Aaron: Fuck. Her. Fuck all of this. Fuck the four years of friendship. Fuck making yourself love her. Fuck other guys. Fuck late night phone calls and texting all day. Fuck being there for when things go wrong. Fuck being her rock when she’s built her life on sand. Fuck ‘mental communication’. Fuck twisting every situation so that you’re in the wrong. Fuck resentment for years of being a friend. Fuck the other guy who didn’t have the fucking decency to respect your relationship. Fuck the fact that he is still alive. Fuck cookies in the mail and I miss yous and frowny faces. Fuck guinea pigs and Wildwood and chili and yoga and Portuguese. Fuck the whole country of Brazil, in fact. Fuck snuggling on rainy days. Fuck sock monkeys and sundresses and Vespas and that fucking green-yellow color. Fuck Bon Iver and Bruce fucking Springsteen and that one fucking song about making your heart beat faster. Fuck Christmas lights and ‘With or Without You’ and bears and kittens and noms and being snuggly. Fuck Pinterest and fuck tears. Fuck Washington DC and all that piece of shit town has created and stands for in your life now. FUCK THE LIES AND THE CHEATING AND THE INSECURITY AND REFUSING TO BELIEVE WHEN YOU SAID THAT YOU GODDAMNED LOVED HER. Fuck ALL of it. And especially fuck her and fuck her relationship. She does not deserve love. She does not deserve faithfulness. She does not deserve devotion. And she sure as shit does not deserve you. What she does deserve is that insecurity. That worry. Those concerns. What she DOES deserve is her heart broken into pieces so small even atoms would need microscopes to find them. But you have power over you. You know what you need to do. Burn it down. Burn down all of it. Ignite it with your mind and turn all those hurts, all those tears, all those memories…turn them into a great big burning fire. Melt them down and transmute all that love into boiling, bubbling hatred. Feel better?

Jensen: No.

Aaron: I figured. Let’s get drunk.

Now What?

Wells: Well now. That didn’t end nearly as nicely as you were hoping it would, did it? Now what are you going to do?

Jameson: I’m not sure. Live, I guess.

Wells: Good. That’s the best idea. Live. Grow. Move on. Get past all the incredible nasty shit around this. But learn. Learn from it. Learn what you will not accept anymore. Learn your limits. Learn to STICK to those limits, no matter what. There is nobody that can come across your life that deserves to steal every bit of you again. Not one single person.

Jameson: I suppose you’re right. I wish it hadn’t been as violent though.

Wells: Wish all you want. It doesn’t change the fact that it happened. Look, it’s simple. Sometimes growth can be carefully cultivated, like a patch of pretty flowers in springtime. Other times, you just have to burn the fucker to the ground without remorse and hope that in time the phoenix will come back to life. 

Jameson: And if it doesn’t?

Wells: Now why are you asking so many questions? 


Moore: I know for a fact that the shield is going to fail at the worst possible time. Because all shields fail at the worst possible time. And the more you rely on it being there, the more lost you’re going to be when it’s gone. And it will be gone. Because when your shield is THAT well-built, the only thing that will get through it will be an atom bomb. I know. I’ve built walls upon walls for myself year after year after year. And year after year after year, there’s a smile or a flash in a girl’s eyes…and that shit comes down like a house of cards. And standing in the middle of that rubble, not having a goddamn clue what to do now? That is a thousand times scarier than the dating scene itself. Keep your walls. Keep your shield. You do what you like with your life. It’s certainly not my life to live. But I am telling you as the voice of experience - and hopefully by now you’ve learned to listen to it - that the more you don’t want someone to get through, the harder you’re going to be hit when someone inevitably does. I know how it goes down. It’s not an immediate thing which makes it even tougher to deal with. It’s bit by bit. Chip by chip. Pieces of the wall just falling out and you’ll be running around trying to catch them. Soon, you’ll just be watching as they crumble but they won’t fall until that day you find yourself thinking about her…and you smile. That’s when you’re doomed.

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And Here It Goes

Cole: You know there’s something seriously wrong with you, right?

Bolton: Yeah, probably.

Cole: I’m serious. This whole…crusade you’re on. This whole “I’m never dating again” thing. It’s totally bullshit, number one. And number two, it’s indefensible as an ethos.

Bolton: You really want to get into this right now?

Cole: Yeah. I do.

Bolton: Go ahead then. Try this exercise again.

Cole. I will. First off, you’ll never be able to maintain it.

Bolton: Don’t tell me I can’t do something. I’ll do it and maintain it just to spite your ass. You know this.

Cole: Not in this case. It’s not humanly possible.

Bolton: I’m already bored but explain why yet again.

Cole: Because it’s not. It’s a goddamn biological imperative to fall in love.

Bolton: No. It’s not. It’s a biological imperative to want to pass on my bloodline, not to fall in love. Love was just created because cavemen started thinking on deeper levels than “Me want wet hot place”.

Cole: Even if we buy that, not dating means no passing on your bloodline.

Bolton: Eh. If I feel the need, I’ll just poke holes in my condoms and hit some random bar slut up. Baby roulette.

Cole: You’re not that sociopathic.

Bolton: You never know until you try. Besides, you’re fighting your biological imperative by being a fucking vegan.

Cole: Those aren’t EVEN…

Bolton: Cavemen weren’t PICKY. They didn’t swear off buffalo meat because they had to kill it and cut it up. They saw it as food. Meanwhile, anything that used to have a pulse is now “unconscionable” in your diet. And yet you chastize me for not doing something that you consider “correct”? You fucking hypocrite.

Cole: Now hold on…

Bolton: No, now I’m going. You said that this is indefensible as an ethos. Why? Because you don’t agree with it? Fuck you. It’s just as defensible as demanding someone love. You know why I’m not doing this? I’m not doing it because I DON’T WANT TO. It’s not because of anything but MY choice.

Cole: You sound like a little kid who won’t go back to school because he got his milk money stolen but tries to pass it off like he’s being a big boy.

Bolton: That’s right. Be a smug asshole as always.

Cole:…aren’t you lonely?

Bolton: CHRIST yes. Are you kidding? It’s like a black claw is grasping my chest and squeezing every day I’m alone. It hurts to breathe sometimes. It hurts to move. It hurts to see people.

Cole: Then why keep it up?

Bolton: Because I cannot - WILL not - see you win. I will go down in flames and burn up entirely if it means that I do it without losing. Whether you consider it losing or not, I don’t. If I can go my whole life with this aching, miserable, lonely feeling but still keep my heart intact and free from the clutches of stupid, careless people…I will win.

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Musing Online

Nero: Don’t you think it’s a bit…strange?

Hilary: I have no idea what you’re talking about this time.

Nero: Online dating, the lot of it.

Hilary: …yeah, I guess it kind of is. All those strangers, begging for someone to pay attention to them.

Nero: It’s not even that. It’s the fact that we can skim by just a photo and if it doesn’t fit what we want, we just discard it and, by extension, that person, forgetting them forever. Is that all we’ve become? One picture sums up the entirety of our selves?

Hilary: You do it too.

Nero: And I do it too! I’m not exempt from it. I’m not above it. I do the same thing, make the same calls. I like small girls, tiny girls, girls I can protect. I don’t like big girls.

Hilary: Yes, you’ve made that clear before.

Nero: Don’t be snarky. I’m illustrating a point.

Hilary: I know you are and I’m not being snarky. I’m just saying I know this shit. You’ve told me this before.

Nero: I KNOW. I’m just saying…

Hilary: I KNOW you’re just saying. Damn, just continue.

Nero: It’s just…strange. One picture defines a person in this world, I guess. One snapshot of one moment of one life and that IS the life.

Hilary: And if it’s a good picture?

Nero: Who knows?

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That’s All

Bono: Let me make this clear. There is always risk in becoming involved with someone. Always. There is the potential - I’d even say likelihood - of someone getting their feelings or ego hurt. Being in a relationship with someone means that they can - and probably will - hurt you at some point. The trick is this: setting aside all the hurt that’s happened or will happen, setting aside fights and arguments and ego…does being with them make you happy? That’s all.

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The Little Things

Akerson: It’s the little things, man. Not the passionate declarations of love or the sweating, screaming sex or the glares of singles on Valentine’s Day. It’s the way her hair fell on the pillow. It’s that little sigh she gave when she was content. It’s the way her hand fit perfectly into mine and how she didn’t mind my extra pounds or how she’d surprise me at home with a kiss and a beer. Those little things are killing me.

Kenkel: Okay, that’s it. We’re going to a club tonight. You clearly need to get laid since you’re apparently growing a vagina.

Akerson: You don’t understand.

Kenkel: You’re right. I don’t. Let’s go drink.

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Landry: Are you okay?

Nikki: Am I okay? No, I’m not okay. I’m lost. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know what I like, what I don’t like. I don’t know what I want to do. I don’t know who I am. No, I’m pretty damn far from okay, bud.

Landry: So you’re like everyone else then? Seems pretty close to okay to me.

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It’s Like That

Sharper: Chloe, I can’t promise I won’t hurt you. In fact, I’m positive that at some point I will. And at some point you will hurt me. Love is like that. It’s about pain and hurt, it’s nasty, brutal work. But it’s about forgiveness too. It’s about loving with no obligation, no restriction. It’s about knowing that bad can’t be avoided but it can be eased. I won’t promise I won’t hurt you. But I will promise that I’ll try my best not to. That’s all I can do.

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Talbot: You know what scares the hell out of me?

Halstead: What would that be?

Talbot: Chameleons.

Halstead: Chameleons?

Talbot: Chameleons.

Halstead: Like little lizard chameleons?

Talbot: Like little lizard come on, man. Listen to yourself. No, not like little lizard chameleons.

Halstead: Then you’ve lost me.

Talbot: Like human chameleons.

Halstead: Hate to tell you this, bud, but chameleons are lizards. Nothing human about them.

Talbot: It’s a term, you ass.

Halstead: Then enlighten me, you ass.

Talbot: A Chameleon is a woman – occasionally a man but usually a woman – who has no set personality. No set sense of person. They find a guy they want, study him a bit and become FOR him what he wants. They want the virgin, she’s a virgin. They want the bad girl, she’s a bad girl. Or sporty girl or fashion-centric girl or giggly girl.

Halstead: Sounds like a crappy pop band.

Talbot: Do you want to hear this or not?

Halstead: Forgive me. I was so rude. Please continue.

Talbot: Condescension is very unbecoming. What they do is fulfill every emotional need a guy has that he wants to have. And if they change, so does she. It’s a scary thing.

Halstead: So a guy gets what he wants. What a horrible concept.

Talbot: You’re married, right?

Halstead: Seven years in April but I don’t see how…

Talbot: You know your wife?

Halstead: Inside and out. And I mean that sincerely.

Talbot: Wonderful. Well, consider this. What if she’s only giving you want you want to have in a marriage? What if tomorrow you wake up and she’s gone off to Reno to ride Harleys with Juan Pablo down the street? Do you know she’s who she says she is? Are you sure? Positive?

Halstead: I…well…shit.

Talbot: That’s the Chameleon. Not saying she is one but you never know. Scary as hell, man. Scary as a damn thing. More whiskey?

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