“Then everyone can call you Six.” “Four and Six,” I say.
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I don't know how long it takes for me to realize that isn't going to happen, that she is gone. But when I do feel all the strength go out of me, and I fall to my knees beside the table and I think I cry, then, or at least I want to, and everything inside me screams for just one more kiss, one more word, one more glance, one more.
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I was almost dead, but instead I am alive. Because of Peter. Of all people.
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Will, with the crease between his eyebrows, with green eyes like celery and the ability to quote the Dauntless manifesto from memory.
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I wish I could; I wish I could move, but I just stare at her and wonder how long I have been this disgustingly selfish.
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