All the assumptions the reader had to make coupled with the slut shaming made Flock an okay read. FLOCK is a decadently steamy summer sizzler It messed with my heart and my head I’m left feeling bewildered and DYING to get to the truth just as Cecilia, the heroine is. Overall, Flock was an okay read but had some of the spiciest scenes I’ve ever read. The lead up to this relationship is fairly obvious, if you’ve been paying attention.
The chemistry in this novel is fire hot and features some very well-written sex scenes. All the characters around her encourage her to own herself and her actions, but she stubbornly refuses to and instead continues to shame herself. There’s a fair amount of slut shamming from the main character to herself. It isn’t until the final few pages that readers are given a couple hints, though are ultimately left in the dark. It’s incredibly frustrating because readers have no idea what’s going on with the larger plot for the entire novel. There are times Cecilia is purposely left in the dark and there are times only the reader is left in the dark. What I disliked most about this novel is how many times the reader is left to make assumptions about what’s going on. While living in the small town she meets someone who changes everything she thinks she knows about herself. My three star rating of Flock isn’t bad, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to rate it four stars.įlock follows Cecilia as she moves in with her estranged father to spend a year working for him in order to access her trust fund. I’m not even sure why I bought it other than watching a TikTok and being in an incredible hangover from ACOSF. Looking back, I’m convinced I willed my story into existence due to my illness.įlock’s synopsis is incredibly vague. At least that was the case for me and the men I trusted my foolish heart to. You can’t re-live your own love story, because by the time you’ve realized you’re living it, it’s over. That’s the novelty of fiction versus reality. Secrets that cost us everything to keep.
But in order to keep them, I had to be in on their secrets. Triple Falls wasn’t at all what it seemed, nor were the men that swept me under their wing. I gave into temptation and fed the beating beast, which grew thirstier with every slash, every strike, every blow. When I lived this story, my own twisted fairy tale, it was unbeknownst to me at the time because I was young and naïve. I grew up believing that real love stories include a martyr or demand great sacrifice to be worthy.īecause of that, I believed it, because I made myself believe it, and I bred the most masochistic of romantic hearts, which resulted in my illness.
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