Now, the bitterness snapped in him, a cord drawn too tight. Kavinsky screwed up his face and slumped into the corner, arms crossed tight over his chest.

"You--you can't have that both ways," he said, more petulant than firm. "You can't tell me I can be here and try to figure out how to fix this, and tell me that I'm just going to keep fucking up."

Getting the words out didn't make him feel any better.