Celia sighed. “Her life may not have been her own, but her death was. She made a decision and saw it through. None of us can take that from her. None of us should. We should respect that, as hard as it may be.
J.M. Darhower[...] I’ll fucking kill them all. Every single one of them.”
Corrado’s voice rang out beside them. “Too late. They’re all already dead.”
Carmine glared at his uncle. “Well, we’ll bring those motherfuckers back to life then.
Life’s a struggle, and it would be so easy if it came with an eraser, but it didn’t. What's done is done, as hard as that was to accept.
J.M. DarhowerHis chest swelled with pride at her words. “Good, because no one touches my girl unless she wants to be touched. No woman should ever be violated. That’s something my mom made sure we understood. She said a woman’s body was a temple, and you should never enter it without an invitation. I was just a kid and didn’t understand at the time, but she stressed it so much that I remember.
J.M. DarhowerDr. DeMarco nodded, motioning toward Carmine. “I’m thankful for the Mazda— damn thankful you didn’t return it scratched,” he said, glaring at his father. “I’m thankful to be out of that ridiculous boarding school. Thankful for music and my gun... I fucking love my gun.” Haven looked at him with surprise as Dr. DeMarco laughed. “It’s a nice gun. I checked it out. A 1911 .45 ACP. Where’d you get it?”
Carmine shrugged. “Maybe I don’t recall.” “Fair enough,” Dr. DeMarco said. ”Are you done?” “Uh, I'm thankful for you all, even if you get on my nerves sometimes,” Carmine said. “Oh, and orgasms... definitely thankful for those.” “That’s enough,” Dr. DeMarco said, shaking his head as he turned to her. “What are you thankful for, child?” She hesitated, her nerves running amuck. “Having food to eat. A bed to sleep in, too.
sempre. she asked.
Cracking a smile, he brushed his pointer finger softly across her lips. “Always and forever.
Besides, there's a reason we don't know how the story ends.
Why?
Because it doesn't.
Sorry, hippie, I didn’t get you anything."
Hannah shook her head. "I don’t know why you insist on calling me that."
"Sorry, hippie, I didn’t get you anything."
Hannah shook her head. "I don’t know why you insist on calling me that."
"You do the hippie stuff, like play with nature and gaze at the cosmos. If you were mortal, you’d totally smoke reefer and sing ‘Kumbaya’ with your stoner friends.
Ah, sin," Lucifer said. "Like the serpent that tricked Eve into eating the forbidden fruit. She devoured it, knowing she shouldn't."
"And she was punished for it."
"She was," Lucifer agreed. "But if you think for a moment she truly regretted it, you're wrong. That fruit was the most glorious thing she ever tasted—the sweetest, the ripest—and once you experience something so breathtaking, you never forget it. You never regret it.
Give in to it, angel."
"Give in to what?"
"The hunger," he said, his tongue slowly running across his bottom lip. "The need. Give in to the craving. Give in to me."
"Never," she whispered, the word impulsively tumbling from her lips, no conviction in her feeble voice.
"I know you feel it, deep inside of you, screaming out to be acknowledged, to be satiated," he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. "I can sense it, clawing underneath your skin, begging to be let loose, begging to be invited out to play.
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