“His embrace said all the things his lips could not or would not, they said you're safe and I will protect you maybe even some semblance of caring about me, however fucked up, but everything was fucked up. Through it all his lips only repeated, 'I made them pay'.”

“I wish I could trust you, Reed, but I know I can’t.” His brow furrows in confusion, but there is a wry tilt to his lips, “Why?” I give him a small smile of my own, “You think you’re different from men like Caleb. You see everything in black and white, you don’t care about the whole story; you don’t care about the gray. Some stories aren’t black and white, Agent Reed.”

“I had a weapon of my own and I wasn't afraid to fucking use it. And if I died? Who the fuck cared? I put the gun to my head and demanded to be let through. The fucktards shot me.”

“I wanted to stay here forever, held tight to his chest, his fingers stroking my hair, his heart beating against my ear: you're-safe, trust-me, love-you. Love. Did I want him to love me? Yes. I wanted someone to love me.”

“I don’t want revenge, Caleb. I don’t want to end up like you, letting some fucking vendetta run my life. I just want my freedom. I want to be free, Caleb. Not someone’s whore…not even yours.”

“Everybody is fucked up and we are all freaks in our own ways"-Agent Reed”

“His touch was simple, but specific, meant to show me he could be like a lover, gentle, intimate, but also that he was a man unaccustomed to hearing the word no. Yes. I understood. He was a man, and I? I was nothing but a girl, not even a woman. I was meant to fall at his feet and worship at the altar of his masculinity, grateful that he’d deigned to acknowledge me. All this, from a simple touch.”