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284 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 28, 2014
“It's a scary thing, feeling nothing at all. It only serves to remind you that you're capable of anything. Even if it ends in disaster.”
“I just wanted to know what it would be like to spend some time in the arms of someone who could give me an experience to look back on; a blanket of poignant nostalgia that I could wrap myself in after evenings spent in the same settled routine.”
“You're beautiful ,” he said. “You know that? You've got that just-fucked look in your eyes. Even though I know you haven't sealed the deal yet.”
“I knew who the real victim was, and it wasn't me. If there were some fragment of this inevitable explosion that wrote out my name in blood across the tracks, I would smear it and cry hearsay. Mr. Tennant was the victim.”
“He was the kind of man that those who can write, would write about. Pure poetry-murmuring lips and ink-black eyes that made me wish I could put a pen to paper. Looking at him was the most exquisite torture, like chocolate slowly melting over your tongue.”
“Tyler Dawson wore his affections like a lovingly patched-up sweater; worn ragged but still entirely beloved.”
“Give me a sea of strangers, and all I'll see is you.”
"You're everywhere I walk. You're in each set of eyes I meet; every hand I touch, every small smile as I'm scanning faces in a crowd. You're all of them. Give me a sea of strangers, and all I'll see is you."
"We tossed our trash in the neglected bin; garbage surrounded it in a halo of fuck off..."
"Around us, the entire span of Times Square was ablaze in reds and greens and every color imaginable. It sang from the skies that even in their shrouded haze of suggestive gray-cotton clouds were penetrated by that hungry, energized blanket of life."
"Alone. Not lonely. Just alone. But you can't feel sorry for the things that you ask for...
'I knew who the real victim was, and it wasn't me. If there were some fragment of this inevitable explosion that wrote out my name in blood across the tracks, I would smear it and cry hearsay. Mr. Tennant was the victim. Yet I kissed him continuously. I ran my tongue along his neck and listened to him gasp and moan with a timid noise. I had to have him, and I had to win. I had to win, but I had to have him.'
“You have until the end of the semester to seduce Mr. Tennant. If you succeed, you can have my trust find. I've no use for the money, and I know how much you long to escape this place. I know better than anyone else.”
“And if you win,” I breathed. “What is it that you want?”
“Oh Kaitlyn,” he whispered, reaching out and cupping my face in his hands.
“You. I want you.”
"You see, I didn't want to ruin his life. I just simply wanted to change mine."
"Inside the fence, cooped up in my enviable Upper Easy Side mansion, I was left to my own devices. My own deeds. My own means of escape and worldly deviances. Not that I had many."
"There is one thing, first and foremost, that you should know about this story: it all started with a game."
"I wondered, looking at Mr. Tennet in that millisecond of our eyes meeting, if we were doomed to perpetually search for things we lost somewhere along the way."
"I knew who the real victim was, and it wasn't me. If there were some fragment of this inevitable explosion that wrote my name in blood across the tracks, I would smear it and cry hearsay. Mr. Tennet was the victim."
"Are we star-crossed?" I asked quietly, a whisper.
"Yes", he said. "But I would fight against the stars for you."
"Choice,"
Marius said, after pausing for a length of time that seemed slightly too drawn out. As if he were carefully selecting his next move; the piece to slide across a chessboard.
"It's more than just a word. It's an action. It's perhaps the one thing that joins all of us together in this little deviant game."