“It comes out of my mouth like water: the things he said at the beginning, what it's like to know a person's smell, the anxious catch that now has dulled to normal when I hold the pay phone and it rings and rings. How underneath I don't believe he's coming anymore, and I wish I could turn the air beside me into something solid to fill the hole he leaves. How sometimes when he'd touch me I'd go out onto the very edges of myself, far like on a tightrope or a plank, and balance knowing there was only air to catch me; how he'd hold me there till it got scary, sometimes longer, and it was realer and more raw than any thing I'd ever felt. How he would always close his eyes and seem so comfortable, casual even, and I was always amazed at that: how brave he must be for it not to scare him at all. How sometimes it broke me into two pieces, and I'd lie there under him naked and stretched out past my skin, and another me would watch from the ceiling. Even if it was too much I had to grow to hold it, because it belonged to me now, and I belonged to him, and if I let any of the pressure of it spill like water from my faucet mouth, it would all leak out and be gone from me forever. That's what he always said. ”

“I don’t want to love him—this would be so much simpler if I didn’t. But I do.He’s funny, and passionate, and strong, and he believes in me more than I even believe in myself. When he looks at me, I feel like I could take on the whole world and come out standing tall. I like myself better when I’m with him, because of how he sees me. He makes me feel beautiful and powerful, like I’m the most important thing in the world, and I don’t know how to walk away from that. I don’t know how to walk away from him.”

“Sometimes when we were hiding behind the breakers with the crowd, he'd hold me so tight, I'd think he's not just holding me, he's holding onto me, like I'm stopping him from falling off. I'd see him looking at me and his eyes were so full of...I dunno. Like he was about to cry. And, it's stupid, I know, but I think maybe he's hurting because he loves me and I don't love him, and this great lump used to come up into my throat and I'd hold him tight and try and squeeze him as tight as I could and try as hard as I could to fall in love with him the way he loved me.And then other times I'd think, it's just the way his face is that makes him look like that.”

“When I asked him for some explanation as to why he wanted to kill me, he said it was because he didn't like his jobs. When I asked him since when had he not liked his jobs, he said since always. When I remarked that he had never told me this, and that I had gotten the impression that he had liked them, he said: "How is that possible? You know me. Do I strike you as stupid or boring?""No.""Then how could you think I would enjoy being an etiquette expert, or a Weight Watchers' counselor, or a stripper? How could you think that someone like me, with my mind, my character, would derive any satisfaction from those things?”

“I gave Carnades a slow, cold smile that told him that and much more. If Tam could act cool and confident, so could I. In reality I was scared shitless and mad as hell, but considering how close I was to a whole row of empty cells, I thought I'd keep that to myself for now. I could always let my rage out to play later. I didn't want to, but if Carnades pushed me too far, I would push back. He'd seen the Saghred's full power in me when I'd crushed a demon the size of a small house, right here in this very room. He know what I could do, but he thought I wouldn't do it. If he laid a hand on Tam or Mychael, I'd show him just how wrong he was.”

“I always want him. Always. It’s always like this between us, too. We come together and we simply…combust. So easily. Beautifully. Does he even know how he affects me? Does he realize how my heart now rests in his hands? I belong to him completely”