“At CBS, I’m in your house. I’m mindful of that. When I do standup, you’re in my home and I can say what I want to.”

“What do you want?” I grumbled, not really sure if I was imagining his voice or not. “I’m not a figment of your imagination.” “Then how did you know what I was thinking if you’re not all in my mind? Besides, that’s just what a figment would say.” I scrunched up my face in a display of my skepticism”

“I wanted to apologize but what could I say? I’m sorry but I’m afraid my fangs might freak you out. Oh and by the way my eyes sort of glow in the dark when I get excited. I hope you’re cool with that.”

“Bottom line, Eliza— you’re my home and my family, and I don’t want to lose you.I could lose everything else, and as long as I still had you and a guitar I know I’d be all right. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“Yes. What is it, guilt, revenge, love, what?”I swallowed. “I live alone.”"And your point is?”"You have the Pack. You’re surrounded by people who would fall over themselves for the pleasure of your company. I have no one. My parents are dead, my entire family is gone. I have no friends. Except Jim, and that’s more of a working relationship than anything else. I have no lover. I can’t even have a pet, because I’m not at the house often enough to keep it from starving. When I come crawling home, bleeding and filthy and exhausted, the house is dark and empty. Nobody keeps the porch light on for me. Nobody hugs me and says, ‘Hey, I’m glad you made it. I’m glad you’re okay. I was worried.’ Nobody cares if I live or die. Nobody makes me coffee, nobody holds me before I go to bed, nobody fixes my medicine when I’m sick. I’m by myself.”

“I can let you in, Eva. I’m trying. But your first response when I screw up is to run away. You do it every time and I can’t stand feeling like any moment I’m going to do or say something wrong and you’re going to bolt.”