Quotes by Jasinda Wilder

You’re my woman. Of courseI’m responsible for you. It’s my highest duty in life to take care of you, protect you. -Jason Dorsey

I’ll support whatever you decide. I’llhelp you any way I can. What’s mine isyours, okay? If you need something, I’ll make sure you have it, however I have to get it. -- Jason Dorsey

You’re allowed to feel whatever you want. - Jason Dorsey

But I think you’re beautiful. You’re lovely.” I shifted uncomfortably under the intense scrutiny and prickling heat in his eyes. “Thanks?” He thinks Im…lovely? The idea that Kyle thought I was not just hot, but lovely, sent pangs of something like fear through me, an intense pressure in my heart.

I respect the hell out of her for how hard she’s working to be okay. I just wish she’d let me show her how to let go, how to let herself hurt. I want to take her pain.

Hot heart-blood leaked from my face. From my eyes and my nose and my mouth. Not tears, because those would never stop. This was just liquid heartbreak seeping from my pores.

But we have to learn to be free. We have to, Nell. Doesnt mean happy all the time, or okay all the time. It’s okay not to be okay. I told you that, but Im relearning it myself. But not being okay doesnt mean you stop living.

When my grandpa died, I had this same fear. I love Grandpa so much. He was Moms dad, and he was my favorite person in the whole world. He lived up north, between Grayling and the Mackinaw Bridge. He had, like, twenty acres. He had horses and dirt bike and all this awesome stuff. Id go up there for weeks at a time during the summers, and hed let me do whatever I wanted. Wed go hunting and fishing and four-wheeling, and Id stay up till midnight every night. Then one day, he died. All of a sudden, just like that that. I cried for days. Dad kicked the shit out of me for crying, but I didnt care. I loved Grandpa, and he was gone. Then, like a month after hed died, I had this panic attack. I couldnt remember what he looked like. I thought it meant I didnt love him, or that Id forgotten about him. It was the only time Dad was anything like helpful. He told me you have to forget what they look like. Otherwise, you cant learn to live without them. Forgetting is your brains way of telling you its time to try and move on. Not forget who they were, just...keep living.

It wasnt supposed to. It was just supposed to stop you from hurting yourself.” “It helps—” “No it doesnt. It just pushes it away temporarily. Just like the booze.” “But I need—” “You need to let yourself feel. Feel it, own it. Then move on.” “You make it sound so easy.” Bitterness drips from each syllable. “It’s not. It’s the fucking hardest thing a person can do.” I smooth a damp strand out of her face and away from my mouth. “It’s the hardest fucking thing. It’s why we drink and do drugs and fight. It’s why I play music and build engines.

The only way past the pain is through it. Pain, grief, anger, misery...they dont go away--they just increase and compound and get worse. You have to live through them, acknowledge them. You have to give your pain its due.

It’s not okay,” I tell her. This gets her attention; it’s not what she was expecting. “You don’t have to be okay.” “What do you want from me?” Her voice is ragged, desperate. “I want you to let yourself be broken. Let yourself hurt.” She shakes her head again. “I can’t. If I let it out, it’ll never stop.” “Yes, it will.

She closes her eyes, and I can see the moisture. She’s deep-breathing again, and I notice her hands are clutched around the opposing wrists, nails digging in deep, hard, scratching. Pain to replace pain.

You can’t hold it in forever,” Colton said, apropos of nothing. “Yes, I can.” I had to. “You’ll go crazy. It’ll come out, one way or another.” “Better crazy than broken.” I wasnt sure where that came from, hadnt thought it or meant to say it. “You’re not broken. You’re hurting.

Let…it…go,” he whispers, his voice a fierce, harsh sound in my hair. “No. No!” The last word is screamed. “You have to. You can’t bleed it out. You can’t keep pretending, drinking it down.

The door slams in response, and I laugh. Im glad she can laugh. It means she really is coping. I know she’s internalizing a lot, though. Putting on a show for me. She’ll have new scars on her wrists soon.

I dont even know how long she sobs. Time ceases to pass, and she cries, cries, cries. Clutches me and makes these sounds of a soul being ripped in two, the grief so long denied taking its toll. Fermented grief is far more potent.

I bought this place for a pittance, because it was a dump. Rejected, abandoned, unwanted. Like me. I fixed it up. Made it mine.

My thoughts are free to roam back to the way she leaned her head on my arm for a split second, as if wishing she could let herself go, let herself lean farther. But she didnt, and I can’t help but respect her for that, even I know her strength is false, propped up by the shaky girders of Old Man Jack. One day soon, those girders will collapse, and her world will crumble, and I know I have to be there when that happens.

I should have seen it coming.” The words don’t surprise me, but they piss me off. I pull away and glare down at her. “Don’t you fucking dare, Nell Hawthorne. Don’t you dare put this on yourself. You should never have to see shit like this coming.” She backs away, stunned and afraid by the intensity I know is radiating off me. “Colton, I just meant he’s always shown—” “Stop. Just stop right there. Granted, you should’ve never gotten involved with a douchetard like him, but that’s no excuse for what he did.

I also know Im not going to stay away. Im going to grab onto her and let myself get cut. Im good at pain. Im good at bleeding, emotionally and physically.