Ottessa Moshfegh

The heart is a moody, greedy thing, I suppose.

we could go out to the frozen lake and stand and shoot at the moon. Or to the beach, lie on our backs, make angels in the snow, shoot at the stars. Such were my romantic ideas for the evening with my new best friend

amazing what the mind will do when the heart is throbbing

Why should my heart ache for anyone but myself? If anyone was trapped and suffering and abused, it was me. I was the only one whose pain was real. Mine.

On the contrary, being kidnapped was something of a secret wish of mine. At least then I’d know that I mattered to someone, that I was of value. Violence made much more sense to me than any strained conversation.

I wondered what sort of ecstasy there was to be had without shame to incite it.

ticked open a slat in the blinds

They looked like a videotape in fast-forward

then flopped down on the sofa. The weird feeling in my head seemed to descend into my torso.

Would she suddenly grow into maturity and discard me as a relic from a failed past, the way I’d hoped to do to her when my year of sleep was over?