I was always like that.

Lucky for me, Mrs. Murray didn’t mind, as long as I stayed out of trouble and actually participated in our sessions.

I leaned my back against the couch and sighed, running my hand through my still wet hair.

“How has work been?” Mrs. Murray asked once she took a seat and grabbed her notepad.

“Well, let’s see.” I cracked my knuckles and laughed. “I sing a taffy jingle on a street corner like some cheaply paid whore, and today I almost got my car towed.” I ended with a little smile and waited while she wrote stuff down.

“So it’s going well then?”

“I haven’t been arrested yet for public intoxication or selling drugs to little kids, so sure. It’s going well.”

“Two sarcastic appointments in a row. How did I get so lucky?” Mrs. Murray mumbled behind her notepad. I don’t think she meant for me to hear.

“What was that?” I cupped my ear. “You weren’t just complaining about your favorite client, were you?”

Mrs. Murray rolled her eyes. I laughed at her expression. She knew me far better than even Alec these days. I told her everything.

It helped that her daughter was my best friend, even though it made Alec want to punch me most the time.

“So, this taffy job… do you feel like it’s keeping you out of trouble?”

I leaned forward. “That’s a dumb question.”

“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows lifted.

“Watch.” I cleared my throat. “Asking if it’s keeping me out of trouble is like asking a kid if school keeps him from joining a gang. Or if joining the football team keeps you from doing drugs and having premarital sex. Staying out of trouble has nothing to do with keeping your hands from being idle.”

I cleared my throat.

Mrs. Murray scribbled a few things down. “Now I’m intrigued, Demetri. What does it have to do with?”

I shrugged. “Color me weird, but I don’t think giving away condoms keeps kids from having sex. I also don’t think parents who allow their kids to drink at home are keeping their kids from underage drinking. And keeping me busy doesn’t keep me from doing stupid shit.”

“Then what does?”

I grinned. “It all comes down to my self-control and my desire to be a better person. Occupying my time with tons of busy work just irritates me. If I’m going to do something stupid, or if any kid’s going to do something stupid, they’ll just wait until they have time to do it. Like after football practice, or after their job. Anyway, to answer your previous question, the job makes me want to kill myself, and I mean that in the most sarcastic way possible.” I exhaled and popped my knuckles again. “Half the time I want to get high, the other half I wish I was drunk, which leaves like an hour in my day when I’m not thinking about those things, and during that hour all I can think about is the fact that the one woman I’ve ever truly loved, died, and I could have saved her.”

Mrs. Murray’s eyes widened.

I hadn’t meant to say that much.

I blamed the fact that my head was constantly clear. I was getting more and more honest about my emotions. I couldn’t figure out if that meant I was getting weak or that I’ve always been that guy, I just never knew.

The silence was deafening. I cleared my throat. “I’m just going to go make some popcorn if that’s cool?”

Mrs. Murray nodded.

I pushed to my feet and nearly ran out of the tiny office into the kitchen. Within seconds I felt like I could breathe again, but it didn’t change the fact that I had just admitted, not only to my shrink, but to myself, how completely screwed up I was.

In a few minutes I had popcorn and a soda. I glanced back at the office door and took a deep breath, hoping to God that she wouldn’t make me talk any more about my feelings.

It was quiet when I walked in. Mrs. Murray sat, legs crossed, waiting for me. I plopped onto the floor and tossed some popcorn into my mouth.

“We have about fifteen minutes left of our session, Demetri.”

She always did this, mainly because the first time we had a session I would ask how much longer we had, like every five minutes. Now she just told me, so I wouldn’t interrupt her.

“Okay.” I sipped the sugary soda. It was nothing like beer. It made my stomach almost sick, but ever since I quit all my addictions, I needed something to drink that wasn’t bad for me — not that high fructose corn syrup was good, but still.

My obsession with Starbucks had also skyrocketed over the last year. It was the only way to keep the cravings at bay. I would drink soda during the afternoon and evening, and in the mornings I had at least three cups of coffee. I added non-alcoholic Kahlua creamer in order to get my fix.

Keeping my fingers occupied, when all I wanted was a cigarette, also proved a problem. At nineteen, it wasn’t like it was illegal, but smoking went hand in hand with drinking for me. If I had one, I wanted the other, so I had to cut everything out of my life.

Nat had suggested licorice. It helped sometimes. Most of the time I just felt like beating my head against a wall.

“Demetri, did you hear me?”

“Hmm?” My head snapped up. I reached for more popcorn, but the bowl was empty. I really needed to start running or doing something so I didn’t blow up from all the stress-eating.

Mrs. Murray set down her notepad. “I think we made a lot of progress today, Demetri.” She cleared her throat. “I also think you’re right.”