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Two excerpts from a novel I am writing. Feedback perhaps?
I had hated nothing more than being something he had grown to love. Angered as to why I wasn't the beautiful woman on the street who grabbed his attention in the way I'd later grab him by the collar to drag him into my arms. Why I was a mess of a child with scratches on my arms that I put there because I didn't know where else to put marks when I was hysterical. I wanted to be the immediate spark in his heart and not a dull and drug out attachment. Troubling. You know? Have you ever wanted to be anyone else but yourself but you're too afraid of the adjustment if your wish had been granted? I feel like that. It's summertime and I'd like to lay in his yard with my shoulders showing and a smile on my mouth, but those sorts of things aren't designed for me. Just like he wasn't.
-
He grabbed my hand and raised it to his lips.
"You've been upset."
He traced the edges of my nails with his fingertips, the nail polish crumbled across the tops of each nail.
"Oh yeah? What do you know?"
I pulled my hand from his grip.
"I know that I can't leave you alone for a minute without you forgetting that I love you."
