Pain is useless without pleasure. One highlights the other, and the tension that simmers between them is the sweetest of lines to cross.

No, let me explain the one thing that makes me different to you. I have no conscience.

It’s not even a kiss anymore. It’s jumping off a building. It’s a coke binge. A single slash to the throat. Kissing Leo is like perpetual suicide; I die in her mouth over and over, my hips smacking into hers with all the force of the fall.

I grew up an only child, which means you can look at my toys – I’ll show them off, in fact – but god help you if you lay a finger on them.

Love is just a scar you can’t see.

There are men who collect hearts. I collect heart-shaped asses. They taste better when you bite them, see; bleed more, too, depending on where you go in.

Do I want to keep him? Ah, can you ever keep anything? Don't we all have To open our fists eventually, to stretch tired fingers, to allow our palms a taste of new things...?

AUTHOR'S GOODREADS PAGE: I like dysfunction. Broken people who can't fix each other, but fit together because they're missing the same pieces.

AUTHOR'S GOODREADS PAGE: I love antiheroes. Female characters who don't just accept their faults, but downright exploit them. No nice boys. No shame.