Sleep,” He Says. “i'll Fight The Bad

You're Not Very Nice," I Say, Grinning. "you're One To Talk." "hey, I Could Be Nice If I Tried." "hmm." He Taps His Chin. "say Something Nice, Then." "you're Very Good-looking." He Smiles, His Teeth A Flash In This Dark. "i Like This 'nice' Thing.

That Quality Frightens Me Now, Because I Know What He Told Me: That I Was Broken, That I Was Worthless, That I Was Nothing. How Many Of Those Things Did He Make Me Believe?

You Are Far Less Likely To Soil Your Pants And Cry For Your Mother If You’re Prepared To Defend Yourself.

Don't Pretend", I Say Breathily. "you Know I'm Not. I'm Not Ugly, But I Am Certainly Not Pretty." "fine. You're Not Pretty. So?" He Kisses My Cheek. "i Like How You Look. You're Deadly Smart. You're Brave.

He Moves His Thumb In A Slow Circle Over The Back Of My Hand. It Is Meant To Comfort Me, But It Frustrates Me Instead. I Need To Talk To Him. I Need To Look At Him.