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“Hmm. Is this how therapy works? I thought it was like the patient talking and the therapist asking, ‘how does that make you feel’ and taking notes the whole time.”

He has a good laugh about that.

“Yes. Traditional therapy differs from what we are doing here. This is more of a conversation between friends. And while I have the credentials, we are working outside the norm.”

“Is it like that with everyone?”

“I can’t discuss other callers with you.”

“No, I’m not asking about their problems, or what you’re talking about. I was wondering if the other people calling you—never mind. I don’t know what I’m asking.” But I want to know if he’s the same with other people, or if the way he talks to me is different. Special somehow. Because it feels special to me. And I want to be special for him too.

He lets it slide. “We need to move to the next step.” He always includes himself—always says “we” instead of “you.”

“The next step?”

“I have a little homework for you. An exercise if you will.”

I want to grunt but hold it in.

“You don’t seem happy with the idea,” he says.

What? “I didn’t say anything.”

“I think I heard an unhappy sound coming from you.”

I guess I didn’t hold my grunt in. “No one in the history of the universe has ever been happy about homework.”

“Maybe.” He concedes.

“All right, what’s this homework?”

“I want you to think of people you can trust. Can you think of anyone you trust?”

“Yes.” I have a limited array of friends. There’s River, Tommy, and Lucas.

“I want you to find a friend. Someone you trust implicitly and talk to them about some of the things you shared with me.”

Sheer panic assaults me like a jab to the gut. No, no, no. I don’t want anyone to know this. I don’t want their pity or judgment. What if they don’t believe me? What if they blame me? The idea of telling someone face-to-face immobilizes me. He carries on as the battle raging inside me runs rampant and tries to take over.

“I know it won’t be easy. But I believe this is an integral part of your recovery.”

I swallow to push down the knot in my throat. “Okay.”

“Let’s do a little exercise right now. Think of a friend. Hold their image in your head.”

The most obvious person is River. I know she won’t judge. She might try to go to my mother’s house and beat the crap out of her, though. Tommy is far too sweet and gentle. I don’t want to tarnish him with all my dirty secrets. Lucas already knows a little about me. He knows I don’t go home or get along with my mother, but that’s it.

I flash back to the image of Professor Dick and how he held me while singing to me a few days ago. I cringe at the idea of telling him all of my deepest, darkest secrets. Oh, he’d love that. Lots of material to judge me on.

“Do you have a person in your mind?”

“Yes. I have someone in mind. But why? Why do I need to talk to someone?” My teeth grind together.

“You need someone in your life who’s more than a voice on the other side of a screen.”

It stings. “But I talk to you so I don’t have to dump my trashy life on anyone else.”

“Your life is not trash. Your life is as worthy as mine or anyone else out there.”