Exit Here.

Sometimes not telling people anything is a good thing.

It's weird. I never knew how much I had to hate about myself until I had the time to think about it.

But the thing is, my slate will never be swiped clean--this will never fade into the background and become some sort of learning experience or bump in the road. The shit that happened in my life and this book is real. And because I finally woke up to that whole realization much too late--the realization that life really happens and there is always a consequence for your actions--I lost everything in some sense, but in a weird kind of great way, if you flip it all around, I may have gained the most important thing of all: the truth. I can live with that.

I saw your truth and I wanted you to stay, And for the first time ever, I found comfort.

I want to go back. "Why?" Because it's the only thing I know.

Fuck everyone's apologies. I'm sick of hearing them. No one is sorry about anything. None of us care that much to be sorry about anything.

I wish I could take back the horrible things I've done to people. I wish I could go back in time and make things right, because even though I've been trying to, I might be making everything worse.

It's really starting to get to me and I'm not sure how to handle it because I can't remember ever letting anything get to me before. I can't remember ever feeling this fucking vulnerable.

You don't confront people about things that are out of your control. You bury it inside and you move the fuck on. That's how you deal with shit. It makes you stronger. That's why I'm not weak like my mother. Laura. "What?" We're all fucking weak.

All of that work and all of that time just for nothing, and maybe that's how things have to be sometimes.

Maybe if I leave again, I'll be able to forget about everything.

It's nice to feeling happy," he says. "There's nothing else like it.

He'll get what he deserves one day." Leaning even closer to me, Natalie whispers, "We all fucking will.

Everything I tried to put back together. Everything I tried to build back up. All of it begins to break apart. Just like that. It cracks and it falls and it shreds into a million fucking pieces and when I open my eyes, it's just me and it's just Chris.

But nothing lasts forever. This city is changing for the worse. Sure it's getting bigger and it looks nicer, but the novelties are disappearing. The culture is fading. This isn't progress, kid. It's neighborhood genocide. You think about that.

What the fuck is love anyway? Is it a phone call the next morning? Is it picking up a hundred-dollar-meal tab? Is it flowers on the fifth date? Or is it sleeping on the wet spot?

I'm afraid to. Claire moves the pillow to her side of the bed. "Afraid to do what?" To sleep. I'm afraid that if I fall asleep, I'll lose this feeling. I'll start dreaming and everything good that's just happened will mean nothing.

Dude: What do Pink Floyd and Dale Earnhardt have in common? Me: The wall was their last hit.

Everything has fallen apart. Claire stops laughing suddenly and takes a drag. She says, "Shit, Travis. Like anything was ever put together in the first place.

Don't you think you can right your wrongs, Laura? That you can make things better by trying to get back to everything you lost?

And Kyle says, "It's like when I'm with her, all the shit from my past doesn't even matter. Nothing does. I don't think about anything but her.

Yo, dude. That shit might be cool on Saved By The Bell but not in real life.

...but even though it feels awesome to be back with her, to have her next to me silhouetted by the stars, there is still a certain emptiness here, and something still feels a little bit off.

It's just that I've never seen you care about anything in your life.' I zip my fly. And Michael goes, "I mean, I've watched you spend your while life not feeling bad about anything you're ever done.

Travis, you don't even know what you're talking about. This is complete bullshit. You can't just come back and wave a wand and try to make everything the way it was.

That's how this world works. To get a lot, you have to at least give a little. You have to make a concentrated effort to let it be known that you'll do whatever it takes to get ahead." Pause. My father takes a drink from his beer while I stare at him. Smirking, continuing, he says, "Once you accept this fact of life, you'll be able to do whatever you want to do and have anything you want to have.

Nothing makes sense anymore." I start sweating. "Everything spun out of control.

It's like you dug a hole and threw me into it with you, and this is the only way I can get out of it!

I'm not that. You of all people should know that. You should know that I would only destroy those good things about her. "Or maybe you're just scared," she says.