He peered down at me. “Jesus Christ. You’re leaking.” If by “leaking” he meant “sobbing like a girl,” I guess so.
I rubbed at my temple, where the zit was gone. It still hurt a little , though, deep under the skin. I hate those zits that burrow underground. You think they've vanished, but no, they just barricade themselves right next to the bone and hurt.
Better to be strong than pretty and useless.
To Gran, “strong medicine” could be good or bad, just like the laxatives she was forever talking about. Good for makin’ the mail move smooth, but too much and you shit yer brains out. -strange angels
Graves leaned forward, eyeing me. “Hey, Dru. You were French-kissing a winged snake. Creeptastic.
I love you!" he shouted, his eyes glowing laser green. "I love you, okay? I'm not some hopeless retard you pull along behind you because you feel sorry for him! I love you and I'm going to prove it!
Fury ignited behind my breastbone , a hot glow like coals blooming into something sharp and dangerous. It was the same old crap- someone thinking they can push you around because you're young, because you're helpless. You had to just sit there and ta...
It was stealing her breath, imbecile. Go get a towel." -Christophe, Strange Angels by Lili St. Crow