Famine (The Four Horsemen Book 3)

I can’t believe I’m doing this—that we’re doing this. A retired prostitute and her apocalyptic boyfriend.

Life is strange.

The Reaper’s lips quirk. “Little flower, don’t you know? I happen to enjoy it when you pee on my boots, and you sing songs off-key, and when I wake up to your atrocious morning breath—you know, you also fart in your sleep.”

Jesus.

“This is the worst proposal I have literally ever heard,” I say.

“Because around you,” he says, “I feel the oddest urge to use my power to create rather than destroy.”

BOOOOM! BOOOOM-BOOOM-BOOOOOM!

“Never, ever fuck with what is mine,” he says.

You’ve never asked me to change,” Famine finally admits. “Or to be something I’m not.

You saved me when you had every reason not to.
You broke me.
And in the process I broke you.
And now I fear the only way we will ever be whole again is together, all your jagged edges nestled against mine.
I hate that I want that.
But I do.
I want to be whole with you.

Screw broken hearts. What good are they if you die and never actually get to experience anything worth experiencing?

Because I like making poor choices, and you look like the worst one yet

“It was a mistake,” he agrees. “Let’s make another and another. We can regret them all tomorrow.”

I’m tired of watching my words and watching my actions. I’m fucking done being careful so that other people don’t have to be