The Only Good Enemy Is

[roland] Jerked Back Too Fast To See, And His Fist Was Suddenly Connecting With My Chin. I Didn't Pass Out, But My Body Went Limp. Part Of Me Was Screaming Silently. The Other Part Was Saying, 'oh, What Pretty Trees.

I Just Don't Believe In Helping People Who Are Going To Torture Me. Though I Don't See Any Bamboo Slivers. How Can You Possibly Torture Someone Without Bamboo Slivers?

So Many Of Us Had Been Armed That There Were Holsters And Weapons Scattered Among The Passed-out Bodies Like Mercenary Prizes In A Fleshy Cracker Jack Box.

I Stared At Jean-claude And It Wasn't The Beauty Of Him That Made Me Love Him, It Was Just Him. It Was Love Made Up Of A Thousand Touches, A Million Conversations, A Trillion Shared Looks. A Love Made Up Of Danger Shared, Enemies Conquered, A Determination To Neither Of Us Would Change The Other, Even If We Could. I Love Jean-claude, All Of Him, Because If I Took Away The Machiavellian Plottings, The Labyrinth Of His Mind, It Would Lessen Him, Make Him Someone Else.

I Tried To Picture A Young, Insecure Edward And Couldn't, But It Was Nice To Know That Once He'd Been A Boy. Sometimes It Felt Like Edward Had Sprung Full Grown From The Head Of Some Violent Deity,like A Vicious Version Of Athena.