5 Liters.
Say it.
"Sang smiles savagely in return, her eyes suddenly clear and sober. “I’m a whore; my business is men’s lust. You idiots are all the same: there’s the woman you miss, the one you lost, or the one that got away. Then there’s the one you really love, but you either fumbled yourself out of favor with her or never got up the courage to act so you spend the rest of your lives making that loss everyone else’s suffering. Then there’s the one you settle for, the one you lay down with because they’re wanton and within reach, except for you, of course. You’re so stuck on the first one, you can’t give any meaningful part of yourself to the other two. I feel sorry for that tribal bitch … I really do. I bet she’s been pining over you for a while now, thinking you don’t give a frack for her. Shit fire, Garrett, at least I know where I stand.”
Garrett reaches out and takes Sang by the hand again. She doesn’t fight him, but she’s no longer trying to be soft and friendly. She wants a fight because it makes it easy to let go of someone when you’re angry at them. Part of him wants to give her the easy way out, a clean break. Garrett doesn’t have it in him, though; the fight’s all drained out. He stays silent, holding her hand against his lips.
“You can’t even bring yourself to say it,” she says."
