my system. Maybe I didn’t understand that before I lost her.

When we first met, she wasn’t any different from anyone else except she played chess well. And then, one day, she won a close match, and she screeched, and I felt it.
It wasn’t novel like a new smell or shade of color. It was like all the air in the world was suddenly tinted pink. Like a glimpse at a new dimension.
I can recognize feelings, but only Posy’s are real. Only Posy’s matter.

“I know that Carolyn bought me all the stuff. You don’t know me at all, do you, Dario?”
I know her perfectly. Better than she knows herself. She’s a tangled ball of self-doubt, foolish pride, dumb hope, brilliance, masochism, and blind affection. And I’m obsessed.
I need her back.

No one ever paid more attention to me than Dario Volpe when we were in the middle of a game. I was the center of the universe, and this exquisitely beautiful, powerful man was desperate to know what I was thinking.
I hate him.
I hate him more than all my exes combined.
I was his toy.
He didn’t love me. He doesn’t even know me. How could he? We never talked about anything that mattered.”

Posy is the only person who’s ever been able to beat me at cribbage. And she’s one of the few who even knows how to play.
I want her back now.

“We’re going on a picnic?”
He grunts in the affirmative and calls the elevator.“Where’s the basket?”
He raises the brown grocery bag.
“So romantic.”
He winks at me. My belly flutters.

“Where’d you get the T-shirt?” I ask.
He points to Seaside Park, New Jersey.“Palm trees don’t grow in New Jersey,” I don’t know why I’m being a bitch.
“Ain’t my fault,” he says, the corners of his lips twitching. He doesn’t mind when I’m grumpy. I think he’s just happy I’m talking to him.”

“ did you say to him?” I hiss under my breath.
“I told him what I’d do if he disrespected you again.”
For a second, I don’t know what he’s talking about, but then I remember the snide snort when I said “generous.”
“What would you do?”
“You know,” he says without hesitation.
“Why? Your pride?”
“I think I’ve proved I have none when it comes to you.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” I say, fisting his hair again and pulling.
“I don’t want you to be.”

Even younger, horny Paul never wanted me this bad. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look like they want something this bad.
“You want me to strip for you? You want to watch?”
A slash of color stains his cheekbones.
“Yes.” His voice is even, but the word has weight. Heft.
“And if I won’t?”
“You won’t”



.

A shrink might be able to explain it, but I can’t.
Some men have Jesus. God and country. A dream. Ambition.I have Zita.
Tomas doesn’t understand? Neither do I.

He winds the fingers of his free hand through my mussed-up hair. When he hits a tangle, he skims past, leaving the knot.Like he doesn’t want to hurt me.

“I hate it when you talk like a textbook.”
She leans forward. “I hate it when you starve yourself. I hate it when you cut open your skin, and I hate it when you push us away.”
“I hate it, too,” I whisper. “But I can’t stop.”
“You don’t want to stop.”

“I know that it is me, but it’s not me, not really. I don’t know what I look like. I can’t remember how to look.”

“The box opens and the razors slide out, whisper sweet. Used to be that my whole body was my canvas—hot cuts licking my ribs, ladder rungs climbing my arms, thick milkweed stalks shooting up my thighs.”

I was the root of all evil, Cassie said. A negative influence, a toxic shadow.

“I’m not strong like Caleb or brave like Adam. I’m no match for my giant of a father. All I have to fight with are my words and those can’t protect me now.”