I have to go. I have a finite amount of life left and I don't want to spend it arguing with you.

I'd never been a good damsel in distress. I was a "hands-on" damsel.

One minute she acts like she wants to be with me and I'm the one rejecting her. The next, she's got this barbed wire fence and barking dogs around her, like I can't even ask her the simplest questions.""And here I was assuming you didn't care about her."Stabbing his fingers through his hair, he groaned, "I don't!""And you make it perfectly clear." Men. Idiots.

I couldn't take much more of this. Being the object two men competed for wasn't as glamorous as it sounded in the movies. The two men who both wanted one hundred percent of my time weren't dashing, international playboys. They were undead and surprisingly immature, considering the youngest was just over a hundred years old.

I am sorry the only outlet for her troubled mind was in clumsy foreplay with an inadequate partner."He threw the rest of her sandwich at the swinging door as she passed through it.

Can I have a glass of water?" Her voice was hoarse, probably from screaming. She'd always sounded like that after they'd-He didn't just force the thought aside. He clubbed it unconscious, threw it into a crawl space and walled it up alive.

Well, I always did want to go out in a Braveheart kind of way. I'll just have to think of something cool to yell before they cut my head off.