53
" I ate the roll, and forced down some more sparkling wine. When your eyes closed against the sun again, and I had nothing else to look at I glanced quickly at your chest, curious, really. I'd only seen chests like that in magazines. I wondered if that's how you'd got all your money . . . modeling. I looked down at my stomach. I grabbed at it, seeing how much fat I could lift up in a roll.
"Don't worry," you said, one eye open again like a crocodile, watching me. "You're beautiful." You tipped your head back again "Beautiful," you murmured. "Perfect."
"You wouldn't know. You're built like some sort of supermodel." I bit my lip, wishing I hadn't complimented you like that. "Or a stripper," I added. "Prostitute."
"I wouldn't want you to think I'm repulsive," you said, half smiling.
"Too late."
You opened your other eye to squint at me. "Will you ever give me a break? "
― Lucy Christopher , Stolen (Stolen, #1)
54
" I hate it, all of this," I screamed, my voice breaking. "I even hate him, even him." A huge sob came up from my chest.
And I did, right then. I hated you for everything; for making me feel so helpless everywhere I went, for making me lose control. I hated you for all the emotions in my head, for the confusion... for the way I was suddenly doubting everything. I hated you for turning my life upside down and then smashing it into shards. I hated you for making me stand with a whirring fan in my hand, screaming at my mum.
But I hated you for something else, too. Right then, and at every moment since you'd left me, all I could think about was you. I wanted you in that apartment. I wanted your arms around me, your face close to mine. I wanted your smell. And I knew I couldn't-shouldn't-have it. That's what I hated most. The uncertainty of you. You'd kidnapped me, put my life in danger... but I loved you, too. Or thought I did. None of it made sense. "
― Lucy Christopher , Stolen (Stolen, #1)
56
" You told me once of t he plants that lie dormant through the
drought; that wait, half dead, deep in the earth. The plants that
wait for the rain. You said they'd wait for years, if they had to;
that they'd almost kill themselves before they grew again. But
as soon as those first drops of water fall, those plants begin to
stretch and spread their roots. They travel up through the soil
and sand to reach the surface. There's a chance for them again.
One day they'll let you out of that dry, empty cell. You'll
return to the Separates, without me, and you'll feel the ram
once more. And you'll grow straight, this time, towards this
sunlight. I know you will." - Gemma "
― Lucy Christopher , Stolen (Stolen, #1)