“Sometimes, people don’t want others to see their sadness,” Dr. Bright says finally. “Adam probably thought he was hiding it well and the fact that you noticed frightened him. It brought into focus just how unhappy he is.”

She’s right and sitting there all calm and static and it’s making my blood boil. Instead of keeping me calm, her concern feels cloying and too warm and I worry I’m going to suffocate under it if I don’t fight my way out.

“I knew how he was feeling and instead of fixing it, I made him more unhappy. You’re always talking about this like it’s some sort of stupid gift, that I can help people. But I always just fuck things up,” I bite, wanting to blame something, anything, for the way I feel.

“That’s because you haven’t learned how to control it yet,” she tells me evenly. “You’re so young and you’re dealing with so many of your own emotions that handling others’ is going to be overwhelming. Being a teenager is hard, you know that.” The sickly-sweet pity is mixing with the fire in my gut as she continues, “I’ve said before that I think this ability gets easier as you grow older—”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” I interrupt. “Being a teenager is rough, there are hormones and all that stuff, blah, blah, blah. That doesn’t change the fact that I suck. It’s not an excuse. Someone was sad and then I opened my mouth and now they’re sadder. And I don’t know what he’s going to do or how he’s gonna react, or if he spent the whole weekend thinking about it—and would you stop that!”

All of a sudden, I’m yelling and I can’t stop.

“I can feel your fucking pity bleeding out of you and I don’t need it! I’m not some pathetic emotional loser, okay? I’m not like him!”

I’m tightly coiled on the couch, feeling like I’m going to explode and start breaking things, but Dr. Bright remains cool and expressionless. I let myself sink into her feelings and find the pity gone, light warm concern in its place.

“Caleb, it’s all right,” she soothes. “I don’t pity you. I’m empathetic to what you are feeling. Surely you of all people can understand that, right?”

“Yeah.” I exhale, my muscles loosening, fists unclenching. “Yeah. Right. Sure.”

I take a couple more deep breaths, letting my feelings level out before the heat of embarrassment takes over.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I just—your feelings are normally pretty quiet, so it just surprised me, that’s all.”