”I hate you.”
My sister said it different than she said it to my dad. She meant it with me. She really did.
”I love you,” was all I could say in return.
”You’re a freak, you know that? You’ve always been a freak. Everyone says so. They always have.”
”I’m trying not to be.”
Then, I turned around and walked to my room and closed my door and put my head under my pillow and let the quiet put things where they are supposed to be.
Jag läser äntligen The Perks of Being a Wallflower av Stephen Chbosky och den är så fin, så fin, och jag har en känsla av att den kommer att orsaka något sånt här.