Sparrow Lj Shen Quotes

opinions are like assholes. Everybody’s got one, and they usually stink.

He gave me lies, and for him, I closed my eyes.

He gave me lies, and I ate them from the palm of his hand. He gave me lies, and for him, I closed my eyes

Real love was cancer. All it took was one blink, and it would spread inside you like wildfire and consume you. But that was okay, because I had a feeling that unlike cancer, real love didn’t die. Ever.

Fear is a prison, and in prison you played by different rules to survive.

destiny will find a way to get you two back together. Real love doesn’t disappear. It can turn into hate, and hate can turn into love, but those feelings won’t ever turn into indifference.

For you, I’ll stop the rain from falling and the thunder from cracking and the wind from fucking blowing. And

Dear future wife…” He smirked in a way that made me want to beg for mercy. “If you think you’re going to give me trouble, think again. I invented trouble. I stir it, I mix it, I fucking fix it. Don’t try my patience, because you’ll discover I have absolutely none.

Is it possible to feel your heart breaking, even when you’re falling in love?” I

He took a step closer, his breath falling on my face. “You can do whatever the fuck you want. You have a long leash.

It’s going to hurt like a motherfucker,” he warned. “Of course it will.” I smiled into our kiss, my lips still glued to his. “Everything with you does.” He

She was a blank, clean, white sheet for me to scribble on. And I scribbled. On her lips, on her jaw, her neck and collarbone. I jotted my hunger for her in vivid colors as

SILENCE. The most loaded sound in human history.

Troy Brennan was the devil, but sometimes, even good girls wanted a healthy dose of evil in their lives. He’d

The sparrow is associated with freedom. At one time, sailors got a tattoo of a sparrow for every five thousand nautical miles they traveled. Sparrows were believed to bring good luck. Sometimes the sailor got his sparrow tattoo even before leaving the docks, hoping it would act as a talisman and help bring him safely home again.

I wanted this wedding like a bad case of gonorrhea.

I hated liking her. In a sense, it was like handing her the keys to the pit of my soul while she was tanked as hell and telling her to drive carefully.

Buying her shit only pissed her off, and trust me, I’d had my people filling her wardrobe with designer shoes and dresses. She gave them all away to the homeless shelter down the street like they weren’t worth a dime. In fact, there’s a crazy homeless woman in downtown Boston walking around in a Stella McCartney suit and a pair of Jimmy Choo’s, yelling at traffic lights that she was the real Messiah. Yeah.

Guilt was a thief. It would steal your mind, mess with your priorities and would eventually steer you from your original plan. I

I was vengeance and hate, fury and wrath.

I buried my face in the pillow to muffle my moans. “This is…” I could barely speak. “This is…” “This is your G-spot.” He bit my earlobe from behind. “Nice to meet ya.” I

this was life. That sometimes you were Batman…and sometimes, the Joker. Flynn

I’m saying that if I can’t eat it, fuck it or kill it I have no interest in it,

I fucking love you, Red.” “I fucking love you, Brennan.

You can hate me and still love how I make you feel.” His

And Karma? She was well known as a hormonal, raging bitch.

God, I missed eating pussy,” he sighed into me. “And you’re so delicious and tight.” I

And it was also the moment I knew that I would burn down the city and stop at nothing to find my wife. Not because she was mine, I never believed that for a second, anyway. Because I was so busy telling Sparrow how much she wanted me, I forgot a small little detail—I wanted her back. More.

Even villains have a happy ending every now and again.

Troy was the guy who not only broke your headboard, but also broke your heart.

Yes, Troy Brennan was one hell of a sociopath, and he didn’t bother disguising his nature and putting on a mask when he faced the world.

The harder I fought back every time he messed with me, the more he liked me. I bet if I set his penthouse on fire, he would laugh like it was all a big, fat joke. “Hell,

He kissed away a tear that slid down my cheek, and I wish he hadn’t, because my heart broke a little more when he showed me tenderness. I wanted the ruthless version of him, the one that didn’t offer me hope, that didn’t promise a happily-ever-after ending.

Troy Brennan was the devil, but sometimes, even good girls wanted a healthy dose of evil in their lives.

Even God can be bought for the right price.

Another beat of silence on my end. If you wanted to win a negotiation, rule number one was to talk less. Show minimal interest. Let the other person sweat it.

Come near my wife again,” I said, “and I'll show the world just how much of an angry motherfucker I can really be when someone touches what's mine.

He gave me lies, and I ate them from the palm of his hand. He gave me lies, and for him, I closed my eyes.

While I watched her cook, I suddenly realized it was her art. The pan was her canvas, the ingredients her paint. She cooked with fire in her eyes, with passion in her soul, with love in her heart.

she was still nothing short of divine. My girl, my lovebird. The prettiest. Not because she had the pinkest lips or the greenest eyes, but because she was made for me. Tailor-made to make me laugh, to piss me off, to make me lose my shit. Hell, to make me feel.

Everybody’s watching us. People are talking about us,” she said, her voice small. “Do you care?” She hesitated, looking down at the high heels she swayed in, before lifting her face up, her expression resolute. “No.” “Good, because opinions are like assholes. Everybody’s got one, and they usually stink.” “Well,

Real love doesn’t disappear. It can turn into hate, and hate can turn into love, but those feelings won’t ever turn into indifference.

He was navigating the streets like a fire-spitting monster was on our heels, violating every driving law known to man, and inspiring some new laws in the process.

Why was I crying now? Because I had my life back. Because I had my family around me. Because everything was supposed to be okay now, yet it wasn’t. Never would be.

What the hell? Did he not see how much I longed for him? How much I wanted him? How I couldn’t, for the life of me, form a coherent sentence when he was around?

I looked like a giant trying to fit into a Barbie Dream House.

Lovely ceremony, gorgeous bride. Take care of her.” Troy brushed his thumb over his lips, scanning my body like it was dessert.

Real love doesn’t disappear. It can turn into hate, and hate can turn into love, but those feelings won’t ever turn into indifference.” She

The butt is a good option,

Even God can be bought for the right price.” I

Though she be but little, she be fierce. William Shakespeare

Every heartbeat, I slipped a little more. Drowned a little deeper. Fell a little further into the bottomless ocean of feelings for him.

Guilt was a thief. It would steal your mind, mess with your priorities and would eventually steer you from your original plan.

Good, because opinions are like assholes. Everybody’s got one, and they usually stink.

People were like onions, made of lots of layers. The deeper you went, the rawer the layer.

The parent-child relationship was the most complex thing in the human race, I knew that first-hand, and that scab was too deep and tender to dig open. A lot of puss and blood hid behind that old scab.

​“Bitch, please. With the amount of pussy your husband’s dick has trekked through, I’m surprised it doesn’t have its own National Geographic show. He is so...mature and old and stuff. Your husband, that is, not his dick.

I’d learned Troy, knew that he would take the bait. The harder I fought back every time he messed with me, the more he liked me. I bet if I set his penthouse on fire, he would laugh like it was all a big, fat joke. “Hell,

We didn’t make love, we made war. When she was pulling, I was biting. When she was scratching, digging her nails into my flesh, I slammed harder, faster. Our sex was furious, it was raw, untamed, wild…but it wasn't selfish

When I was a kid,” he said, “my mother had lovebirds. She used to clip their wings so when she let them out of their cage, they wouldn’t fly away. The lovebirds always tried, but they never got far with their short, fucked-up wings.” I inched the bedroom door open and stepped into the pool of warm light spilling from the street outside. He moved behind me, tucking my hair behind my right ear aside, pressing his face to it. “Until one day, one managed to escape. My mother forgot to clip her wings. A moment of distraction cost her her favorite lovebird.” I knew why he was telling me this, and the happiness in my gut swirled with a shot of sudden pain. “Failure is inevitable,” he continued in a flat tone that didn’t hold much emotion or hope, “and heartache is unstoppable. One day, I’ll forget to clip your wings. When that day arrives, when you run away, I guess I’d be happy to know you’ll still have some money and the means to make it in this wild, tough world.

He did atrocious things, but it was him I wanted. Always, only him. Troy stopped when we were nose to nose. Toe to toe. I loved watching those eyes from up-close. They were so ocean blue, no wonder they made my head swim. “I love you, Red. I love you determined, tough, innocent, resilient…” His brows furrowed as he drank me in, stroking the curve of my face with his calloused fingertips. “I love you broken, insecure, scared, furious and pissed off…” He let a small smile loose. I actually felt it, even though it was on his lips. “I love every part of you, the good and the bad, the hopeless and the assertive. We don’t just love. We heal each other with every touch and complete each other with ever kiss. And fuck, I know it’s corny as hell, but that’s what I need. You’re what I need.” My eyes fluttered shut, a lone tear hanging from the tip of my eyelash. “We don’t have ordinary words between us. You always set my fucking brain on fire when you talk to me. We don’t even have ordinary moments of silence. I always feel like I’m playing with you or being played by you when you’re around. And I refuse to let you walk out on this, on us.” He cupped my cheeks and I locked his palms in place, tightening my grip. I never wanted him to let go. He dipped his head down, tilting his forehead against mine. I knew he was right. Knew that I’d already forgiven him. Probably before I even knew what he did, when we were still living together. Hell, probably on that dance floor, when I was nine. My capturer. My monster. My savior. “I’m an asshole, was an asshole, and have every intention of staying an asshole. It’s the makeup of my fucking DNA. But I want to be your asshole. To you, I can be good. Maybe even great. For you, I’ll stop the rain from falling and the thunder from cracking and the wind from fucking blowing. And yes, I sure as hell knew you’d come back. You came straight back into my arms, flew back to your nest, lovebird. Now why would you do that if you didn’t love the shit out of me?” My eyes roamed his face. His hands felt delicious on my skin. It was like he was pumping life into me with his fingertips. Like he made me whole before I even knew parts of me were missing.

Why was he acting like we were total strangers? I wanted to strangle and kiss the hell out of him and jump into his arms and kill him all at the same time. I didn’t say anything, not wanting to send him away, not brave enough to tell him to stay.

it was violent and needy. It was a cancer, spreading inside my body, multiplying into hundreds and thousands of new cells with every beat of my heart. No chemotherapy, no miracle cure. Every heartbeat, I slipped a little more. Drowned a little deeper. Fell a little further into the bottomless ocean of feelings for him. I

slamming shut and dropped my head back, closing my eyes just so I wouldn’t have to see myself in the mirror. Facing yourself was hard when you’d given up yourself for someone else. “Is it possible to feel your heart breaking, even when you’re falling in love?” I brushed my long hair. Yes. It was. Here I was, falling in love, and getting my heart broken at the very same time.

Red rolls on the sand until her shoulder bumps into mine. She is laughing hysterically, and even though I keep a stoic face, I’m anything but. God, I fucking love this girl. “So…” She nuzzles into the crook of my neck, her arms flung over me. “Are you taking me to that fancy restaurant you booked for us last time we were in Miami?” “Hell no,” I snort. “That was before I realized you’re a McMeal kind of girl. I can treat you to a hot, sexy dinner date at Wendy’s if you’re up for it.” “Make it IHOP and you’re on. They have pancakes and hot chocolate.” “Classy girl. And I bet you’ll still put out afterwards.” “Damn right I will. I’m only using you for your body, Mr. Brennan.” “And for the cash. Don’t forget the cash.” “Nah, I make my own money, thank you very much.” She plants a kiss on my jaw, and I beam like an idiot, because she’s right.

I was wind, I was a ghost. I was nothing.

I don’t eat sugary crap,” he answered unapologetically, his voice bone-dry. “And I definitely don’t drink hot fucking chocolate. But next time I’m hosting a tea party, I’ll borrow a tutu and you can help me fix some cupcakes.

I began to understand why Troy gave me something far more convenient and beautiful. He gave me lies, and I ate them from the palm of his hand. He gave me lies, and for him, I closed my eyes.

I fed my personal little Red Riding Hood more sweet memories to keep her happy, my words like music to her unsuspecting ears.

Guilt was a thief. It would steal your mind, mess with your priorities and would eventually steer you from your original plan. I couldn’t allow it any room in the life, so I pushed it aside, convincing myself that on some level, these moments we shared weren’t lies. Just half-truths.

While I watched her cook, I suddenly realized it was her art. The pan was her canvas, the ingredients her paint. She cooked with fire in her eyes, with passion in her soul, with love in her heart. Occasionally

I straightened, raising my head, and my eyes bugged out and my mouth dried up instantly. He was handsome. No, scratch handsome. He was a masterpiece in a sharp black suit, stealing my breath and momentarily shaking me free of my mental breakdown.

It would take a long time until I laughed again, really laughed, or felt genuinely happy, but this was a start. I was taking baby steps, but with a broken foot and a shattered heart, this was something, too.

For the first time in my life, I was going to do the right thing, and I wished it felt better, because the truth was, it felt like fucking shit. It felt like hell, like torture, like a sharp butcher’s knife digging into my chest, piercing into my heart and pulling it out slowly, breaking each and every one of my ribs on its way out.

He was quicksand, and I was drowning. Didn’t even fight it. Just gave in.

Why was Brock so hell-bent on hurting Troy? He was the one who ended up marrying Troy’s girl and got a job from the guy afterwards. Troy may have been a jerk to him and his family, but Troy was also a jerk to everyone else, too. It was a universal thing. He didn’t discriminate.

That was me. I was The Fixer. Everything was fixed. Well, other than what was important. I walked down the hallway of the hospital like I was on death row. I wasn’t scared, I was petrified. For the first time in my life, I was going to do the right thing, and I wished it felt better, because the truth was, it felt like fucking shit. It felt like hell, like torture, like a sharp butcher’s knife digging into my chest, piercing into my heart and pulling it out slowly, breaking each and every one of my ribs on its way out. Every door I passed brought me closer to the door I didn’t want to knock on.

I wanted to do the right thing. I really fucking did. But then it dawned on me that in order to do a good thing, you have to be a good person. I’m not good, and we both know that. I changed my mind. You’re not free. Not if you’re flying away with nowhere to go, and for all the wrong reasons. What do you really want? Don’t answer that. I’m about to find out. It’s about to go down in 3…2…1…

Sparrow was my lovebird, and I couldn’t clip her wings anymore. I have bent her with the weight of my actions and lies for the past few months, and she took it all and took it well, but this was the last straw. If I bent her even more, she’d snap. Forcing

I was going to do it. I was really going to do something selfless for once in my life since Cat and Brock happened. The last time I did something altruistic, it became my ruin. I was about to do it again, knowing it would hurt ten fucking thousand times more than it hurt when I broke off my engagement with Cat. Because, looking back, the pain of Catalina’s infidelity was nothing compared to the pain I felt knowing I inflicted misery on my wife. And I was still going to do it, precisely because of that. I really was a masochistic motherfucker. Forcing her to stay was too dangerous for me and too destructive for her. I couldn’t hold onto her anymore, even if I wanted to. Now more than ever. She was my beauty, and I was her beast. But this was not a Disney flick. In real life, the beast goes back to his solitary life, a freak who lurks in the shadows and watches as his girl runs away back to the arms of her family. She was my only shot at a semblance of normalcy and happiness, and I had to let her go. I got up from my seat. Walking in here, I thought I would never want to turn around and walk out. Thought I’d milk this conversation until the very last drop, get more time with her one last time before we said goodbye. But it turned out that when you really care, things don’t work that way. Her pain occupied the whole fucking room, invading my space and knocking me off my fucking ass, and I couldn’t tolerate it without feeling my pulse weaken and my body growing cold. I reached for the door, about to walk away from her for the very last time.

I never thought I’d fall in love with someone like Troy Brennan. As it turned out, love didn’t give a damn about personal preferences.

No matter the pain, I could take it, because it wouldn’t last very long. Not more than an hour, anyway. And Brock seemed keen on making conversation. It was more time among the living, something I wasn’t exactly opposed to.

I was infected head to toe. Resistant to any medicine, immune to anything he might do. In fact, I knew that even if the bullet he shot at me pierced my skin, I would still love him. Very much. It sucked, because I knew that I couldn’t forgive him.

She laughed. She thought it was a joke. It wasn’t. This is what should have happened. We shouldn’t have spent a minute away from each other while we had a chance. Nothing bad would have happened if I told nine-year-old Sparrow that she was mine. No Paddy. No Catalina. No Brock. I would never lay a finger on her mother’s body, let alone hide it in the woods. And now we were going to spend the rest of our lives apart.

I was going to yell my lungs out when I got to her for pulling this kind of shit. Once I got to the location, I called her number again and again, trying to reach her. I called maybe thirty times before I heard the faint sound of a ringtone and found her cell in a dumpster among cardboard, junk food leftovers and cigarette butts. Desperation and distress coursed through my veins. I kicked the dumpster so hard, I left a dent. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I yelled, not caring about people around me watching my very public meltdown. She hadn’t run away. Wouldn’t run away. I knew my lovebird—she was the fighting kind. The only running she’d ever do was to get her cardio fix. No, this was not her trying to break free. This was him trying to get even. It was the moment I realized that, for the first time, Brock was one step ahead of me.

Over the past few months, I had taken every precaution to avoid the local papers and Internet sites. I did everything, other than migrating out of the country. My darkest nightmare was to stumble across a picture of Troy with one of his Catalinas on his arm. I knew it would crush my soul into dust. Physically, I was fine. My temple was healed, and so was my foot. The cast was off, and I had even started running again. But inside, emptiness ate away at every corner of my being. No amount of blueberry pancakes was going to fill that void. Trust me, I’d tried.

All I needed was a bit more time to get my head straight. I experienced a life-or-death situation when I was with Brock in the woods. Then I watched my husband kill him. Then I was shot by my husband. Sure, he was a good shot, but that didn’t make it okay. I just needed more time to get over it.

OBJECTIVELY SPEAKING, my wedding to Troy Brennan was a beautiful event. Obscenely lavish and obnoxiously wasteful. Brennan spared no expense when it came to what was his. Be it his penthouse, his cars, his women or his wedding. The candles, floral arrangements, aisle runner, soloist, organist, floral archways and extravagantly decorated pews were all impeccable and plush. In fact, I was surprised the altar wasn’t built exclusively from blood diamonds and rolled one-hundred-dollar bills. Nonetheless, to me, it was as pointless as Henry Cavill with a shirt on. So much detail and beauty shouldn’t be wasted on fraud. And that’s what Brennan and I were—a lie. A charade. Doomed people trapped in a marriage built on the ruins of extortion and lies. We

Red was pretty much bullshit-proof. She had more Boston in her fingernail than Brock had in his whole body. She was not to be messed with.

He looked straight into my eyes with an intimacy you couldn’t fake. I felt so exposed, it was almost like he ripped off my top and bra and left me naked in front of the throng.

I just received some very bad fucking news, and I’m really in the mood for some torturing. One last time—where’s the fucker?” “Alright, alright. I’ll tell you,” he whimpered. Disappointment slammed into me. He was going to cooperate, after all. Shame. I was hoping to have some fun

I just received some very bad fucking news, and I’m really in the mood for some torturing. One last time—where’s the fucker?” “Alright, alright. I’ll tell you,” he whimpered. Disappointment slammed into me. He was going to cooperate, after all. Shame. I was hoping to have some fun.

Troy was the devil, but he breathed life into me.

Group hug!” Daisy announced, and before I knew it, I was buried in my friends’ arms. I inhaled their scents, feminine and hopeful, closing my eyes, praying their happiness would seep into me. Sure, I was excited about chasing my dream. This was the original goal before he barged into my life. But now, even with this opportunity, these friends, that money—enough not only to build the career I wanted, but also to donate some to that homeless shelter down the road—life had an unpleasant aftertaste. Like nothing was going to be delicious again. Nothing would be blueberry pancakes and hot chocolate in the rain. Nothing.

How’s your leg? Is your foot okay?” “Yeah, it’s a lot better.” Lucy made a face like she knew exactly what wasn’t a lot better. That thing beating for no one inside my chest. “It’s okay to miss him. It’s that Stockholm syndrome. It’ll go away.” It won’t. I know it won’t. “Sure.” I managed a smile.

Barbara and Jenna scurried along, leaving me to serve the next people in line. A woman and a man. They looked in love and I tried hard not to hate them for it.

You can’t stand here.” I pushed her away with my butt, “Why can’t I…” But there was no need to finish the sentence. I already knew. My heart dove so low, I could feel my pulse thump in my toes. If winter were a feeling, this would be it. Everything froze, and I felt ridiculously unprepared. Shivers ran down my back and arms, raising the hair on my arms. Something foreign washed over me, not unpleasant, but not exactly good either. It’s like he grabbed me by my throat and pressed hard, depriving me of oxygen, yet made me feel so incredibly alive. I didn’t breathe, blink or move. Just stood there and watched him, mouth slightly open. Eyes slightly wide. Heart completely broken. My monster.

He winked before stepping out of the line. My eyes drank him in as he strode to a nearby trash barrel, tossed his pancake inside and kept going. I spotted his Maserati—as always double-parked—and watched him disappear behind the wheel. That was the second time my fake husband, who forced me to marry him, walked out on me. It was also the second time he took my heart with him. But it was the first time I realized that I would never have it back. He owned it, clutched it in his iron fist. And sometimes, I knew, he squeezed too hard.

Forgiveness. I never forgave anyone. Not necessarily because I held grudges, but because no one who had let me down ever asked for it.

Cartoon-Me took a shot in the shoulder, blood smeared on the wall behind her. “Last