“I failed you, just like I’m going to fail E—”

“Wait, what?” He reached out and shoved my shoulder to get my attention.

I looked up at him, confused.

“How did you fail me?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I—”

“How did you fail me, Tommy?”

“I can’t go back, Jonas. I can’t be that version of who I was before—”

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t work like that. This isn’t some bump on the road, something I can get over and then revert to being who I was before. Because—because—”

“Because?”

It didn’t sound right; it wasn’t what I meant, not all of it. Fuck, I hate my brain so much.

“Thomas?”

I turned and found we were already in front of Dr. Foster’s brownstone. I hadn’t even realized it until I saw her standing in the doorway.

“Are you coming in?” she asked politely.

I looked up at her and back at Jonas.

“Go,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

“What?”

“How long does it take? An hour, right?”

“Fifty minutes.”

“Then go,” he said, jerking his head as if to point. “I’ll wait.”

I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to protest. I wanted a lot of things. In the end, I didn’t want to continue our conversation, yet I didn’t want him to go away either. So, I turned and climbed up the steps to the front door.

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Let Him In

“Who’s your friend?” Dr. Foster asked as she slid shut the double doors that led from the hall to her living room/office.

“Jonas,” I said quietly, still standing, looking out through a bay window at him, just…waiting.

“Oh, that’s Jonas,” she said, as though putting a name to a face. “Come. Sit.”

I made my way around the couch to my usual spot, on the left side, next to the side table—and the ashtray. Whenever a session got to be a bit too much, Dr. Foster allowed me to have a cigarette or two, as long as I agreed to stay until she said otherwise. Those sessions could go on for longer than the usual fifty minutes. My longest one had taken three hours—it is not something I’d like to repeat ever again.

“I take it you two are speaking again?”

“We were never not speaking. It wasn’t a decision.”

I absolutely loathed those half questions of hers. Never a complete thought, just blanks, with the occasional input that I usually provided.

“Still…”

“He showed up at Grant.” I answered the question she was taking years to get to.

“Out of the blue?”

“Why is that a thing? ‘Out of the blue.’ Why do you think people say that? Why ‘blue’?”

“Why not blue?”

I rolled my eyes. “Ugh, you’re such a therapist.”

She smiled. “Why are you nervous?”