“You scare me, Ryan Daley. Even more than those demons outside that scream for my death. How is it that I want what you want? I’ve spent an eternity feeling powerless. Love did that to me — robbed me of all control. I never expected to feel this way again. I don’t want to feel.’‘Neither did I,’ Ryan rasps, ‘because feeling anything at all was dangerous. If I let myself feel, then maybe I’d have to believe what everyone was saying — that Lauren was dead. But from the moment I laid eyes on “Carmen, you kept getting under my skin. At first, all you did was irritate the hell out of me, bailing me up that way outside my house, inviting yourself along for the ride when all I wanted was to be left alone. But that irritation turned into curiosity, which turned into something else, becoming this chain of, of … feeling that brought me here. I dropped everything for you. I veered left. And I’d do it again in a second. That’s what “feeling” does. It tells you you’re alive, it gives things … I don’t know, proper meaning. You’re still trying to maintain some veneer of independence? Toughness? Do words like that even apply to you? But I see through it, Mercy. I see through you. You’re not that different from me after all, under your armour. Crumbs, Mercy, that’s all I’m after. Just crumbs. It’s not a lot to ask for.”

“The way I feel about you . . . it’s crazy.”“You got the crazy part right,” she snapped, pulling away from me.“I practiced this in my head the whole time we were on the bike, so just hear me out.”“Travis—”“I know we’re fucked-up, all right? I’m impulsive and hot tempered, and you get under my skin like no one else. You act like you hate me one minute, and then you need me the next. I never get anything right, and I don’t deserve you . . . but I fucking love you, Abby. I love you more than I’ve loved anyone or anything, ever. When you’re around, I don’t need booze or money or the fighting or the one-night stands . . . all I need is you. You’re all I think about. You’re all I dream about. You’re all I want.”

“What the hell do you want from me?” “What are you trying to do to me?”“Stop! Just stop!” he spits.“Why? What else needs to be said? I think you’ve told me enough lies for a lifetime.”“No more lies,” he says angrily. “I don’t even want to talk to you anymore. I just want to hear you tell me that you don’t feel anything for me. That you want me to leave you alone and never come back. Then I’ll go. If that’s what you really want, I’ll go.”“Don’t. Please don’t say it.”“Why?”“Because I don’t want you to. I need you to come back to me. Not to help me. Or to help my father. I’m done with that. I don’t want your help. It all boils down to you. I just want you.”“I just want you.”“Okay.”

“You. I want you and I don’t want to be a luxury. I want you to need me. I want you to not be able to concentrate because you’re thinking about me. I want you to reach for your phone because you thought of something you have to share with me. I want you to not even be able to breathe at the thought of never seeing me again, because that’s how I feel about you, Paige. I want to be a necessity.”

“See—this is the problem. You don’t even get where this is going. You can’t just ask me to come in, or kiss me, or tell me you want to know what smoking pot feels like. When I’m close to you I feel crazy, okay? When you say my name I feel crazy. It’s not…the right thing for you. I don’t think I can just…be your friend.”

“I don’t think I like the idea that you just control me, but you get to do anything you like.”“Ah, but that’s because you don’t understand the power exchange. Note that I used the word exchange. Listen, there are as many different ways to practice BDSM as there are people who practice it. I like to play. I like to know that my lover will turn to me when she needs something. I’ll want to protect you. And I like to give you what you need. It makes me feel good. It makes me feel necessary.”