Scars Crosses And Tattoos Quotes

But nothing is ever enough, have you noticed?” he said. “I can’t touch you enough. I can’t make you happy. I can’t say anything right to you. And you can’t take away from me a single thing I’ve fucked up along the way.” She became deflated. “You’re here, and you’re forgiven for everything,” she said quietly, sitting up and closing her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at his tattooed arms and his scar-ribbon chest. “Tell me the truth,” Alexander said. “Don’t you sometimes think it’s harder—this—and other stuff like the magazines quizzes—harder for the two of us? That magazine quiz just points up the absurdity of us pretending we’re like normal people. Don’t you sometimes think it would be easier with your Edward Ludlow in New York? Or a Thelma? No history. No memories. Nothing to get over, nothing to claw back from.” “Would it be easier for you?” “Well, I wouldn’t hear you cry every night,” Alexander said. “I wouldn’t feel like such a failure every minute of my life.” “Oh my God! What are you talking about?” Tatiana yanked to get off him, but now it was Alexander who held her in place. “You know what I’m talking about,” he said, his eyes blazing. “I want amnesia! I want a fucking lobotomy. Could I please never think again? Look what’s happened to us, us, Tania. Don’t you remember how we used to be? Just look what’s happened.” His long winter’s night bled into Coconut Grove through all the fields and villages in three countries Alexander plundered through to get to the Bridge to Holy Cross, over the River Vistula, to get into the mountains, to escape to Germany, to save Pasha, to make his way to Tatiana. And he failed. Twenty escape attempts—two in Catowice, one ill-fated one in Colditz Castle, and seventeen desperate ones in Sachsenhausen, and he never got to her. He had somehow made all the wrong choices. Alexander knew it. Anthony knew it. With the son asleep, the parents had hours to mindlessly meander through the fields and rivers of Europe, through the streets of Leningrad. That was not to be wished upon. “Stop it,” Tatiana whispered. “Just stop it! You didn’t fail. You’re looking at it all twisted. You stayed alive, that was all, that was everything, and you know that. Why are you doing this?” “Why?” he said. “You want it out while sitting naked on top of my stomach with your hair down? Well, here it is. You don’t want it out? Then don’t ask me. Turn the light off, keep the braid in, get your”— Alexander stopped himself—“get off me, and say nothing.” Tatiana did none of those things. She didn’t want it out, what she wanted, desperately, was him to touch her. Though the aching in her heart from his words was unabated, the aching in her loins from her desire for him was also unabated.

A young guy walked up to him with an exaggerated swagger, his jeans riding low, his CK underwear showing - or fake ones, an a replacing the e in Klein. "You really the Baptist's cousin?" the guy said, squinting at him, giving Joshua a onceover like Malik had. If anything, he resembled both guards, just with a neck. He was also younger and skinnier, with a nose ring and a nest of short dreads flopping over his eyes, the back and sides closely cropped. "Yes," Joshua replied, glancing at the bullseye tattoo circling what looked like a tracheotomy scar. The guy touched the base of his throat, noticing the attention. "You're tall like him, got that crazy look too, like you've smoked too many Bible blunts." "Izzy!" Nico yelled, looking horrified. Izzy sniggered. "I mean no harm," he said, his smile saying otherwise.

I moved back toward those deceptively safe red curtains, and tugged a string to let my cloak fall to the stone floor. Under it, I wore a laced outfit of thin, black strips that left my backside gloriously bare from ears to thighs. There was silence for nearly a full second. It allowed the cameras to zoom in on my scars. I’d been shot, stabbed, bitten, and beaten for years, and I was covered in proof of it. “Wow. That might boost her ranking enough to start the competition with both food and medical credits! Will you look at those scars! Oh! Nice tattoos!” The aroused crowd cheered wildly as I turned to face them, revealing a front view that spider-webbed over my body in a tan glow. I appeared almost nude, except for my weapons that gleamed like deadly jewels and the ink that crossed my back and front.

Ruhn asked, “Why’s your heart racing?” Bryce peered at her chest, half expecting her scar to be glowing. Mercifully, it lay dormant. “Well, apparently Tharion thinks Danika was involved with the rebels.” Ruhn gaped. “Thanks, Bryce,” Tharion muttered. Bryce threw him a saccharine smile and explained Tharion’s investigation to Ruhn. “Well?” Ruhn asked when she’d finished, his face drained of color. “Was Danika a rebel?” “No!” Bryce splayed her arms. “Solas, she was more interested in what junk food we had in our apartment.” “That’s not all she was interested in,” Ruhn corrected. “She stole the Horn and hid it from you. Hid it on you. And all that shit with Briggs and the synth …” “Okay, fine. But the rebel stuff … She never even talked about the war.” “She would have known it’d endanger you,” Tharion suggested. Hunt said to Tharion, “And you’re cool with being press-ganged into working on this shit?” His face remained paler than usual. Tharion just crossed his long, muscular arms. Hunt went on, voice lowering, “It won’t end well, Tharion. Trust me on that. You’re tangling in some dangerous shit.” Bryce avoided looking at the branded-out tattoo on Hunt’s wrist. Tharion’s throat bobbed. “I’m sorry to have even come here. I know how you feel about this stuff, Athalar.” “You really think there’s a chance Sofie is alive?” Ruhn asked. “Yes,” Tharion said. “If she survived the Hind,” Hunt said, “and the Hind hears about it, she’ll come running.” “The Hind might already be headed this way,” Tharion said thickly. “Regardless of Sofie, Emile and his powers remain a prize. Or something to be wiped out once and for all.” He dragged his long fingers through his dark red hair. “I know I’m dropping a bomb on you guys.” He winced at his unfortunate word choice, no doubt remembering what had happened last spring. “But I want to find this kid before anyone else.” “And do what with him?” Bryce asked. “Hand him over to your queen?” “He’d be safe Beneath, Legs. It’d take a damn long while even for the Asteri to find him—and kill him.” “So he’d be used by your queen like some kind of weaponized battery instead? Like Hel am I going to let you do that.