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“Te quiero conmigo en todos los universos posibles. Quiero estar contigo, y dentro de ti, cada segundo de cada día. Tengo unos pensamientos, unos sueños, que rozan la locura. Quiero que te cases conmigo mañana mismo para que te cubra mi seguro de salud. Quiero encerrarme contigo en mi habitación durante dos semanas enteras. Quiero ir a hacer la compra al súper y coger las cosas que a ti te gustan. Quiero hacerme el guay, aparentar que me atraes y ya, pero me es imposible ocultar que estoy obsesionado contigo. Muy obsesionado. Y necesito que seas tú quien nos mantenga a raya. Necesito que seas tú quien marque el ritmo, porque sea cual sea el sitio al que vamos… Yo ya he llegado. Ya hace tiempo que estoy ahí.”

“You know who traditionally does poorly on standardized tests? Women and marginalized individuals. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy: groups that are constantly told by society that they’re less smart walk into a testing situation anxious as hell and end up underperforming. It’s called Stereotype Threat, and there’s tons of literature on that. Just like there’s tons of literature showing that the GRE does a terrible job at predicting who’ll finish grad school. But the heads of graduate admission all over the country don’t care and persist in using an instrument made to elevate rich white men.” She shakes out her hair. “Burn it down, I say.”

“The therapist I once talked with but never went back to, because the copay was too steep even with Dad's health insurance, would probably call this wallowing. Unhealthy. Destructive. But I'm not so sure. I treasure my newfound feelings, Hoard them. Every once in a while I study them, turn them around, squint at them like they're a ripe piece of fruit, plucked from a mysterious tree that shouldn't even be growing in my yard. When I pop them in my mouth to swallow them whole, they taste bitter and delicious.”

“-Vamos tentar, então. Afinal, não é assim que é uma relação? Conhecer alguém e querer estar com essa pessoa mais do que com qualquer outra, e tentar fazê-la funcionar. E eu... talvez não tenha o hardware, mas o software está aqui, e consigo programá-lo. Se calhar, não estás destinado a mim da mesma forma que estou destinada a ti, mas vou escolher-te de qualquer maneira, uma e outra vez. Não preciso de uma licença genética especial para ter a certeza de que és o meu…”

“She’s already a bunch of stressors stacked in a trench coat. There are only that many kidnapping and murder attempts a child can endure before developing serious issues and self-destructive behaviors. We wouldn’t want her to grow up and, say, got to grad school.” “Don’t worry,” Misery reassures me, “every day I drill into her that we’ll be disappointed in anything but a Djing career.” “You’re such a good role model.”

“I know what she smells like. This little freckle on her neck when she pulls up her hair. Her upper lip is a little plumper than the lower. The curve of her wrist, when she holds a pen. It’s wrong, really wrong, but I know the shape of her. I go to sleep thinking about it, and then I wake up, go to work, and she is there, and it’s impossible. I tell her stuff I know she’ll agree to, just to hear her hum back at me. It’s like hot water down my fucking spine. She’s married. She’s brilliant. She trusts me, and all I think about is taking her to my office, stripping her, doing unspeakable things to her. And I want to tell her. I want to tell her that she’s luminous, she’s so bright in my mind, sometimes I can’t focus. Sometimes I forget why I came into the room. I’m distracted. I want to push her against a wall, and I want her to push back. I want to go back in time and punch her stupid husband on the day I met him and then travel back to the future and punch him again. I want to buy her flowers, food, books. I want to hold her hand, and I want to lock her in my bedroom. She’s everything I ever wanted and I want to inject her into my veins and also to never see her again. There’s nothing like her and these feelings, they are fucking intolerable. They were half-asleep while she was gone, but now she’s here and my body thinks it’s a fucking teenager and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. There is nothing I can do, so I’ll just . . . not.”