We stand there, face-to-face, not meeting each other’s eyes. "You didn’t come see me in the hospital." He doesn’t answer, so finally I just say it. "Was it your bomb?"
"I don’t know. Neither does Beetee," he says. "Does it matter? You’ll always be thinking about it."
He waits for me to deny it; I want to deny it, but it’s true. Even now I can see the flash that ignites her, feel the heat of the flames. And I will never be able to separate that moment from Gale. My silence is my answer.
"That was the one thing I had going for me. Taking care of your family," he says. "Shoot straight, okay?" He touches my cheek and leaves. I want to call him back and tell him that I was wrong. That I’ll figure out a way to make peace with this. To remember the circumstances under which he created the bomb. Take into account my own inexcusable crimes. Dig up the truth about who dropped the parachutes. Prove it wasn’t the rebels. Forgive him. But since I can’t, I’ll just have to deal with the pain.
punning should be an olympic sport please hear me ancient greek gods and make it so
"you only post selfies for the attention"
everything I do is for attention
perks of having a boyfriend
- u can steal their clothes
- they have 2 give u their fries
- they look cute when they sleep
- if ur sick they still have 2 kiss u and then u can get them sick hell yeah
- free food
- hand on my butt
"we almost dated" is such a weird relationship to have with someone
don’t try and tell me justin doesnt have the best crew