By Holly Cupala
Pleasure delamere is suffocating. From bronchial asthma, from her mom and dad, and from her boyfriend, Asher, who's smothering her from the interior out. she will be able to take his merciless phrases, his soft phrases . . . until eventually the evening they move too a long way. to flee, pleasure sacrifices her suburban lifestyles to discover the person who provided his support, a homeless boy known as Creed. He introduces her to a global of fierce loyalty, to its principles of survival, and to love—a global she won’t simply allow pass. Set opposed to the backdrop of the streets of Seattle, Holly Cupala’s powerful new novel explores the subtleties of abuse, the secrets and techniques we retain, and the how you can redemption. yet notably, it's an unflinching tale in regards to the amazing lengths one woman will visit observe her personal energy.
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Extra info for Don't Breathe a Word
Asher stood only a few inches away, but it felt like he’d already burned into my bloodstream, past any defenses I could put up. How could he already know how to unbalance me? As the group followed the path to the savannah, a murder of crows bolted up in a terrorized mass, squawking and cawing their indignation. “Filthy, dumb creatures,” I muttered under my breath. That’s why we were here—to save a bunch of mucky birds. But maybe I had them to thank for Asher’s nearness. I could sense the blood in his veins.
To save us all, I would completely disappear. My parents would call Neeta first, but she wouldn’t have anything to tell. Since I’d been with Asher, we’d seen less and less of each other—at first, because I couldn’t get enough of him. Later, because he wanted me all to himself. She’d witnessed the tension between Jesse and me when we went to see him at Western. He opened the door, surprise and then a scowl on his face. But that could mean anything. On the way home, she said I’d changed, though she couldn’t say why.
These are for you,” he whispered back. I could imagine what those lips would feel like, after the thrill of hearing them say my name. He held out the two bags. “And something extra,” he took a step toward me, “though I saved part of it for myself . ” Our hands brushed as I took the handles. “. . ” His right hand slipped between my arm and ribs and slid all the way down to my hip. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. He held up the vintage Nirvana T-shirt. “Oh, well, whatever. Never—” And then his lips met mine so softly that my words still hung between us.