“I wish I didn't have to think about you. You wanted to impress me; well, I'm not impressed, I'm disgusted...You wanted to make damn good and sure I'd never be able to turn over in bed again without feeling that body beside me, not there but tangible, like a leg that's been cut off. Gone but the place still hurts.”

“I want to rip his damn arms off his body Ash. Sawyer, who I'd do anything for. I want to hurt him. If he touches you again in front of me I'm going to crack. I can't take this”

“I said I was impressed, Martha. I'm beside myself with jealousy. What do you want me to do, throw up?”

“That's why I didn't want to touch you I knew I'd go crazy if I touched you, and now, it tears me open to ask you to be with me when I know I'm just going to do something to hurt you again! "Yes! Yes you probably are, you idiot! And it's going to be a damn skydive for me, and I'm going to hang on tight and just jump with you because that's what you do to me.”

“If I love you more than you love me, I'm as good as dead. Yet I can't make myself take it back. I can't just walk away from you, because every time you pass by me without smiling, without touching my hand, or at least making eye contact, it feels like I'm dying inside. And I'm pretty sure that hurts worse than whatever Marc would do to me. Whatever your dad would do. Hell, Faythe, I'm pretty sure that never touching you again would hurt worse than the nastiest death Calvin could think up for me.”

“I didn't want to hurt you," she blurted. "I never wanted to be someone you would regret. I'm not afraid for me. I'm afraid for you.”