White Horse (White Horse #1)

And while I tell him all my thoughts, I don't always share my secrets.

Are you menstruating?
what?
You're angry. Women are often angry when they menstruate. It is the hormones.

Can I ask you something?
Boxers. Briefs exacerbate my claustrophobia.

Detach or go crazy.

Do you realize you're talking to yourself?
Yes.
It's good that you know the difference.

Do you want me, too?
Yes. And no.
I'll take that. For now.

Five years, my family thinks it's time I moved on. I'd like to move on with a non-asshole

He reels me in, cups my face with both hands, and becomes my whole world. This is a kiss--maybe the last one we'll ever know, so we stay there forever, warm and safe. When he pulls away, something is lost. I think it's my heart.

How do you file a restraining order against sadness?

If the world ends tomorrow, understand that I regret saying no.

If you kill him, call me. I'm bound by doctor client privilege.
Really?
No, but the courts make exceptions for assholes.

I have two choices: attend my sister's dinner party or tie a plastic sack around my mother's head until she runs out of ngagging. I choose the evil that doesn't come witha felony conviction.

I pray to a God I don't really have faith in just so I feel like I have company.

I think my invisibility cloak just failed.

It's not just college grades that fall in a curve. Human decency is bell-shaped, with some of us slopping over the edges. Saints on one end, sinners on the other.

It's satisfying. It yields immediate results. Something is dirty. Then it's not.

I've heard the story about the woman who opened the box and let havoc grab a choke hold on the world.

Just a cold. And I think maybe I'm pregnant, because I'm always riding the porcelain bus, or thinking about it.

Just say the word and I'll make him stay.
I have to do it.
There's no have to. Not even now.

Love fills all the gaps in our souls.

My two best friends are dead, which means they're great listeners now, but lousy as far as support goes.

One way, our way policy.

Otherwise I'll do something that I won't be able to live with. And that's important to me, being able to live with my actions. My thoughts are a different story. They've my own and they don't hurt anyone but me.

Our new intern sorts pot shards like some kind of savant. The other interns call himi Rain Man.

Please don't' ask me how I feel about it. If I had to pick a word, I'd say homicidal.

She's unhurt—or at least not bleeding on the oustide.

When I awake, the world is still gone.

You'll love him. Or maybe you'll just love him a time or two.

You're not dead.
I'm not dead.
Why? How?
Dying wasn't on my list.

You're on a blind date. The only other questions is: Why aren't you drinking heavily?