“If you think I give a rat’s ass about that cooler, you don’t know me at all. Nothing I own is worth your pain.”Then, quietly, he took down one of his walls for her. “I know you.”

“I could feel my insides sink. My knees too. So I sat on the ground, against the wall, letting it support me. I thought I knew what heartbreak felt like. I thought heartbreak was me, standing alone at the prom. That was nothing. This, this was heartbreak. The pain in your chest, the ache behind your eyes. The knowing that things will never be the same again. It’s all relative, I suppose. You think you know love, you think you know real pain, but you don’t. You don’t know anything.”

“I thought part of the idea of having therapy was putting one in touch with his or her feelings. And don’t give me all that about transference, and counter-transference and all that. I know what I feel. And it has nothing to do with all that. And you also feel for me. And if you don’t know that, then maybe it’s you who needs to have therapy to gain a better knowledge of yourself.”

“It’s all relative, I suppose. You think you know love, you think you know real pain, but you don’t. You don’t know anything.”

“He took his mouth from hers and stared down at her with eyes so dark they no longer looked blue. “Amanda, do you trust me?” “Of course not,” she said. “I don’t know the first thing about you.” Laughter rustled from his chest. “Sensible woman.”

“I left you sweet and smiling in this goddamed bed and I don’t see you or hear your voice for four days? Then I walk into your office and you give me attitude and tell me to kiss your ass because you’re in a pissy mood about some shit you refuse to share? No. You gotta know, darlin’, that shit don’t play with me.”