This Ring Belongs To The Black Hand.

It Didn't Escape Me That He Couldn't Seem To Stop Finding Reasons To Touch Me. Nor Did I Miss That I Didn't Want Him To Stop.

Patch Smiled. “you Come By Your Red Hair Naturally?” I Stared At Him. “i Don’t Have Red Hair.” “i Hate To Break It To You, But It’s Red. I Could Light It On Fire And It Wouldn’t Turn Any Redder.

You’re Impinging On My Private Space,” I Said, Inching Backward. Patch Gave A Barely-there Smile. "impinging? This Isn’t The Sat, Nora.

Are You Gloating Inside? That's What This Is About, Isn't It? Getting Me To Trust You So You Could Blow It Up In My Face!" [...] "i Get That You're Angry—," Said Patch. "i Am Ripped Apart!" I Shouted.

All This Time I've Hated Myself For It. I Thought I'd Given It Up For Nothing. But If I Hadn't Fallen, I Wouldn't Have Met You.