“Why do you need to fly so much?” she asked.“If I don’t, it’ll catch up with me.” The words just came out.“What will?”I took my hands from my face, panting. I stared out at the storm.“Unhappiness.”

“Are you a virgin?” I asked, “A virgin who’s gonna tear out my heart?”“Yes … no … wait.” She looked at me. “I’m not going to rip out your heart.”“Thanks for clearing that up,” I said“Is that okay with you?” she asked softly.“Okay with me?”,“No, it’s not okay at all,” I replied.“Why not?” She looked down at her toes.“I want you to rip out my heart.”She smiled, pressed her hand to my chest, and said, “I could never do that.”You already have, I thought as I took her hand in mine”

“Yes?" she asked, eyeing me guardedly.I struck out a hand and said "Shake."Arra stared at the hand, then into my unfocused eyes. "One good fight doesn't make you a warrior," she said."Shake!" I repeated angrily."And if I don't?" she asked."I'll get back up on the bars and fight you till you do," I growled.Arra studied me at length, then nodded and took my hand. "Power to you, Darren Shan," she said gruffly."Power," I repeated weakly, then fainted into her arms and knew no more till I came to in my hammock the next night.”

“You can't tell me what to do anymore, Travis! I don't belong to you!"Her words ignited a deep anger inside me. I stomped to the bed, planted my hands on the mattress on each side of her thighs, and leaned into her face. "Well, I belong to you!" I screamed. I put so much force behind my words, I could feel all the blood rush to my face. Abby met my glare, refusing to even flinch. I looked at her lips, panting. "I belong you," I whispered, my anger fading as desire took over.”

“Whiskey, glass, pour, toss back, glare. Repeat. “Cop out,” I slurred in retaliation, pointing the empty glass at Peter.“Don’t get drunk. Fuck. I need you sober,” he yelled, snatching the glass out of my hand.“There’s the problem right there. You need me sober. You need my help. You need something from me.” I laughed, tossing the bottle on the sofa, ignoring the glug glug glug as it emptied over my cushions. “And I just need you.”“Need me to what?” He asked with a huff, tipping the bottle right-side up.“Nothing. I just need you,” I whispered and flopped into a nearby recliner.”

“I remember when my daughter was just learning her letters. She was playing in her room and came downstairs to ask me, “Momma, what does C-H-I-N-A spell?” “China,” I told her (she knew what the word meant—she had friends from there). “So,” she asked next, “why is it written on everything?”