“It's all my fault! Everything is my fault and no one knows it more than me. We're all in hell and I'm the one that put us here.”

“Not my fault that you’re distractingly pretty.”I have to take a minute to confirm to the pissed off part of my brain that still works that, yes, in fact, I did just say that. And I don’t know if distractingly is even a word. If it is, it’s a stupid one. Like me.”

“Not my fault you're distractingly pretty.”

“I'm not deluded enough to think it won't come out somehow, but it's nice to have one person exist who doesn't know all of my tragic bullshit. At least for a little while.”

“It's like having a ghost in my garage. I feel like I'm being haunted. With all the dead people I've got in my corner, you'd think one of them would be the one hanging around.”

“A few minutes later, she comes out of my bedroom wearing one of my t-shirts, and it might almost be worse than seeing her in no shirt at all.”

“I wished that my hand would work again," I tell him when he climbs in after me. it was my first wish and the only one that mattered."I wished my mother was here tonight, which is stupid, because it's an impossible wish." He shrugs and turns to me, drowning the smile that cracks me every time."It's not stupid to want to see her again.""It wasn't so much that I wanted to see her again, " he says, looking at me with the depth of more than seventeen years in his eyes. "I wanted her to see you.”