Kneel In The Rain Where You Belong

Summary

I have always possessed a feral, unapologetic instinct for ownership. If something belongs to me, I keep it locked in my fist.

When I was seven, a cousin tried to pry my vintage collector’s doll from my hands; that night, I dropped his handheld console to the bottom of the saltwater aquarium and watched the screen go black. In boarding school, when a girl on my floor set her sights on the boy I fancied, I cornered him in the library and kissed him thirty seconds before she could work up the nerve.