" She laughed, but this time it sounded hoarse. "It's alright," she said, leaning in again. "It's not the first time I've fucked to get a part."
Mark took a step back, putting his hand forward to distance her. The way she said fucked sounded exactly like the way she said rat, and he felt certain that this was all wrong.
"How could you say that?"
"Say what? You can't be new to this."
"That's not an excuse," he said, taking another step back. "Why do you do this? How can you do this?"

She stopped her approach. Her eyes turned to the abandoned plate of steak on the coffee table. Mark, unable to imagine what she was feeling, picked up her sweater from the floor and handed it to her. She took it without looking at him, then sat on the couch. She began to cry.
"I'm sorry," he said. "But there's no reason for you to do any of this."

She put her sweater on, straightened her skirt, then turned to face him. "I do this," she said, gesturing gat the couch, "because the moment I spend being someone else on screen is better than the twenty-eight years I've spent being myself. "

― Tablo , Pieces of You