When She Can't Bring Me To Heal

You And I, We Must Carry On, Gemma. I Cannot Afford The Luxury Of Love. I Must Marry Well. And Now I Must Look After You. It Is My Duty." "if You Wish To Suffer, You Do So Of Your Own Free Will, Not On My Behalf. Or Father's Or Grandmama's Or Anyone's. You Are A Fine Physician, Thomas. Why Is That Not Enough?" "because It Isn't," He Says With A Rare Candor. "only This And The Hope Of Nothing More? A Quiet Respectability With No True Greatness Or Heroism In It, With Only My Reputation To Recommend Me. So You See, Gemma, You Are Not The Only One Who Cannot Rule Her Own Life.

No One Asks How Or What I Am Doing. They Could Not Care Less. We’re All Looking Glasses, We Girls, Existing Only To Reflect Their Images Back To Them As They’d Like To Be Seen. Hollow Vessels Of Girls To Be Rinsed Of Our Own Ambitions, Wants, And Opinions, Just Waiting To Be Filled With The Cool, Tepid Water Of Gracious Compliance. A Fissure Forms In The Vessel. I’m Cracking Open.

Retribution Is A Dog Chasing Its Tail.

You Are Truly Satan's Sequined Spawn.

In This Man’s Smile Was All The Unfairness Of The World In Its Thuggish Seduction. “just Come With Me. We’ll Take Care Of You.” “no, You Won’t.” Taylor Stroked The Man’s Cheek. She Reached Her Arms Up To Cradle The Back Of His Head And, With The Skill Of A Champion, She Broke His Neck. Then She Dragged Him Into The Bushes, Took His Gun And Walkie-talkie, And Kept Moving.