The statement shakes me to my core. I haven’t had that thought since high school, maybe when I was fifteen, but saying it out loud makes it real. Terrifyingly real. Like it’s been hiding in my mind all these years. My breathing becomes ragged, shallow, and all the sound in the room is muffled. I’m floating above the scene, looking across the table at both of them as their faces go slack.

When I settle back into myself, I decide I can’t do this alone anymore. Benny says nothing, but he goes with me to make an appointment with one of the therapists on campus.

The next day, I’m in the waiting room, my leg restless. Twitch-twitch-jump. When I’m called in, it’s all the same questions I’ve heard before from my previous therapist: “How are you feeling?” and “What brings you here?”

It starts off slow, a leaky faucet, and before I know it, I’m spilling my guts about Jack and the whole sordid soap-operatic tale to this relatively young-looking man with glasses and a sweater-vest.

“So this is about a guy?” Dr. Sweatervest asks.

I’m not particularly fond of his dismissive tone. My eyes scan the room for his credentials. My old therapist, from back home, knew me well. She knew my ticks and tells. She knew how to coddle and challenge me when I needed it. And she would never reduce my feelings to one guy. “No. Yes. No. I don’t know.”

“Which is it?”

“It is about him, yes, because I lost my virginity to him, and I loved him. Love, present tense. And I hate that I love him because I don’t think he ever really loved me. But what’s hurt the most is that he made me feel safe and beautiful and wanted. But only when the doors were closed. And the second his friend from home caught him, us, he disregarded me. His friend called me fat. I heard it. And Jack said nothing. After I told him about my body dysmorphia.” My leg twitches so violently, I have to steady it with my hand.

“Body dysmorphia?” Sweatervest scribbles in his pad.

I nod. “Jack’s parents said such awful things, and when his friend alluded to Jack dating someone, he flat-out denied me. Said there was nobody. In front of me.”

“How’d that make you feel?” Sweatervest shows zero emotion. Damn! Come on, Sweatervest, give me something.

“Like I’m not worth anything.” I take a deep breath and lick my dry lips. When I can exhale, I tell him about the scene in the dining hall with Benny and how he confronted me about purging. “I had this, like, really quick thought that scared the fuck outta me.” I look at him, and he leans forward, waiting. “I wished I were … dead.”