“Bitch," Bliss hissed crossing her arms in front of her chest.Lea laughed louder, "Oh, one syllable word war. You don't even need a brain to play that game! Okay, my turn! Cunt!”

“Psf. I'm not an alcoholic. An alcoholic needs a drink. Look here," I explained raising my next shot to her. "I already have one. S therefore, I do not need one. Which makes me not an alcoholic.”

“With my guitar, I could write my own stories, my own poems, and my own destiny. No one could take away the feelings, the emotions or the truth of my notes. They could hide secrets and provoke images of words that never should be whispered. I could compose the melody of my aching heart and write into it my own happily ever after since no one seemed to think after all my suffering I deserved one. That's okay, I would make my own.”

“No, Grace. I don't have a heart. I did once, but I gave it to a girl and I let her keep it when she died.”

“Please don't be sorry, Grace. I am your friend and I'm here if you need to talk about anything or need a shoulder to cry on.""Thanks.""Especially if that's the only way I'll ever get to hold you.”

“This is your life, Lea. Mine was over centuries ago, but you have the future, things to hope for and look forward to. I'm just here for one thing. I don't want anything to happen to you or Conner, even Shane or Tucker, because you're all trying to save me.”

“I want you to tell me why you have a pair of broken angel wings on your shoulder. I want you to tell me why you cut your wrists and I want to know why and how you play and sing the way you do, but most of all I want you to tell me what I need to do to be a good enough man for you.”