The Monster

Did the condom break?” Belle interfered, keeping it blunt. “Do you buy cheap-ass johnnies, Samuel? Or did you poke holes in it with a needle? I heard a rock star autobiography where something like that happened to him. Okay, fine, watched a movie.”

“Phew,” Hunter laughed, “for a second there I thought you started reading.”

“I’m sorry, isn’t the illiterate idiot convention next door?”

It’s amazing how much can escape you. Remind me to never trust you with a safe. The burglar would steal it and you and you wouldn’t even notice.”

Euthanasia means good death in Greek. It is about letting life go peacefully, with dignity, on your own terms. But really, it is about ending excruciating suffering.

And maybe I’m an idiot to care, Sam. In fact, I probably am, but I still want you to quit smoking because I want you to grow old and gray and be healthy. Even if I can never have you.”

I loved him and I hated him and I loathed him and I craved him.

One thing was for sure—I was close to quitting him.

He wanted me to let go, to turn my back on him, to forget, to leave him just like every other woman in his life. Every woman other than Sparrow. And I was close to giving him exactly what he was after.

Revenge was Sam Brennan’s favorite language, and he spoke it fluently.

But that was the thing with unrequited love: you always deemed yourself unworthy of the subject of your admiration.

Seeing him was always a bittersweet cocktail of elation and pain.

I’d learned to get high on both feelings.

From one addict to another, let me tell you, I’m really proud of you.”

“You make me happy,” he snapped, disgusted with himself. “You, and your blue, blue eyes and throaty voice and good, fair heart and dark, depraved soul.”