The others could believe that she was that way because she lost her parents so early, but Peter knew better. She was strong, confident, and never broken.

He had a semicircle tattoo with an indecent word on the back of his head, suggesting all people around him to leave him alone – in a much more impolite manner.

Everything had changed, and maybe she couldn’t keep up with it, but she still was good at making people regret they had ever crossed her way.

I’m not mean to everybody. I’m only mean to people whose intellectual level is awfully lower than mine.

Is there a club for bitchiness management, like Alcoholics Anonymous? Because, seriously, I think you should visit it.

If he just had the decency to die silently yesterday, not squeal like a girl, I’d be free right now. Probably even doing some real job,” she sneered.

Because otherwise you would have to let them in, let them change your life, and it’s scary and unpredictable and unsafe – at least, that’s what we all think.

He watched her curiously from below, feeling as someone might feel watching a butterfly sit nearby, afraid to scare it off with a sound of voice or an abrupt movement.

She had every right to be harsh, mean, and independent. Every damn right. And yet he had a feeling that she needed care more than anyone else in the world.