I looked around to make sure no one was within earshot before telling him. “Can I play hooky with you?” he asked.

I was surprised to not cringe at the thought of Greg accompanying me to the coffee shop, or anywhere really. Throughout four weeks in a place where near-strangers were encouraged to describe their life experiences in excruciating detail, I frequently needed breathing room. These offshoot outings had become almost sacred, a time to connect with thoughts that risked being drowned out by the voices of others. But that day, I didn’t mind surrendering my solitary hour. As I got closer to the end of my twenty-eight days, the prospect of being alone seemed somewhat terrifying. And though a few weeks earlier Greg would’ve been the last person I would have wanted to spend extra time with, I’d actually started to crave his company. I was beginning to think he got me better than anyone, and that the understanding went both ways. There was something about his perpetual inability to escape his self-destructiveness that made him both vulnerable and tender. I almost felt love for him, or at the very least, kinship.

We sat down in a window seat near the front. Greg pulled his laptop out of his bag. “What!” I said. “How come they let you keep that?”

“They didn’t,” he said, “I just chose not to hand it over when they asked if I’d brought a computer. It’s pretty easy to get around most rules, you know, and half the time you don’t even have to lie!”

We sat across from each other, Greg staring at his computer screen and me at a blank page in my journal, struggling to conjure up any thoughts or feelings that needed expressing. The more time I spent in treatment, the less I needed to process in that space. My thoughts felt much less fragmented. In truth, I was nervous about leaving. I’d come to enjoy knowing what I’d be doing every day, and having no choice in the matter. In fact, not having to choose was one of the best parts about being at the Ledge; the only decisions I made involved which salad dressing I was in the mood for, or what T-shirt to wear. Being limited was surprisingly nice. I took comfort in unambiguous priorities, in having no choice in the matter; certainty by default.

“You want to use my laptop?” Greg asked. “Check your email or something?”

“No,” I said without hesitation. “No, thanks.”