They will both be happy, and I do not grudge them their bliss; but I groan under my own misery: some of my suffering is very acute. Truly, I ought not to have been born: they should have smothered me at first cry.

Charlotte Brontë

Tags: chapter-13



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What's your name?" I ask him.
We're standing in front of my door.
He stops suprised. Lifts his chin almost imperecmptly. Focuses his eyes on my face until I begin to regret my question.
"You want to know my name."
I don't do it on purpose, but my eyes narrow just a bit.
"Warner is your last name, isn't it?"
He almost smiles. "You want to know my name"
"I didn't realize it was a secret."
He steps forward. His lips twitch. His eyes fall, his lips draw in a tight breath. He drops a gloved finger down the apple of my cheek. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours,"
He whispers, too close to my neck.
I inch backward. Swallow hard.
"You already know my name."
He's not looking at my eyes. "You're right. I should rephrase that. What I meant to say was I'll tell you mine if you show me yours."
"What?" I'm breathing too fast too suddenly.
He begins to pull off his gloves and I begin to panic.
"Show me what you can do."
My jaw is tight and my teeth have begun to ache. "I won't touch you"
"That's all right." He tugs off the other glove. "I don't exactly need your help."
"No-"
"Don't worry." He grins. "I'm sure it won't hurt you at all."
"No," I gasp "No, I won't-I can't-"
"Fine," Warner snaps "That's fine. You don't want to hurt me. I'm so utterly flattered." He almost rolls his eyes.

Tahereh Mafi

Tags: chapter-13 p-77-78-warner-juliette



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Now the flesh arranges itself differently. I'm a cloud, congealed around a center object, the shape of a pear, which is hard and more real than I am and glows red within its translucent wrapping. Inside it is a space, huge as the sky at night and dark and curved like that, though black-red rather than black. Pinpoints of light swell, sparkle, burst and shrivel within it, countless as stars. Every month there is a moon, gigantic, round, heavy, an omen.

Margaret Atwood

Tags: chapter-13



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