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"It's not, but it will be if you don't start fighting like you have something to live for." He takes a deep breath. "Davi died, Jace. She died, and that sucks, but she didn't take you with her. You're still here. Somewhere under all the trauma and the emotional scars, you're still you."
Every wall I've spent the last month building up comes crashing down as I break and fall to the floor. "It hurts. It fucking hurts."
Carter sits himself next to me and sighs. "It's supposed to. You've spent so long blocking it out, that you haven't let yourself feel it. You need to feel it, Jace."
"I can't."
"You have to."
"No," I try to resist. "I won't make it through that. I'll never recover."
He reaches over and grabs my hand, not caring for a second that we're both bleeding. "Then I'll be here to pull you back. I will always be here to remind you of who you are."
IT TAKES CARTER A little over two hours to get me an emergency appointment with my therapist and for Finn to get last-minute court approval for me to go, but they manage to pull it off. As Carter parks the car, my eyes stay fixated on the bandage covering my palm.
"You're going to be all right, London," he tells me. "It might not feel like it now, but you will."
I look over at him and see the confidence he has in me, making me wish I had that in myself. With a nod, I climb out of the car and head inside.
Hannah, the receptionist, isn't here, which means Dr. Litman wasn't supposed to be seeing patients right now. She steps out of her office and gives me a sympathetic smile when she sees the defeat all over my face.
"Come in, Jace," she tells me.
I walk into the office and sit down as she closes the door. My fingers pick at the bandage, even though Carter told me not to. It's like I crave the burn. At least the stinging makes me feel something that isn't intense emotional torment.
Dr. Litman comes over and takes a seat in her chair across from me. "Your friend sounded really concerned when he called. Is everything okay?" I shake my head. "Okay. Why don't you start by telling me what happened?"
My mouth opens and closes as I try to find the words. "I relapsed."
As I say it out loud, a part of me expects some kind of reaction. Disappointment. Shame. Something. But instead, she stays completely indifferent. "Today?"
"No. A couple weeks ago, but I haven't stopped since then."
She nods and writes something down before placing her clipboard on the table. "Jace, do you know how many people relapse while recovering from a drug addiction?"
"How many?"
"Almost sixty percent. And most of those are within the first year. I'd also bet that out of that sixty percent, not many of them have recently gone through something as stressful as you."
I feel my body relax as I realize I'm not alone. "I just wanted it to stop."
She crosses her legs and listens carefully. "Wanted what to stop?"
"The pain. The anxiety. The guilt. It eats me alive every single day, even more so since my arrest."
"And what do you feel guilty about?" she questions.
Instead of answering, I just stare back at her. I can feel it all threatening to creep in. Even with the high I got before, it's still too much. It's stronger than the drugs. Stronger than me.
Dr. Litman adjusts herself so she's more comfortable and attentive. "Jace, I'd like to remind you of our doctor-patient confidentiality. In the state of California, this applies to just about everything with the exception of things that would make you a harm to yourself or others. Past crimes are included in the doctor-patient confidentiality."
I can already tell where she's going with this, and I hold my breath as I wait for the question.
"With that said, and for the sake of your mental health, I'm asking you—did you kill Davianna Sorrentino?"
"No," I answer as I get up and start pacing the room. "But I may as well have."
She tilts her head to the side. "What do you mean by that?"
