QUOTES FROM BROKEN PEOPLE, by Scott Hildreth
I
thought for a moment about what I had said. Without you, I would be empty,
and it scares me, because I've never felt this way about anyone before. Trying
to make every word count, I spoke. “With you, Britney, I am as weak as everyone
else I ever looked down upon before you came into my life. To be honest, I am
probably way worse. Because I know I love you with a ferocity that most people
will never have the capacity to feel for another person. I need you, and that
necessity makes me vulnerable. The vulnerability makes me weak. I am weak for
you. And, to be honest, it feels great. The thought of not having you for
whatever reason is what scares me.”
Her
eyes got wet. She stared into my eyes. A tear fell out of her eye, and rolled
down her cheek. I reached to brush it away, and she grabbed my hand by my wrist
and pulled it to her chest. She placed my palm against her breast. As my hand
cupped her breast, another tear fell.
“Do
you feel that Marc? That heart beating?” she asked, looking up at me.
“Yes,
I do,”
“That,
Marc, is yours. Remember that. And don’t be afraid. You and I will always be
together. I love you,” she said, as she offered her lips to me.
“I
love you back.” With my hand on her chest, I leaned into her and we kissed.
Marc, from Broken People Chapter - Show some respect
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I
slowly walked toward the bedroom. She followed. I looked at my watch. 8:30.
“When do you have to be home?” I asked.
“11:00,”
she said. We embraced. I held her. Time passed. We fell on the bed. And there
we remained. I touched her face with my fingers. We kissed. She smiled. I took
off my shirt and began to lie beside her.
“I
like looking at your body,” she said.
“Thank
you. I like looking at you, period,” I responded. She removed her shirt. She
asked for help with her bra. We embraced. Our skins touched. I felt her heart
beat against my chest. I felt my heart beating. Our heartbeats became one. One
heartbeat. We became one. Time passed. I looked at my watch. 10:10. I
stood. She remained on the bed, defining beauty.
“It’s
getting close to eleven, baby. You should probably get up,” I said, looking for
my shirt. I ran my hands through my hair.
“Stand
right there,” she said. “Don’t move.” I stood. She reached to the side of the
bed, and got her phone from her purse. She held it at arm’s length. “Don’t
move,” she said.
“I
heard you,” I responded. I stood. She took three photos. “I wish I could paint
a picture of you,” I said.
“Do
you paint?” she asked.
“No,”
I responded, “But I wish I could. I would paint a picture of you right now, lying
there without your shirt. I could stand here, Britney, and admire you for all
of what is forever. You make me want to cry. But. That part of me is broken.”
“I
know,” she said. “I know.”
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