Each time, I think I'm never going to write another book. It never gets easier.

And like my dad always said, the first step is always the hardest.

I thought of all the times we'd been together, how I kept coming closer, then retreating, while he stayed right where he was. A constant in a world where few, if any, really existed.

As if at the age of eighteen life already sucked beyond any hope of improvement.

No one could tell you: you just had to go through it on your own. If you were lucky, you came out on the other side and understood. If you didn't, you kept getting thrust back, retracing those steps, until you finally got it right.

Really, it had been stupid to expect anything anyway. A few late nights does not a habit, or a relationship, make.

I am not breaking my rules,' I snapped, hating that I'd ended up on the advice-recieving end of things, jumping from Dear Remy to Confused in Cincinnati all in one summer.