I swallowed my heart and buried myself in James' sweatshirt. It was intimate, it was comforting, it should've made me happy but her words refused to leave my head. “I had to kill you.” Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. The mantra didn't help. The stones had hurt, they had killed me when she'd pushed me from the cliff but the words hurt, too. She didn't love me more than she loved herself. I knew that because I knew I loved her more and I knew I would've never done something like that. I sobbed and soaked James with my tears and my misery and my suffering. “I tried to kill a harpy, Tate. I tried for two years. One taste of a harpy's flesh and I could've been whole, I wouldn't have had to kill you. You could've seen me then!” I refused to look at her. She wasn't processing any real emotions and her voice was hollow and imperfect and disgusting to me. I didn't know how I would feel if I looked at her.
