“Into what?” I ask, though I have a pretty good idea. I should have known this would be oncoming.

He looks at me levelly. “Did you find what you were looking for when you realized you were consuming increasingly dangerous doses of the benzos?”

I wish we were still talking about drug-addicted ducks. It’d be easier. “You know about that, huh?”

“Yes, Tyson, I know about that. Not only am I still considered your treating therapist, but Derrick, Oliver, and your therapist in New Hampshire have all expressed their concerns to me.”

Gosh. It’s good to know nothing is kept secret anymore. Anger rises in me, but it’s an addict’s anger, a thing that swells at the realization that everyone seems to know my business. It’s something I’ve had to work through ever since Bear and Otter sat me down and told me they knew I had a problem. I try to force it down, because it’s an unfounded thing. “Good to know,” I manage to say in a level voice.

Eddie’s eyes soften. There are more lines around his eyes than there used to be and his long hair is shot with gray, but he’s still the same guy I’ve known since I was nine years old. Hell, even the bead curtain to enter his office still hangs from the doorway, though a few strands are missing now. “I could spin you the whole song and dance,” he says. “Tell you it’s just because people love you and are concerned about you, but you know that already.”

I nod, because I do.

“And I could tell you that you’re smarter than that, that you should know better. But I don’t know the need to admonish you is necessary anymore, and I’m sure you’ve probably kicked your own ass enough about it. And, if not, I’d be willing to bet my therapy license that Derrick did it enough for you.”

“That might be the understatement of the century.”

Eddie nods. “He can be surprisingly scary when he wants to be.”

“So if you’re not mad and if you’re not going to tell me I’m better than it, then what did you want to accomplish by bringing it up?”

“The why of it, Tyson. Yes, we know you’re smarter than that, probably smarter than anyone else I’ve known, and yes, we know your brother is a horrifying man whose anger is like a great fury, but I want to know why.”

“That’s… huh.”

“What?” he asks, making another note.

“I just realized I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that question. Maybe told why, but never asked.”

“Everyone was concerned with the fixing of it, I’m sure,” he says. “How bad were the withdrawal symptoms?”

“Not as bad as you might think, I guess. The first few days were the hardest.”

“Hallucinations?”

I shake my head. “Not that I remember, anyway.”

“Nightmares?”

“No more than usual. I didn’t sleep for a few days, and I’m pretty sure I was drenched in sweat the whole time, but it passed.” Not to mention the nausea and the overwhelming sense that the whole world was about to collapse on top of me, and if I could just get one more pill, just even half of one to take the edge off, it’d be okay. I had begged, I had cajoled, I had yelled.