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He appears dumbfounded as he shakes his head. “I thought we were, but if I’ve misunderstood something ...” His words dissolve as timidity forms in his expression. “What is this all about?”

Leaning forward, my shoulders sink. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just unsure of what to expect when we ...”

I feel stupid talking to him like this, as if he owes me anything when we leave here. But the truth is, he’s become a source of comfort for me—someone I can talk to and be open with, someone from my past who knew me before I fell into the depths of this depression that’s taken over my life. In a weird way, he feels like a safety blanket.

“When we what?”

“When we go back to school,” I finish. “I mean ... everyone you hang out with hates me. The whole school—”

“Screw them,” he says. “I’m not going to stop being your friend.” Shifting in his seat, he faces me. “You’re the only real one I have.”

“You have a ton.”

“But it’s all lies. You’re the only person I don’t have to pretend with, and I don’t want to lose that,” he says, smoothing the frayed edges of my uncertainty. Placing his casted hand over my wrist, which has finally healed, he asks, “What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Where do I stand with you when we get out of here?”

Turning my hand over, my palm meets his, but I don’t hold it. It isn’t until he tightens his fingers around mine that I tell him, “I don’t want to stop being friends either.”

We stay locked on each other for a moment before his lips crack a subtle smile.

“What?”

“You still got that turtle in your bra?” he jokes.

Snatching my hand away, I slug him in the arm, and he busts out laughing. “You know I’ll lose privileges if I get caught with it, right?”

“You don’t use any of the privileges here anyway.”

He’s right. I never watch television nor go to the workout room. They’d be hard-pressed to find something of importance to take away from me, unlike Max. She’s restricted from television for the next few days. It seems like a light punishment, but with her OCD, her not being able to watch her nightly shows wreaks havoc on her need for routine.

After we finish breakfast, Sebastian and I join Jeremy and Max in line to get our meds, but I don’t tag along with them for art class afterward because Dr. Amberg has me scheduled for a family therapy session.

“Good luck,” Sebastian says when Marcus comes to get me.

My parents are already in Amberg’s office when I enter. It’s been a couple of weeks since we’ve had a session all together, but I’m hopeful this one will be better than the last.

“Hi, sweetheart,” my father says before giving me a hug that lasts longer than the one I give my mother.

When we take our seats, I’m next to my dad on the couch while my mother sits adjacent in one of the chairs next to Dr. Amberg.

“I know it’s been a while since you were able to join us,” Dr. Amberg says, addressing my dad. “I wanted to let you know that there has been much progress with Harlow and her participation here.” My father smiles at me. “She’s been more motivated in group with Dr. Benson and has been very open during her one-on-ones with me.”

“That’s so good to hear,” he responds, taking my hand in his. “I’m really proud of you.”

I nod, feeling a sense of pride, but it isn’t for anything I’ve done. It’s more focused on the hopes that they might just let me out of here soon.

“With that being said, Harlow, your parents wanted to talk to you about something and felt it best that it be done in this setting because your progress is what’s most important to us.”

Unsettling anxiety twists in my gut when I look over to my mother. She’s tense, wringing her hands and keeping her focus on Dr. Amberg. Turning to my father, his head hangs as he looks down at his feet.

“What’s going on?”

My dad’s palm is hot and damp against mine, and I slip my hand out of his.

Dr. Amberg acknowledges my mother. “Jamie?” he says, encouraging her to talk as he motions in my direction.