Literally me
O da, birkaç günlük rahatlık uğruna, para bulmak ya da şans bileti satın almak için olmayacak şeyi yapmaz mıydı? Kendini öldürmeden söz eden her satır, her suç, her umutsuzluk, onun için ansızın bir olaya dönüştü. Her şey ona "ben" diyordu
"Carl," Circe eventually said, "what are you doing?"
"You did it," I said, not moving my head from the table. "You killed me. I am literally dead right now. Your kid couldn't do it, but you pulled it off. You've succeeded in boring me to death."
📚🔔 Tatil zili çaldı!
Bir yıl boyunca verilen emeklerin ardından şimdi dinlenme, keşfetme ve yeni maceralara atılma zamanı. 🌞
Bu yaz bol kahkahalı, bol anılı ve elbette bol kitaplı geçsin. Tüm öğrencilere keyifli tatiller diliyoruz! 💙📖
Professor Jehannine Austin, an academic and researcher, leads a genetic counseling clinic for mental health in Vancouver. "Everybody has some genes that predispose to mental illness," she told me, but these are "a very, very long way away from causing anything... Literally what separates those of us who do suffer from those of us that don't is what happens to us during our lives."
Literally Me!Alıntı
Evet, ben ayyaş bir fokum. Bu çivisi çıkmış dünyada, bu çivisi çıkmış ülkede ayakta kalmak için bir kadehten ötekine dalıp dalıp çıkıyorum.
To make this play believeable
“My little farm
girl, you’re going to need to fake some interest in me.” His hand slides over
my thigh, and I feel the heat of it through the translucent fabric of my dress.
I whisper back. “What do you have in mind, exactly?”
“Nia, love, you’re going to have to kiss me.” The deep sound of his
voice in my ear strokes over my skin like a sensual caress.
Warmth creeps over my cheeks, and his hand moves over my hip. Only
the thin fabric of my dress separates us, and heat ripples out from his palm.
My gaze dips to his full, sensual lips, and my pulse races.
It’s just a kiss. All part of the spy game, of course. Agents of Avalon
Tower must do all kinds of things on our missions. Things we normally
wouldn’t dream of, like kissing the enemy.
I feel their eyes on us, watching. Waiting.
I lick my lips, and his gaze flicks down to my mouth. His pupils dilate,
the copper blending to black. His thumb strokes languidly up and down on
my hip, then circles over the hollow of my thigh, sending hot tingles in the
wake of his touch.
I lean forward, my mouth hovering just over his, his breath mingling
with mine.
“Nia.” There’s a fierce, ragged edge in the way he whispers my name,
his lips so close to mine. “I hear your heart racing. You can lie to yourself,
but you can’t lie to me. I think you’re interested in me after all.”
Oh, he has my interest. I loathe him and fear him, but I’m also painfully
aware of how breathtakingly beautiful he is, this man with the dangerous
smile, the seductive eyes, and the muscled body of a Fey warrior.
This close to him, his body warms mine. I lean into his chest, and it
feels like pure steel. I brush my thumb over his full lower lip, my heart
racing. His breath hitches, and I’m surprised that I have this effect on him. I
search his eyes and find an
Raphael
I flip through his thoughts, searching deeper. The prisoner. Does he
know anything about a beautiful, silver-eyed demi-Fey?
The prisoner has been here for some time. Captured in the war with the
humans, but they didn’t put him with the rest of the rabble. He’s too
valuable, for some reason. Doesn’t seem particularly valuable to Cadoc.
Just another half-breed mongrel…
My heart skips a beat. Raphael.
I invade Cadoc’s every thought, sifting through ideas, memories,
everything he knows. I’m ravaging the inside of his skull, grasping the
threads, then pulling the strings to bend him to my will.
Now, Cadoc wonders if the prisoner is literally valuable.
Maybe he’s rich. In fact, he’s probably rich, or they’d leave him with the
rest, right? If Cadoc will just do this tiny thing, just unlock the door, the
prisoner might reward him handsomely. Yes. That’s what he should do.
Odelia will fall back in love with him, and his father will get his job back in
the stables. Cadoc absolutely shouldn’t question this drunk lady more
because she’s a distraction from what’s really important. She’s just a tiny
woman, a drunken musician, not worthy of his notice.
When I withdraw from his mind, he stares at me, dazed. Then, without a
word, he pulls a skeleton key from his belt and opens a door into yet
another torchlit stairwell.
I follow him down a flight of stairs, the air growing staler, like wet earth
and mushrooms.
My heart is pounding as he leads me to another wooden door. He slides
a second key into a rusty lock, turns it twice, and pushes the door open.
I can hardly breathe.
“You,” he says into the darkness. “Get up.”
I step inside, trying to see in the dark.
In the corner of a grimy stone cell sits a shirtless man. For a second, I
almost don’t recognize him. Dirt smears his body, and