I’m afraid to be noticed as an alluring person, so it’s easier to make sure I remain ugly.
Colui che più in alto siede, sta più in pericolo di cadere al basso e precipitarsi.
[…] life is random and fucked-up and arbitrary, until you find someone who can make sense of it all for you–if only temporarily.
I actually want to thank You for disrupting my life, because I would never have taken the time to improve my character if I did not get sent to the bad place, nor would I have met Cliff, or even Tiffany for that matter, and I know this journey has been for a reason.
She looks sad. She looks angry. She looks different from everyone else I know–she cannot put on that happy face others wear when they know they are being watched. She doesn’t put on a face for me, which makes me trust her somehow.
Zara didn’t understand where the debt came from. Nevertheless, she started counting how much of the loan she had paid off, how much was still left, how many months, how many weeks, days, hours, how many mornings, how many nights, how many showers, blow jobs, customers. How many girls she saw. From how many countries. How many times she had to redden her lips and how many times Nina had to give her stitches. How many diseases she got, how many bruises. How many times her head was shoved in the toilet or how many times she was drowned in the sink with Pasha’s iron fist around the back of her neck.
Over the past year she had forgotten all the normal ways of being with people–how to get to know a person, how to have a conversation–and she couldn’t think of a segue to break the silence.