“Still. That’s not why you did it,” he finally said.

“Yes, it is.”

“Tommy.”

“What?”

“Why, bro?”

I reached for the bottle, but he grabbed it and pulled it close to him before I could get to it.

“Do you want me to answer or not?” I said defiantly.

“I’m afraid to even think about what you’ll be like in college.” He handed me the bottle so I could fill up my glass.

“I took his firsts,” I said quietly.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’ve already done more harm than good. Did you know he’d never dated anyone? And I don’t mean hooking up—which you know he never did. I mean date. Open up. Talk for days. Make out for hours on end, go out, and have it end in sleepovers, have sex for hours, suck—”

“Okay, I think I get it.”

“The point is, he’s this innocent guy I have no claim to.”

“Why not? And, from what I’ve witnessed and what I’ve just heard, he doesn’t sound so innocent to me, by the way.”

“Yeah, he’s not.” I smirked and bit my lip as my Super 8 threatened to kick in but was luckily drowned in grape. “That’s not the kind of innocence I’m referring to though.”

“What are you referring to?”

“I mean he’s good, Jonas,” I said, slamming both open hands on the tabletop. “He’s so good.”

“And you’re not? That’s bullshit.”

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t feel so short on goodness.”

To myself, more so than to him.

“What have you done that’s so horrible?”

“Recently?” I raised a single brow.

“Ever.”

I took a deep breath before speaking. “Let’s see. I’m not even eighteen years old yet, and I’ve already been institutionalized, twice. I take three pills a day, three times a day, just to be able to walk around and not find everything heartbreaking. One milligram up or down can secure me a bed at St. Yve’s, again, and for an undetermined amount of time—should I go on?”

“That’s doesn’t make you bad,” he said dismissively. Though he did drink a good three gulps of my wine.

“I couldn’t save my brother from drowning, even though I was fucking state champion. Every relationship I’ve had has been based on my understanding that love is not for everyone—”

“For you, you mean.”

“Why should I do that to him? Bring him into my fucking madness of a life and take him down with me?”

“What are you so afraid of, dude? Breaking him, or letting him know?”

“Letting him know what, Jonas?”

“That you can’t do this alone.”

I kept staring at him, unable to respond. And suddenly sober.

“Talk to him, Tommy,” Jonas eventually said softly.

“I can’t put this on him. He deserves to be happy.”

“Then make him happy.”