“I’m telling you (Y/N), it’s gonna be great! I’m gonna be an engineer and when I’m out of school I’m gonna take care of you. We’ll get our own place have have kids! Oh man we’re gonna have so many kids!”
“It’s not that hard, (Y/N),” Kyle said as he pointed to the scribbled notes in front of you. “Just focus on the formula and plug everything else in and boom.”
You rested your jaw on your hand and furrowed your eyebrows in frustration. You exhaled loudly through your nose as you rubbed at your temple.
Kyle smiled at you and reassuringly laid his hand in yours and ran his thumbs across your knuckles. You looked at him and he gave you a warm smile which was contagious caused your lips to tug into a reassured grin.
“How about this,” he said, “I know you can do this. You just need a little motivation.”
You looked at him puzzled.
“Tell you what,” he said, “for every problem you get right… I’ll give you a kiss.” A cheeky mischievous smirk graced his features.
And that’s the rub of all this, isn’t it? I can’t feel shit. I can’t feel anything. We think that pain is the worst feeling. It isn’t. How could anything be worse than this eternal silence inside of me.
Fiona Goode: I have been to St. Louis No. 1, and I have seen the tomb of Laveau, seen the fat tourists from Little Rock to Hackensack drawing crosses on the bricks–making wishes to the bones of Marie Laveau. Little do they know, all they have to do to get their wishes granted was come down here to the Ninth Ward and get their hair braided.