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“Yes,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Is she okay?” I look to Max, who’s sitting next to me. “I mean, is she going to ...”

“I just got done visiting with her. Right now, she’s just very tired.” His answer couldn’t be any more vague.

“Is she still strapped down?” I ask when I find my voice.

“How do you know she’s strapped down?” someone asks as I keep my focus on the doctor.

“Because they always strap you down when you try to off yourself,” another person responds.

My throat goes thick when I think about how she looked in that bed, but he manages to relieve a miniscule amount of my tension when he shakes his head. “No, she isn’t.” He then addresses the group. “Look, when something like this happens, it can stir up a lot of emotions and confusion in us. So, I’d like to take this time to talk through how we feel about the situation and answer any questions I can for you.”

Across the circle, Kevin shakes his head. He’s a chubby kid who’s in my afternoon substance abuse group. He has an ego complex, and he straight up pisses me off when he sneers, “What she did was selfish. People like that only want attention.”

“Are you kidding me?” Max snaps, lurching forward in her chair.

I stretch my arm out to stop her. I’ve seen her lose it before, and I know how feisty she can get. She senses my caution and settles back into her seat.

“I can understand why some people believe that,” Dr. Benson responds, and I open my mouth to cut him off at the same time he adds, “After visiting with her earlier, I can assure you that she didn’t do this for attention or to be dramatic. We have to keep in mind that her depression is extreme and that it’s an illness—an illness that’s invisible, which makes it very challenging for us to know what is going on inside her and how to properly treat her.”

This is the first time I’ve gotten an explanation as to why she’s in here. After I was admitted and saw her in the rec room, I thought about possible reasons, depression being one of them.

“But isn’t it your job to keep us safe?” Max is still distraught over it all. I can’t even imagine what last night must have been like in that bathroom.

“It is, and I take that responsibility very seriously. But on the same token, I can only do so much to help you guys. I do what I can to teach each of you different strategies to cope with your illnesses. I can offer you the tools, but it’s ultimately up to you to use them.” He pauses and releases a heavy breath. “None of us knew she was thinking about harming herself. She suffers in silence, and that’s important for all of us to be aware of. You never know what the person sitting next to you is going through or struggling with, and I’m not just talking about in this room. People with depression are often very good at masking it.”

“I was so scared she was going to die,” Max weeps, and Sally, the girl sitting on the other side of her, slips a comforting arm around Max’s shoulders.

Leaning forward, I brace my elbows on my knees and hang my head. God, the issues these people are dealing with are so much deeper than I ever imagined, and here I’ve been, making Harlow’s life more hellish than what it already was for her. I had no idea that I was hurting her with her own broken pieces.

I’m scum for what I’ve done, and it’s no wonder she despises me so much. I feel awful for the part I’ve played in all of this. Remorse collides with grief, sending a tidal wave over me. It fills to the brim, and I find myself having to blink back the tears that surface.

Max places her hand on my back, probably meaning to comfort me, but it only makes me feel shittier. This poor girl is dying a slow death, and here she is, offering me support. I can’t even look at her because truth is, I’m so undeserving. If she knew the part I played in dragging Harlow down, she would rip me to shreds. And rightfully so, because I’ve been doing nothing but looking down on everyone in this place since I came, thinking I was better than all of them.

Clearly, I’m not.

“Sebastian?” Pinching my eyes, I shake my head before righting myself and looking up at Dr. Benson. “What’s going through your head?”

I shrug. How do I even begin to put all these thoughts into words? “It’s just ... I don’t know how to make sense out of all this.”

“How does it make you feel?”

I give him the simplest answer. “Confused.”

“About?”

“How anyone could do that to themselves.”

“Let me ask you something,” he says. “Why were you driving drunk on the night you got arrested?”

I don’t know what one has to do with the other, but I already don’t like what he’s insinuating. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself, if that’s what you’re trying to get at.”

“So, whatwereyou doing?”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I slump down in the chair and drift my focus to the floor. “I don’t know. I guess I was just trying to get away.”

“From what?”