"Don't be sorry. Just try not to let him touch you. When he touches you I see red. I can't take it. I don't want to see him or anyone else touch you"

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I'm sorry." "Be sorry you lied," he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Don't be sorry you loved him. That's part of you, part you have to let go, yeah, but still something that's made you who you are.

— Richelle Mead