Vicious Minds: Part 2 (Children of Vice 5)

“What do you mean, ugh? That is one of the best lines in the whole book.”

I looked down at her. “Are you sure you don’t secretly like this one?”

“I hate the story, not the book.”

“There is a difference?”

“Yes! Hating the story means not liking the events. Hating the book means not liking the fact that it was written.”

I stared at her, hoping she knew how dumb that sounded.

She sat up on her knees. “I hate Wuthering Heights because of the characters, especially Heathcliff—”

“Heathcliff is the only one that makes sense to me.”

“Digging up your dead lover to look at her again makes sense to you?” she asked as if I was now dumb.

“Grief makes people do crazy things.”

“It’s creepy. A visit and flower will do.” She cringed.

I opened my mouth to talk then paused, wondering. “What side am I on in this argument again?”

“No side if you’d just read.” She shoved me. “And go back to that line again; read it over. With passion this time.”

I clenched my lips and tried not to laugh. Keeping my composure, I asked, “Sorry, how exactly should I read it? Show me.”

She grinned and put her hand to her heart. “How cruel, your veins are full of ice water, and mine are boiling!” For added effect, she put her palm to her head.

I could help but burst out laughing.

“Shut up!” She laughed with me.

“How cruel,” I repeated, then checked the book. “Where is that? I think you butchered it.”

“No smart ass, theater performers shortened it for plays. I was acting it out like that,” she replied and tried to snatch the book from me.

But I switched hands and held it out farther.

She climbed on top of me, but instead of reaching for it, put her forehead on top of mine.

“May I help you?”

“Do you know why I read this book?”

“Yes, someone died.”

“No…I read it because of you.”

Now I was confused. “What?”

“That quote is what Catherine tells her husband when they are fighting. They don’t match each other. They hate each other. They are married but miserable. I read this book whenever I hear about some pitiful woman who either killed herself or her husband out of misery. I wonder how in the world do you marry someone you don’t love? What does it feel like to be in a miserable marriage? I don’t know. So, it’s your fault. You treat me far too well.”

I stared up her, smiling as I held her face. “I love you, baby, but you are weird. Who does that—ah!” I winced as she head-butted me.

“Forget it!” She rolled over and hopped out of bed.

Rolling over, I hopped off and grabbed her. “Declan!”