“It’s his story to tell—or not tell,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “Do you see those stained glass windows? They’re beautiful, but you can’t see their true magnificence until sunlight touches them. I believe Blake’s the same way.”

“You digest and absorb your life by turning it into stories,' he says, 'the same way this theater seems to digest people.' With one hand, he points to a carpet stain, this dark stain sticky and growing mold, branched with arms and legs.Other events—the ones you can’t digest—they poison you. Those worst parts of your life, those moments you can’t talk about, they rot you from the inside out. Until you’re Cassandra’s wet shadow on the ground. Sunk in your own yellow protein mud.But the stories that you can digest, that you can tell—you can take control of those past moments. You can shape them, craft them. Master them. And use them to your own good. Those are stories as important as food. Those are stories you can use to make people laugh or cry or sick. Or scared. To make people feel the way you felt. To help exhaust that past moment for them and for you. Until that moment is dead.Consumed. Digested. Absorbed.”

“It’s beautiful, dulceață,” he said, his tone awed. “Do you see? Beautiful.” “What is?” “The snow. The night.” His arms tightened. “You.” I eyed him warily. “Thanks?”

“So then you do feel for me." His face looked pained. "Tell me you love me in the same way that I love you, and maybe that will provide some relief to hang on to when you're not here. Tell me that you'll be tortured because you're not with me, and that you'll spend hours trying to think of what you could have done differently. Tell me you'll see my face when you close your eyes at night and that i'll haunt you until morning. Tell me," he said, his voice louder now. His eyes flashing, hot and angry."I can't do that," I whispered.”

“There are those who say that seeing is believing. I am telling you that believing is seeing.”

“Tell me what you want?” His breath was warm against her lips.“I want you.”“How? Give me permission, tell me it’s okay to strip you naked, kiss you wherever the need takes me, and f**k you until you can’t see straight.”“Yes, yes, please, all of that.”