[ He doesn't respond right away; one hand keeps making circles on her back, traveling in a wider circle to get more of the soap spread around, but his main focus is on making her feel good. The hand at her breast stays there, but his fingers spread out as if they want to explore an area that can't be touched except in private moments like this one. ]

Well, I think it's already written. Or parts of it are. I'm not sure if it's completely finished, you know, with a beginning, middle, and end. I think I can still make changes to it.

But...

[ His frown returns and his brow furrows and his head dips lower although he doesn't stop touching her. ]

What's the point in making changes if I don't know what's going to get me out of this story?

[ A proverbial wall has been built, and Alan doesn't know how to get around it. What kind of equally proverbial explosive can he use to break down the wall? How does he fight a story that seems to be as alive as any ordinary person? The story isn't ordinary; it's powerful, maybe even more powerful than Alan who's still trying to figure out what he can do. ]

Sorry, I know that doesn't answer the question. But I think I need to change the story in just the right way to let me come home. How I'm supposed to do that, I'm still figuring out.

[ He stops then as a sudden overwhelming urge to just be done with this story rises from out of nowhere. I just want to go home. I've written so much...

It feels foreign somehow, as if the emotion doesn't belong to him. It's coming from far away, maybe even from someone else. ]

I'm going to figure this out. [ He doesn't bother hiding the note of determination in his voice, because why should he? ]