If he just had the decency to die silently yesterday, not squeal like a girl, I’d be free right now. Probably even doing some real job,” she sneered.
I’m not mean to everybody. I’m only mean to people whose intellectual level is awfully lower than mine.
The others could believe that she was that way because she lost her parents so early, but Peter knew better. She was strong, confident, and never broken.
Everything had changed, and maybe she couldn’t keep up with it, but she still was good at making people regret they had ever crossed her way.
He watched her curiously from below, feeling as someone might feel watching a butterfly sit nearby, afraid to scare it off with a sound of voice or an abrupt movement.
She had every right to be harsh, mean, and independent. Every damn right. And yet he had a feeling that she needed care more than anyone else in the world.
Because otherwise you would have to let them in, let them change your life, and it’s scary and unpredictable and unsafe – at least, that’s what we all think.
She looked herself in the eyes and saw that there was nothing left. No sense. It must have gone through that hole in her chest along with everything else.
Is there a club for bitchiness management, like Alcoholics Anonymous? Because, seriously, I think you should visit it.
He had a semicircle tattoo with an indecent word on the back of his head, suggesting all people around him to leave him alone – in a much more impolite manner.
And as her voice carried in the darkness, he wasn’t sure where the borders between her story and his dream were. But he saw no more nightmares; he dreamed of a noble Sky Ghost and his little daughter, which he taught everything she needed to become...