Any relationship that developed power dynamics, where she thought she had the right to dictate someone else's behavior or have him dictate hers, was ended almost immediately. She could not stand the thought of hands on her that presumed she belonged to them.

You and me? We are never going to be just friends. The only time I'm not adoring you is when I am too busy hating you and wishing to God I never met you...

How I could ever establish a relationship with her father, though? His world was logical and mine was a morass of adolescent feelings. On television, we would grab a beer, replace a fan belt, and I would earn his begrudging respect. He might tell me to treat his daughter right while hitting the head of the wrench against his palm. In this world, I stood a better chance of connecting with the fan belt.

She had seen this relationship dying before it ever lived, but allowed optimism and lust to blind her.

The boys he met at Annandale only understood one kind of woman. They needed to be coddled and cooed over as their own mothers had done their whole lives.

We want our delusions and will violently defend these when confronted. We want to believe that the job that is slowly choking us is good, because the effort it would take to change is too terrifying to contemplate. We never want to hear how badly we are being treated in a relationship because we are strong and how dare you suggest we don't know better.