Sara Wolf

I'm crazy and going crazier, and I don't know how to stop it.I don't know how to stop this hurrible darkness from eating me alive, and no one in the world is going to help me.

It comes true because we're wise, dear.

You are the sun, I try to say, You are the most important. You are the only light that's ever truly pierced my armor. You are the happiness and the spark and the one girl who never ran, who never cowered, who saw through my facade. I will never meet another girl like you, I will never want anyone as much as I want you. I don't deserve you.

You like it. Knowing things about people. It makes you feel powerful.

How did you find me? If you hacked into the Club__ computer to look up my appointments - "__hoa, I think you overestimate me, shitlord. Last time I checked all I did was be in the wrong place at the right time. I saw you and had to - ___talk me.__ - delicately approach you. In a sideways manner. From behind. Without being seen at all. For ten minutes.

I would love to slap you right now, but I__ currently wielding a nine pound ball and I__ afraid that would be called murder.

Hairy monkeyballs!_ I hiss. __ogshit on a stick! Puke pancakes!_ A head pokes in. Wren, green eyes smiling, walks over to my bed.__ knew you were awake. Who else spews such original and captivating swears?

The waitress scuttles away, and I make a shooing motion at the old couple who__e still glaring. __on__ you have something to better to work on?_ I hiss. __ike golfing or eating prunes or dying?_ The old lady looks shocked. __kay, sorry, not dying. But seriously, prunes are good for you.

I leave her to chemically combust and find Wren in the student council office, filling out extremely interesting paperwork. He__ buried behind piles of the stuff. I can barely see tufts of his blonde hair poking out. I reach into the paperwork pile and shove the two halves aside. Hundreds of them fall off the desk and to the floor. Papers drift through the air like snowflakes. Fat, boring-ass snowflakes. Wren looks up, face slack with shock. __hatcha doing?_ I ask. __ividing up funding for the other clubs,_ He whispers, clearly distraught. A paper plops onto his head and slides off dejectedly. I__ respectful for three seconds. __o anyway, I had this nightmare in which Jack was sexy and Kayla died.

You__e seventeen! Why do I have to keep reminding you of that? There are soooo many women you haven__ even met yet! Don__ act like you__e tired of the puss-puss, no guy is ever tired of the puss-puss.

I have a talent for hurting things," Jack perches the rifle on his cocked hip, and it's so insufferably arrogant I want to shove him into the ball pit next to us and slash or furiously make out with him. "But we always knew that, didn't we?