“How many of us are there?” he demanded in a less than amused tone.“Legions, surely, don’t you think it must be so?”“How can you joke about even this?” he asked, anger evident in his voice. A rarity that he expressed it, or any other emotion, for that matter. Of course, that didn’t mean the emotions weren’t there, and I’d experienced every one he’d refused to show.“Don’t knock what you haven’t tried, Michel. Trust me when I say my regular routine of self-amusement is a much better prophylactic against insanity than your grueling regimen of nightly self-flogging.”

“Our reconnection was intense and deeply emotional, like much of our relationship had been. He muttered things to me while we made love—how beautiful he thought I was, how much he’d missed me, how much he needed me, how empty he’d been, how much he loved me. I couldn’t even speak to tell him I felt the exact same way. I was too overcome by the emotion in his voice. Then he said something that tore me.“Don’t leave…I don’t want to be alone.” He had actual tears in his eyes as he looked down on me. “I don’t want to be alone, anymore.” ~Kellan”

“I hurt your feelings before. But then, I don’t think you were lacking in self-confidence. You must know that you’re beautiful. Your hair is so golden and you have the bearing of a young Venus. Kristen, it isn’t you. It’s me. I haven’t got any emotion left. I haven’t got what you need, what you want. Damn it, don’t you understand? I want you. I’m made out of flesh and blood and whatever else it is that God puts into men. I want you. Now. Hell, I could have wanted you right after I ripped another man away from you. I’m no better than he is, not really. Don’t you understand?”

“I’d have much rather gotten dragged into someone else’s fight than face what was waiting for me. Other people’s emotional pain, no matter how painful, is so much less painful than your own.”

“He was an Angel.  He walked in Grace.  When you meet one—and I’m sure someday you will—you’ll know it, too.  When he told me, it was, just, well, giving voice to something I already knew on a level.” “And how did you know for sure?”  I asked. “Did you see his halo?” “Do you want to cut down on the snark?   I’m your mother.  Given the events of the last two days, I’d think you’d be more inclined to take my word for it.” She had me there. “Besides, he did show me his—ah—true self.” “Is that a euphemism for penis?  Please let it not be a euphemism for penis.  You are talking about my dad.” “No, it’s not a euphemism.  I mean he showed me his Angel form.”

“A few minutes after discovering we had a goal but no plan, Brent was laughing heartily at a pathetic joke I had made. It reminded me of the firstday on campus when I had thought his laughter sounded like a melody. It did now, even more so. It was music, beautiful, in a manly way, like asensual, slow jazz. I loved jazz.“Jazz, huh?” Brent asked, his voice suddenly husky.“Uh . . . what?”“My laugh reminds you of jazz? Is there anything about me you don’t find attractive?” He rubbed his hand over his lips trying to cover his smirk.“So tell me, how much do you love jazz?”I’m sure my face was pinker than the inside of a watermelon. “I didn’t say any of that.”“You didn’t have to say it, Yara, I could hear it.” Brent tapped the side of his head. “I can hear your thoughts.”“You’re not serious.”“Oh, but I am,” he said, completely straight-faced.”