Ryle It Ends With Us Quotes

It’s easy when we’re on the outside to believe that we would walk away without a second thought if a person mistreated us. It’s easy to say we couldn’t continue to love someone who mistreats us when we aren’t the ones feeling the love of that person. When you experience it firsthand, it isn’t so easy to hate the person who mistreats you when most of the time they’re your godsend. Ryle

Yes. I kept the magnet Atlas gave me when we were kids. Yes. I kept the journals. No, I didn’t tell you about my tattoo. Yes, I probably should have. And yes, I still love him. And I’ll love him until I die, because he was a huge part of my life. And yes, I’m sure that hurts you. But none of that gave you the right to do what you did to me. Even if you would have walked into my bedroom and caught us in bed together, you still would not have the right to lay a hand on me, you goddamn son of a bitch!

I love who you are and what you make me. I love that your spark has stopped the blur. That you wanted to race with me. That I don't need the superheroes anymore because I need you instead. Shit, we've already done the for better or worse part and the in sickness and in health, so let's do the Til death do us part too. Make a life with me, Ryles. Start with me. End With Me. Complete Me. Be my one and only first. Be my goddamn victory lane and my fucking checkered flag because god knows I'll be yours if you'll let me. Marry Me, Ry?

Don’t tempt the scorpion if you don’t want to get stung.

I know that you believe he loves you,and i'm sure he does. But he's not loving you the right way. He doesn't love you the way you deserve to be loved. If Ryle truly loves you,he wouldn't allow you to take him back. He would make the decision to leave you himself so that he knows for a fact he can never hurt you again. That's the kind of love a woman deserves,Lily

When I think about Ryle hitting you… I get absurdly angry. Because I love him. I do. He’s been my best friend since we were kids. But I also hate him for not being better. Nothing you have done and nothing you could do would excuse any man’s hands on you out of anger. Remember that, Lily. You made the right choice by leaving that situation. You should never feel guilty for that. Pride is the only thing you should feel.

Shit, we’ve already done the for better or worse part and the in sickness and health, so let’s do the ’til death do us part too. Make a life with me, Ryles. Start with me. End with me. Complete me. Be my one and only first. Be my goddamn victory lane and my fucking checkered flag because God knows I’ll be yours if you’ll let me. Marry me, Ry?

I had that picture made the day after I took it," he says. "It's been in my apartment for months now, because you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen and I wanted to look at it every single day."

But I don’t want her to live like I lived. I don’t want her to see her father at his worst. I don’t want her to see him when he loses his temper with me to the point that she no longer recognizes him as her father. Because no matter how many good moments she might share with Ryle throughout her lifetime, I know from experience that it would only be the worst ones that stuck with her.

Does she know we live together?” I ask him. “Is she okay with that? I mean, we aren’t married. She goes to church every Sunday. Oh no, Ryle! What if your mother thinks I’m a blasphemous whore?” Ryle nudges his head toward the apartment door and I spin around to see his mother standing in the doorway, a layer of shock on her face. “Mother,” Ryle says. “Meet Lily. My blasphemous whore.

It stops here, With me and you, It ends with us.

Ryle," I say carefully. "Did you seriously just knock on twenty-nine doors so you could tell me that the thought of me is making your life hell and I should have sex with you so that you'll never have to think of me again? Are you

She climbs inside the car and they leave, and I just stand there watching them because I don’t know that I’ve ever had a friend like her in my whole life. Maybe it’s the wine. I don’t know, but I love today. Everything about it. I especially love how Ryle looks, leaning against my car, watching me. “You’re really beautiful when you’re happy.

Ryle is my unexpected tidal wave, and right now I’m skimming the beautiful surface.

She grabs my hands and holds them while I cry. “Don’t be like me, Lily. I know that you believe he loves you, and I’m sure he does. But he’s not loving you the right way. He doesn’t love you the way you deserve to be loved. If Ryle truly loves you, he wouldn’t allow you to take him back. He would make the decision to leave you himself so that he knows for a fact he can never hurt you again. That’s the kind of love a woman deserves, Lily.

I'm a Pinterest whore.

I blame Ryle for that. He took what little trust I had left in men thanks to my father, and he stripped me of it.

The patience he still owes me from all the times he had none

Atlas is so angry, but this is an anger I'm not afraid of. I realize the significance of this moment. I'm alone with an angry man in my apartment, but I'm not in fear for my life, because he isn't angry at me. He's angry at the person who hurt me. It's a protective anger, and there's a world of difference between my reactions to Ryle's anger versus my reaction to Atlas's anger.

Are parents ever really happy with their children? Will they ever be good enough?” He shakes his head. “My children wouldn’t be. Not many people have the drive I do, so I’d only be setting them up for failure. That’s why I’ll never have any.” “I actually think that’s respectable, Ryle. A lot of people refuse to admit they might be too selfish to have children.

I realize in this moment that the hardest part about ending an abusive relationship is that you aren't necessarily putting an end to the bad moments. The bad moments still rear their ugly heads every now and then. When you end an abusive relationship, it's the good moments you put an end to. In our marriage, the few terrifying incidents were blanketed by so many good ones, but now that our marriage is over, the blanket has lifted and all I'm left with are the worst pieces of him. When our marriage was once full of heart and flesh that cushioned the skeleton, all that's left is the skeleton now. Sharp, bony edges that slice right through me.

I cry for Ryle. Because even though he’s responsible for the situation he’s in, I know how sad he is about it. And when you love someone, seeing them sad also makes you sad.

There is no such things as bad people. We're all just people who sometimes do bad things" Ryle Kincaid

I actually think that's respectable, Ryle. A lot of people refuse to admit they might be too selfish to have children.

I know that you believe he loves you,and i'm sure he does. But he's not loving you the right way. He doesn't love you the way you deserve to be loved. I f Ryle truly loves you,he wouldn't allow you to take him back. H e would make the decision to leave you himself so that he knows for a fact he can never hurt you again. That's the kind of love a woman deserves,Lily

He's a broken man, but he isn't broken because of me. He was broken before he met me. Sometimes people think if they love a broken person enough, they can be what finally repairs them, but the problem with that is the other person just ends up broken, too.

If I had to compare this feeling to something, I would compare it to death. Not just the death of anyone. The death of the one. The person who is closer to you than anyone else in the whole world. The one who, when you simply imagine their death, it makes your eyes tear up. That's what this feels like. It feels like Ryle has died. It's an astronomical amount of grief. An enormous amount of pain. It's a sense that I've lost my best friend, my lover, my husband, my lifeline.

My brother loves you, Lily. He loves you so much. You have changed his entire life and have made him someone that I never thought he could be. As his sister, I wish more than anything that you find a way to forgive him. But as your best friend, I have to tell you that if you take him back, I will never speak to you again.” It takes a moment for her words to register, but when they do, I start sobbing. She starts sobbing. She wraps her arms around me and we cry over the mutual love we have for Ryle. We cry over how much we hate him right now.

I stood up there for two solid minutes without saying another word. There wasn't one great thing I could say about that man--so I just stared silently at the crowd until my mother realized what I was doing and had my uncle remove me from the podium." Ryle tilts his head. "Are you kidding me? You gave the anti-eulogy at your own father's funeral?" I nod. "I'm not proud of it. I don't think. I mean, if I had my way, he would have been a much better person and I would have stood up there and talked for an hour." Ryle lies back down. "Wow," he says, shaking his head. "You're kind of my hero. You just roasted a dead guy.

In the philosophy of mind - as, indeed, in more important matters - [the twentieth century] has been a less than fully satisfactory century. We pretty much wasted the first half, so it seems to me, in a neurotic and obsessive preoccupation with refuting Cartesian skepticism about other minds. In the event, it didn't matter that the skeptics weren't refuted since there turned out not to be any. The only philosophers who really were doubtful about the existence of other minds were relentless anti-Cartesians like Wittgenstein, Dewey, Ryle, Quine and Rorty, and they were equally doubtful about the existence of their own. What we got for our efforts was mostly decades of behaviorism and the persistent bad habit of trying to run epistemological or semantic arguments for metaphysical conclusions. The end of this, I fear, is still not with us.

Children’s minds are cast in much the same mold as our own. Sternness and severity of manner chill them and set them back. It shuts up their hearts, and you will weary yourself to find the door. But let them see that you have an affectionate feeling towards them and that you really desire to make them happy and do them good, so that if you punish them, they know it is intended for their well-being. As they see that you, like the pelican, would give your heart’s blood to nourish their souls, they will soon be submitted and devoted to you.[2] But they must be wooed with kindness, if their attention is ever to be won. And surely, reason itself might teach us this lesson. Children are weak and tender creatures, and they need patient and considerate treatment. We must handle them delicately, like frail machines, for fear that by rough fingering we do more harm than good. They are like young plants and need gentle watering – often, and only a little at a time. We must not expect all things at once. We must remember what children are and teach them as they are able to bear. Their minds are like a lump of metal – not to be forged and made useful all at once but only by a succession of little blows. Their understanding is like narrow-necked vessels: we must pour in the wine of knowledge gradually, or much of it will be spilled and lost. Precept upon precept; line upon line, line upon line; here a little, and there a little must be our rule (Isaiah 28:10). The whetstone does its work slowly, but frequent rubbing will bring the scythe to a fine edge. Truly, patience is needed in training a child, but without it, nothing can be done. Nothing will compensate for the absence of this tenderness and love. A minister may speak the truth as it is in Jesus – clearly, forcibly, and unanswerably; but if he does not speak it in love, few souls will be won. Likewise, you must set before your children their duty – command, threaten, punish, and reason – but if affection is lacking in your treatment, your labor will be all in vain. Love is one grand secret of successful training. Anger and harshness may frighten, but they will not persuade the child that you are right. If he often sees you lose your temper, you will soon cease to have his respect. A father who speaks to his son as Saul did to Jonathan when his anger was kindled against him and he called him the son of the perverse rebellious woman (1 Samuel 20:30), can’t expect to retain his influence over that son’s mind. Try hard to maintain your child’s affections. It is a dangerous thing to make your children afraid of you. Anything is almost better than reserve and insecurity between your child and you, but hesitancy will result from fear. Fear puts an end to openness; fear leads to secrecy; fear sows the seed of much hypocrisy and leads to many lies. There is a mine of truth in the apostle’s words to the Colossians: Fathers, do not exasperate your children, so that they will not lose heart (Colossians 3:21). Be sure not to overlook the advice this verse contains.

words. The forbidden fruit seemed good and desirable to Eve; yet it cast her out of Eden. The walking idly on his palace roof seemed harmless enough to David; yet it ended in adultery and murder. Sin rarely seems sin at first beginnings. Let us then watch and pray, lest we fall into temptation. We may give wickedness smooth names, but we cannot alter its nature and character in the sight of God. Let us remember St. Paul’s words: “Exhort one another daily, lest any be hardened through the deceitfulness of sin.” (Heb. iii. 13.)

She grabs my hands and holds them while I cry. “Don’t be like me, Lily. I know that you believe he loves you, and I’m sure he does. But he’s not loving you the right way. He doesn’t love you the way you deserve to be loved. If Ryle truly loves you, he wouldn’t allow you to take him back. He would make the decision to leave you himself so that he knows for a fact he can never hurt you again. That’s the kind of love a woman deserves, Lily.

You say this will make it stop, but I’m warning you right now, Ryle. I’m like a drug. If you have sex with me tonight, it’s only going to make things worse for you.

If Ryle truly loves you, he wouldn’t allow you to take him back. He would make the decision to leave you himself so that he knows for a fact he can never hurt you again. That’s the kind of love a woman deserves, Lily.

Oh, God, Ryle. What if she asks me questions about Jesus? I don’t go to church. I mean, I read the Bible when I was younger, but I don’t know answers to any Bible trivia questions.

Ich weis, dass du davon überzeugt bist, dass er sich liebt, und das tut er bestimmt auch. Aber er übt dich nicht auf die richtige Art- nicht so, wie du es verdienst. Würde Ryle dich richtig lieben, würde er nicht zulassen, dass du zu Ihm zurückkehrst, weil er nur so dafür sorgen kann, dass er dir wirklich nie wieder wehtut. Das wäre wahre Liebe Lily.

Pienso en Ryle, pienso en Atlas, y pienso en que, a veces, sin importar lo convencida que estés de que las cosas van a fluir de determinada manera, todo cambia tan drástica e implacablemente como la marea.

Everything around us seems unscrewed, loosened, and out of joint. The fountains of the great deep appear to be breaking up. Ancient institutions are tottering and ready to fall. Social and religious systems are failing and crumbling away. Church and state both seem convulsed to their very foundations, and what the end of this convulsion may be no one can tell.

I believe the grand purpose of the present age is not to convert all mankind, but to gather out of the world an elect people. It does not surprise me at all to hear that the heathen are not all converted when missionaries preach, and that believers are but a little flock in any congregation in my own land. It is precisely the state of things that I expect to find. The gospel is to be preached as a witness and then the end will come. Now is the time of election, not of universal conversion (Matthew 24:14; Acts 15:14).

I believe the world will never be completely converted to Christianity by any existing agency before the end comes. Despite all that can be done by ministers, churches, schools, and missions, the wheat and the tares will grow together until the harvest, and when the end comes, the earth will be in much the same state that it was when the flood came in the days of Noah (Matthew 13:24-30; 24:37-39).

Therein lies our issue, though. Ryle can be angry, but that doesn’t mean I deserve everything that accompanies his anger. I’m falling back into that same trap of forgetting that nothing I could do would warrant his extreme past reactions.

I don’t care if you’ve changed, Ryle. I hope you have. But it’s not my responsibility to test that theory.

then there’s that splinter of fear that creeps into my conscience when Ryle says something to suggest our divorce was a mistake. Because sometimes I do wonder if my life wouldn’t be so overwhelming if I still had a husband who shared some of the burdens of raising his child.

Ryle and I may never get to a point where we can be more than merely civil. But I'd be okay with civil. What I'm not okay with are the insults, the threatening texts, the outbursts. I should have been firmer earlier on, but I've been trying to make it work in the least dramatic way possible. But I am done bending my own life for Ryle's sake. My loyalty is to the people who bring positivity into my life. My loyalty is to the people who want to build me up and see my happy. Those are the people I'm going to make decisions about my life for. I'm going to continue doing the best I can, and that's all I can do. I may not have made all the right decisons in the right time frames, but the fact that I found the courage to make those decisions at all is what I'm going to keep focusing on.

The two times I’ve spent with Ryle were on days I’d probably rather forget. My father’s funeral and spraining my ankle. But somehow, him being present made them feel like less of the disasters they were.

Hello. My name is Lily Bloom, daughter of the late Andrew Bloom. Thank you for joining us today as we mourn his loss, I wanted to take a moment to honor his life by sharing with you five great things about my father. The first thing..." I look down at Ryle and shrug. "That's it." -pg 19

I don't care if you've changed, Ryle. I hope you have. But it's not my responsibility to test that theory

If I had to compare this feeling to something, I would compare it to death. Not just the death of anyone. The death of the one. The person who is closer to you than anyone else in the whole world. The one who, when you simply imagine their death, it makes your eyes tear up. That’s what this feels like. It feels like Ryle has died.

It’s been fifty-three days since Ryle walked out of my apartment that morning. Which means it’s been fifty-three days since I’ve heard from him.

I suddenly grow a little panicked, because what if something goes wrong? And then I do panic, because something just went wrong. Terribly wrong. My very first customer is none other than Ryle Kincaid.

He slaps his hands on the counter and says, “Am I the first official customer?” Allysa hands him one of our flyers. “You have to actually buy something to be considered a customer.” Ryle glances over the flyer and then sets it back down on the counter. He walks to one of the displays and grabs a vase full of purple lilies. “I want these,” he says, setting them on the counter. I smile, wondering if he realizes he just picked lilies. Kind of ironic.

Congratulations, Lily.” He turns and walks out of the store. As soon as the door closes behind him, Allysa is grabbing for the envelope. “Who in the hell is he sending flowers to?” she says as she pulls the card out. “Ryle doesn’t send flowers.” She reads the front of the card out loud. “Make it stop.” Holy shit. She stares at it for a moment, repeating the phrase. “Make it stop? What in the hell does that even mean?” she asks. I can’t take it another second. I grab the card from her and flip it over. She leans over and reads the back of it with me. “He is such an idiot,” she says with a laugh. “He wrote the address to our floral shop on the back.” She takes the card out of my hands. Wow. Ryle just bought me flowers. Not just any flower. He bought me a bouquet of lilies.

When I look back at Ryle, he’s halfway down a hallway. He disappears into a room and I stand here, looking at the picture again. That’s when I see it. The picture is blurred, so it was hard to make out at first. But I can recognize that hair from anywhere. That’s my hair. It’s hard to miss, along with the marine-grade polymer lounge chair I’m lying on. This is the picture he took on the rooftop the first night we met. He must have had it blown up and distorted so no one would notice what it was.

I turn around and Ryle is pushing through the crowd on the other side of the room. “Lily, wait!” he yells, still trying to make his way over to me. My heart is erratic. He’s walking quickly, stepping around people, growing more frustrated with every person in his way. He finally reaches a break in the crowd and makes eye contact with me again. He holds my gaze as he marches toward me. He doesn’t slow down. Allysa has to step out of his way as he walks straight up to me. At first, I think he might kiss me, or at least give a rebuttal to everything I said to him upstairs. But instead, he does something I’m not at all prepared for. He scoops me up into his arms. “Ryle!” I yell, gripping him around the neck, afraid he might drop me. “Put me down!” He has an arm wrapped under my legs and one under my back. “I need to borrow Lily for the night,” he says to Devin. “That okay?

So? Who’s the lucky guy?” “He’s…” My voice falters. This is all so weird. My chest is still constricted and my stomach is flipping, and I can’t tell if it’s leftover nerves from kissing Ryle or if it’s the presence of Atlas. “His name is Ryle. We met about a year ago.” I instantly regret saying we met that long ago. It makes it sound like Ryle and I have been dating that long and we aren’t even officially dating. “What about you? Married? Have a girlfriend?” I’m not sure if I’m asking to extend the conversation he started, or if I’m genuinely curious. “I do, actually. Her name is Cassie. We’ve been together almost a year now.” Heartburn. I think I have heartburn. A year? I place my hand on my chest and nod. “That’s good. You seem happy.” Does he seem happy? I have no idea. “Yeah. Well… I’m really glad I got to see you, Lily.” He turns around to walk away, but then spins and faces me again, his hands shoved in his back pockets. “I will say… I kind of wish this could have happened a year ago.” I wince at his words, trying not to let them penetrate. He turns and walks back toward the restaurant.

I have two missed text messages from Ryle and one from my mother. Ryle: Hey. Naked Truth commencing in 3… 2… Ryle: I was worried that being in a relationship would add to my responsibilities. That’s why I’ve avoided them my whole life. I already have enough on my plate, and seeing the stress my parents’ marriage seemed to cause them, and the failed marriages of some of my friends, I wanted no part in something like that. But after tonight, I realized that maybe a lot of people are just doing it wrong. Because what’s happening between us doesn’t feel like a responsibility. It feels like a reward. And I’ll fall asleep wondering what I did to deserve it. I pull my phone to my chest and smile. Then I screenshot the text because I’m keeping it forever. I open up the third text message. Mom: A doctor, Lily? AND your own business? I want to be you when I grow up. I screen-shot that one, too.

In what becomes one of the most dreadful moments I can imagine, he spins around and strides toward Ryle, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. Almost as soon as it happens, Ryle forces Atlas back and slams him against the opposite wall. Atlas lunges for Ryle again, this time shoving his forearm against Ryle’s throat, pinning him against the wall. “You touch her again and I’ll cut your fucking hand off and shove it down your throat, you worthless piece of shit!” “Atlas, stop!” I yell. Atlas releases Ryle forcefully, taking a huge step back. Ryle is breathing heavily, staring at Atlas long and hard. Then his focus moves directly to me. “Atlas?” He says his name with familiarity. Why is Ryle saying Atlas’s name like that? Like he’s heard me say it before? I’ve never told him about Atlas. Wait. I did. That first night on the roof. It was one of my naked truths.

Sometimes an unexpected wave comes along, sucks you up, and refuses to spit you back out. Ryle is my unexpected tidal wave, and right now I’m skimming the beautiful surface.

How long am I supposed to wait before I start dating someone else without Ryle being justified in his jealousy? How long do I have to wait before I tell him I’m dating Atlas if Atlas and I become a thing? How long until I get to start making decisions about my own life without worrying about his feelings

I look at Emerson and I look at Ryle. And I know that I have to do what’s best for her. For the relationship I hope she builds with her father. I don’t make this decision for me and I don’t make it for Ryle. I make it for her. “Ryle?” When he glances at me, he’s smiling. But when he assesses the look on my face, he stops. “I want a divorce.

We wanted to name her after someone Marshall and I both think the world of. So we added an E to your name. We’re calling her Rylee.

I throw my hands up. “I don’t want to be your burden, Ryle! I’m so sorry my presence in your life is so unbearable!

It’s the exact opposite of the thoughts I had about Ryle last week. I’ve experienced the lowest of lows with Atlas, and he has never been anything but incredible and respectful to me. Yet, the man I chose to be my husband somehow disrespected me in ways no one deserves… all while we were at such a high point in our lives.

Sometimes an unexpected wave comes along, sucks you up and refuses to spit you back out. Ryle is my unexpected tidal wave, and right now I’m skimming the beautiful surface.

I realize the significance of this moment. I’m alone with an angry man in my apartment, but I’m not in fear for my life, because he isn’t angry at me. He’s angry at the person who hurt me. It’s a protective anger, and there’s a world of difference between my reactions to Ryle’s anger versus my reaction to Atlas’s anger.

I feel like everyone fakes who they really are, when deep down we’re all equal amounts of screwed up. Some of us are just better at hiding than others.

His arm comes around my waist from behind. He slides a hand up my stomach and takes a firm hold of one of my breasts. His other hand feathers my shoulder as he moves the hair away from my neck. I squeeze my eyes shut, just as his fingers begin to trace across my skin, up to my shoulder. He slowly runs his finger over the heart and a shudder runs over my whole body. His lips meet my skin, right over the tattoo, and then he sinks his teeth into me so hard, I scream. I try to pull away from him, but he has such a tight grip on me he doesn’t even budge. The pain from his teeth piercing my collarbone rips through my shoulder and down my arm. I immediately start crying. Sobbing. “Ryle, let me go,” I say, my voice pleading. “Please. Walk away.” His arms are cutting into mine as he holds me tightly from behind. He spins me, but my eyes are still closed. I’m too scared to look at him. His hands are digging into my shoulders as he pushes me toward the bed. I start trying to fight him off of me, but it’s useless. He’s too strong for me. He’s angry. He’s hurt. And he’s not Ryle. My back meets the bed and I frantically scoot back toward the headboard, trying to get away from him. “Why is he still here, Lily?” His voice isn’t as composed as it was in the kitchen. He’s really angry now. “He’s in everything. The magnet on the fridge. The journal in the box I found in our closet. The fucking tattoo on your body that used to be my favorite goddamn part of you!” He’s on the bed now. “Ryle,” I beg. “I can explain.” Tears streak down my temples and into my hair. “You’re angry. Please don’t hurt me, please. Walk away, and when you come back, I’ll explain.” His hand grips my ankle and he yanks me until I’m beneath him. “I’m not angry, Lily,” he says, his voice disturbingly calm now. “I just think I haven’t proved to you how much I love you.” His body comes down against mine and he takes my wrists with one hand above my head, pressing them against the mattress. “Ryle, please.” I’m sobbing, trying to push him off of me with any part of my body. “Get off me. Please.” No, no, no, no. “I love you, Lily,” he says, his words crashing against my cheek. “More than he ever did. Why can’t you see that?” My fear folds in on itself, and I become diluted with rage. All I can see when I squeeze my eyes shut is my mother crying on our old living room couch; my father forcing himself on top of her. Hatred rips through me and I start screaming. Ryle tries to muffle my screams with his mouth. I bite down on his tongue. His forehead comes crashing down against mine. In an instant, all the pain fades as a blanket of darkness rolls over my eyes and consumes me.

Marshall looks at me with sincerity. "When I think about Ryle hitting you.... I get absurdly angry. Because I love him. I do. He's been my best friend since we were kids. But I also hate him for not being better. Nothing you have done and nothing you could do would excuse any man's hands on you out of anger. Remember that Lily. You made the right choice by leaving that situation. You should never feel guilty for that. Price is the only thing you should feel.

can feel the tears begin to stream down my cheeks. I place my hands on top of his and shake my head. “I don’t want anyone else, Ryle. I only want you.” He forces the saddest smile I’ve ever seen on a human. He pulls me to him and holds me there. I wrap my arms around him as tight as I can as he presses his lips to the side of my head. “I love you, Lily. God, I love you.” I squeeze him tight, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I love you, too.” I close my eyes and wish I could wash away the entire last two days.

I’ve given you more than enough grace, Ryle. You know I have. But from this point forward, please know that Emerson is what matters to me. If you do anything threatening or harmful to me or our daughter, I will sell everything I own to fight you in court.” “And I’ll help her,” Allysa says. “I love you, but I’ll help her.” Ryle’s jaw is twitching. His expression is blank otherwise. He looks at Allysa and then at Marshall. The tension in the room is palpable, but so is the support. I could cry, I’m so grateful for them.

Ryle would never in a million years make me park in the driveway while he took the garage.

It breaks me. It rips me apart from the inside out. All my heart wants to do is wrap tightly around his.

His arm comes around my waist from behind. He slides a hand up my stomach and takes a firm hold of one of my breasts. His other hand feathers my shoulder as he moves the hair away from my neck. I squeeze my eyes shut, just as fingers begin to trace across my skin, up to my shoulder. He slowly runs his finger over the heart and a shudder runs through my whole body. His lip meets my skin, right over the tattoo, and then he sinks his teeth into me so hard, I scream […] He’s really angry now. “He’s in everything. The magnet on the fridge. The journal in the box I found in our closet. The fucking tattoo on your body that used to be my favorite goddamn part of you!

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me to him. My body is tired and weak, but it remembers him. My body remembers how his body can soothe everything I’m feeling. How his has a gentleness in it that my body has been craving for two months now.

Marshall looks at me with sincerity. "When I think about Ryle hitting you.... I get absurdly angry. Because I love him. I do. He's been my best friend since we were kids. But I also hate him for not being better. Nothing you have done and nothing you could do would excuse any man's hands on you out of anger. Remember that Lily. You made the right choice by leaving that situation. You should never feel guilty for that. Pride is the only thing you should feel.

I love you,” he whispers against my mouth. His tongue sweeps softly against mine and it’s so wrong and so good and so painful. Before I know it, I’m on my back and he’s crawling on top of me. His touch is everything I need and everything I shouldn’t. His hand wraps in my hair and in an instant, I’m transferred back to that night. I’m in the kitchen, and his hand is tugging my hair so hard it hurts. He brushes the hair from my face and in an instant, I’m transferred back to that night. I’m standing in the doorway, and his hand is trailing across my shoulder, right before he bites into me with all the strength in his jaw. His forehead rests gently against mine and in an instant, I’m transferred back to that night. I’m on this same bed beneath him when he slams his head against mine so hard I have to get six stitches. My body becomes unresponsive to his. The anger begins to roll back over me. His mouth stops moving against mine when he feels me freeze. When he pulls back and looks down on me, I don’t even have to say anything. Our eyes, locked together, speak more naked truths than our mouths ever have. My eyes are telling his that I can no longer stand being touched by him. His eyes are telling mine that he already knows.

I know Ryle has a temper. I saw it the first night we met, before we ever even spoke a word to each other. I saw it that awful night in my kitchen. I saw it when he found the phone number in my phone case. But I also see the difference between Ryle and my father. Ryle is compassionate. He does things my father never would have done. He donates to charity, he cares about other people, he puts me before everything. Ryle would never in a million years make me park in the driveway while he took the garage.

- Sempre que duvidava de mim e pensava que o que o Ryle me fazia era, de alguma forma, merecido, bastava-me pensar em ti, Atlas. Pensava em como cada cenário teria sido diferente se fosses tu, e isso ajudou-me a lembrar-me de que nada daquilo era culpa minha. Tu és uma grande parte da razão de eu ter sobrevivido, embora não estivesses presente.

We all have a limit. What we're willing to put up with before we break. When I married your father, I knew exactly what my limit was. But slowly... with every incident ... my limit was pushed a little more. And a little more. The first time your father hit me, he was immediately sorry. He swore it would never happen again. The second time he hit me, he was even more sorry. The third time it happened, it was more than a hit. It was a beating. And every single time, I took him back. But the fourth time, it was only a slap. And when that happened, I felt relieved. I remember thinking, 'At least he didn't beat me this time. This wasn't so bad.'" She brings the napkin up to her eyes and says, "Every incident chips away at your limit. Every time you choose to stay, it makes the next time that much harder to leave. Eventually, you lose sight of your limit altogether, be cause you start to think, 'I've lasted five years now. What's five more?'" She grabs my hands and holds them while I cry. "Don't be like me, Lily. I know that you believe he loves you, and I'm sure he does. But he's not loving you the right way. He doesn't love you the way you deserve to be loved. If Ryle truly loves you, he wouldn't allow you to take him back. He would make the decision to leave you himself so that he knows for a fact he can never hurt you again. That's the kind of love a woman deserves, Lily.

Ryle is compassionate. He does things my father never would have done. He donates to charity,

I swear, Ryle. You overreacted before giving me the chance to explain,” I say to him. “Now get the fuck out of my apartment.

I grab my phone and snap a picture of me holding the flowers with my tongue sticking out. I text it to Ryle. Me: I tried to warn you.

Don’t be like me, Lily. I know that you believe he loves you, and I’m sure he does. But he’s not loving you the right way. He doesn’t love you the way you deserve to be loved. If Ryle truly loves you, he wouldn’t allow you to take him back. He would make the decision to leave you himself so that he knows for a fact he can never hurt you again. That’s the kind of love a woman deserves, Lily.

If Ryle truly loves you, he wouldn’t allow you to take him back.

Sometimes an unexpected wave comes along, sucks you up and refuses to spit you back out. Ryle is my unexpected tidal wave, and right now I’m skimming the beautiful surface

Ryle looks over at me with a thoughtful expression. "Lily," he said pointedly. "There is no such thing as bad people. We're all just people who sometimes do bad things." I open my mouth to respond, but his words strike me silent. We're all just people who sometimes do bad things. I guess that's true in a way. No one is exclusively bad, nor is anyone exclusively good. Some are just forced to work harder at suppressing the bad. There is no such thing as bad people. We are all just people who do bad things.

Because when you do those things, it doesn’t feel good, Ryle. It actually kind of hurts.

I have no idea where my dress ended up last night, so I pulled on one of Ryle’s shirts. It falls past my knees, and I wonder if he has to buy shirts that are too big for him just so they’ll fit his arms.

When it powers on, I have twenty-nine missed texts from Ryle. It just so happens to be the same number of doors Ryle knocked on to find my apartment last year.

Die meisten Leute tun so, als hätten sie nie irgendwelche dunklen Gedanken, obwohl wir tief in uns doch alle gleich kaputt sind. (S.22, Ryle)

The two times I've spent with Ryle were on days I'd probably rather forget. My father's funeral and spraining my ankle. But somehow, him being present made them feel like less of the disasters they were.

I will never become my mother. I believe that a hundred percent. And Ryle will never become my father. I think we needed what happened on the stairwell to happen so that I would know his past and we’d be able to work on it together.

The air is cold, and for some reason, I blame that on Ryle. Everything is his fault tonight. All of it. Wars, famine, gun violence—it all somehow links back to Ryle.

Alas, there is a day coming when many shall pray loudly, “Lord, Lord, open to us,” but all too late; when many shall cry to the rocks to fall on them and the hills to-cover them, who would never cry to God. In all affection, I warn you, beware lest this be the end of your soul. Salvation is very near you. Do not lose heaven for want of asking.

He smiles. “It’s Ryle,” he says. “Ryle Kincaid.” I sigh, sinking into myself. “That’s a really great name.

Ryle raises an eyebrow. “You cooked?” He reaches for the bowl. “I have to see this. What is it?” Allysa hesitates before handing him the bowl. “Yeah, it’s chicken… baraba doula… meat.” She looks at me and her eyes are wide. She is such a horrible liar.

Did Ryle hurt her?

Who else? They are the only fools who can’t seem to realize we must all coexist on the same planet. They are the ones who keep creating mass weapons, who hate with a virulence that leaves their children afraid to step outside, and their women afraid to trust any man, and their men stupidly thinking they can change it all with more weapons. Idiots. They’re going to end up killing us all, aren’t they?

So was wie schlechte Menschen gibt es nicht. Wir sind alle bloß Menschen, die manchmal schlimme Dinge tun. (S. 24, Ryle)