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“I feel you. I’m happy to be getting released, but home is the last place I want to go.”

“Is that guy still living with your mom?”

He nods, and his leg starts to bounce anxiously up and down.

“Can’t you avoid him?”

“No. Kurt gets off on making my life hell.”

“I can’t believe your mom doesn’t say anything.”

He doesn’t respond, so I drop it. Here I am whining about my parents getting divorced when one of his is dead and the other ... I don’t even have any words for his mom.

“Clean up and then groups,” Shanice announces.

Max is agitated and refuses to break the pieces apart after starting to fit them back together again.

“I’ll get it put away,” I tell her.

After she leaves, Sebastian stays behind to help me put everything up.

“I’ll catch you later,” he says before going off to his substance group while I head to social skills group.

For the next hour, I do the bare minimum to get by while my thoughts are still with Sebastian. I’m worried that, when he goes home, he’s going to go right back to drinking. I think about the few times I saw him drunk and how mean he was.

I can’t really blame him for wanting to drink; it’s how he copes, not that it’s right, but it is what it is.

I want to ask him about it, but it’s too invasive. It would be the same as him asking if I’m going to hurt myself again or if Max is going to make herself throw up again. We’re all aware that these are the things we do and are very careful to tread lightly around the topics.

Sebastian drinking again would upset me, but I have no right to tell him not to.

With so many questions surrounding what our friendship is going to look like on the outside, it makes me uneasy. In a very strange way, I kind of wish we could stay here forever so that nothing has to change.

When group is over, Max and I head into the cafeteria to grab our afternoon snacks before taking them into the rec room. The kids from substance run late, but soon enough, Sebastian makes his way over to me.

“How did you score cookies?” I ask, eyeing the package in his hand.

“They were sitting out.”

“They weren’t when I was in there.”

He flops down next to me on the couch as I dig into my bag of greasy potato chips.

“Can I have one?”

He looks at me as if I’m crazy to even ask. “Dude, they’re chocolate chip.”

“So?”

“So, they’re my favorite.”

“Rude.” I sneer as I pop a chip into my mouth.

“Is this where the hole is?” he asks, and when I nod, he wedges his hand down behind the cushion. “Where?”

“On the left corner.”

When his lips turn up in a grin, I know he’s found it. “There it is,” he murmurs before pulling his hand out and opening his package of cookies.