#juliette

But the thought of laying a hand on someone brings back a world of memories, feelings, a flush of power I experience only when I make contact with skin not immune to my own. It's a rush of invincibility; a tormented kind of euphoria; a wave of intensity flooding every pore in my body. I don't know what it will do ti me. I don't know if I can trust myself to take pleasure in someone else's pain. ↗

— Tahereh Mafi

#experience

Sometimes I close my eyes and paint these walls a different color. I imagine I’m wearing warm socks and sitting by a fire. I imagine someone’s given me a book to read, a story to take me away form the torture of my own mind. I want to be someone else somewhere else with something else to fill my mind. I want to run, to feel the wind tug at my hair. I want to pretend that this is just a story within a story. That this cell is just a scene, that these hands don’t belong to me, that this window leads to somewhere beautiful if only I could break it. I pretend this pillow is clean, I pretend this bed is soft. I pretend and pretend and pretend until the world becomes so breathtaking behind my eyelids that I can no longer contain it. But then my eyes fly open and I’m caught around the throat by a pair of hands that won’t stop suffocating suffocating suffocating. My thoughts, I think, will soon be sound. My mind, I hope, will soon be found. ↗

— Tahereh Mafi

#juliette #beauty

But he grins, so brilliantly, not even paying attention. “I love it when you say my name,” he says. “I don’t even know why.” “Warner isn't your name,” I point out. “Your name is *****.” His smile is wide, so wide. “God, I love that.” “Your name?” “Only when you say it.” “*****? Or Warner?” His eyes close. He tilts his head back against the wall. Dimples. ↗

— Tahereh Mafi

#warner #love

All I know next are his arms, the desperate edge to his voice when he says my name, and I'm unraveling in his embrace, I'm frayed and falling apart and I'm making no effort to control the tremors in my bones and he's so hot his skin is so hot and I don't even know where I am anymore. ↗

— Tahereh Mafi

#effort

Warner was supposed to be dead. Warner was supposed to be dead because I was supposed to have shot him but no one supposed I'd need to know how to fire a gun so now I suppose he's come to find me. He's come to fight. For me. ↗

— Tahereh Mafi

#unravel-me #warner #guns

He leaves less than a foot of space between us and I'm 10 inches away from spontaneous combustion. ↗

— Tahereh Mafi

#space

Ah, Ms. Ferrars. I don't know what you hope to accomplish by sitting in the corner. ↗

— Tahereh Mafi

#juliette #accomplishments

He smiles a small smile. His lips twitch like he's trying not to laugh. His eyes soften as they study my own. "There's very little I wouldn't do for you. ↗

— Tahereh Mafi

#adam

Crime is to the passions what nervous fluid is to life: it sustains them, it supplies their strength. ↗

— Marquis de Sade

#life

He looks at me with so much emotion I nearly crack in half. "God, Juliette--" And he's kissing me. Once, twice, until I've had a taste and realize I'll never have enough. ↗

— Tahereh Mafi

#juliette #love #love