Only a real asshole takes liberties with someone else's car stereo. That's serious.

All those clean, fresh starts had made me forget what it was like, until now, to be messy and honest and out of control. To be real.

And I felt comfort. Finally. All I'd wanted for so long was for someone to explain everything that had happened to me in this same way. To label it neatly on a page: this leads to this leads to this. I knew, deep down, it was more complicated than that, but watching Jason, I was hopeful. He took the mess that was Macbeth and fixed it, and I had to wonder if he might, in some small way, be able to do the same for me. So I moved myself closer to him, and I'd been there ever since.

And for one second, it was like I could feel the timing clicking together, finally pieces falling into place.

None of it meant anything, and all of it was important.

What happened to goodbye?

My agent is so totally honest, which is just what every writer needs. She won't let me sell a crappy book, even if I want to.