When I realized that, I figured my parents could wait a little longer. I lifted my head and kissed him again, drawing him down to me.

I’d known Declan for a year. He had a way of walking, loping about, that made him never seem to be in a hurry. When he hovered over a new model, he worked calmly and deliberately. I knew he’d take things slow with me.

But that night, I wanted to speed everything up. It’s the feeling I think you can only get when you know that you’re finally headed in the right direction.

Tuesday, February 19

I wonder if therapists wait for their patients to leave, then pull a bottle of whiskey from some hidden stash and go to town.

I’ve been with Juliet every other Tuesday morning, before school, for nearly five months. Before that, when I lived at Shady Harbor, it was every day. I’ve told her the same things a thousand times. It’s been eleven months of her asking me the same questions, offering me validation for feeling the way I do, gently suggesting ways I might break through whatever’s bothering me. She’s been making suggestions for forever, but I’ve never actually stepped up and done what she said. Every time I see her, I think she’s disappointed in me.

“Do you think I’m in a rut?” I ask her, sitting in her plush office. She has about twelve mismatched chairs gathered around this enormous, rust-colored shag rug, possibly because crazy people are picky, like Goldilocks. If a chair is too hard or too soft, they might not adequately pour out their souls.

She looks at me over the top rim of her glasses. “Do you think you might be?”

Her old standby: answering a question with a question. Sometimes I wonder why we pay her, since she always makes me solve my own problems.

“Because, I mean, his own mom has cleaned out his room. Everyone has moved on but me.”

Juliet smiles. She’s slight and kind of pinch-faced, so even her smile has a way of looking feline, as if calculating my demise. I’ve never felt one hundred percent comfortable with her, but that didn’t stop me from spilling my guts. She knows everything about me. Everything. “Some people simply take longer to grieve. There is no script for getting over this type of hurt.”

I knew that already. I nod and look over at the enormous, wall-size aquarium. Sometimes it feels as if we’re the two clown fish in there. Juliet and I keep going in circles, rehashing everything I know to be real, day after day. None of it has helped. None of it will ever help. It won’t bring him back.

Boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past…

“Are you still having eating issues?”

I nod. “They’ve gotten worse. Kane thinks I’ve gotten worse.”