What were you two talking about?" she whispered as Wes pulls the door shut. Nothing," I said. "Running." You should have seen your face," she said, her breath hot in my ear. "Sa-woooon.

You can't act like you care about someone but not let them care about you.

It was a basic plot in any number of her books: girl strikes out, makes good, finds love, gets revenge. In that order. The making good and striking out part I liked. The rest would just be bonus.

I knew this feeling, the 2 a.m. loneliness that I'd practically invented.

Grieving doesn't make you imperfect. It makes you human.

As if it didnt matter what was on, but instead how hard i was listening.

There was no short answer to this; like so much else, it was a long story. But what really makes any story real is knowing someone will hear it. And understand.