"So, let's talk about what drives you to drink." He said, again looking over the top of his glasses.

I lay in the same position, as usual, staring at the ceiling. I was counting the moments until I could return home and sleep.

He paused as if expecting an answer, but then continued. "Could it have to do with your father?"

That struck me as funny, he always played these mind games with me; he knew damn well it had do with my father.

"Maybe its influence from your friends?"

That made me laugh. They were the only ones trying to stop me lately.

"I take that to mean no. So maybe it has to do with your previous girlfriend?"

He was crossing lines again, my jaw clenched.

"Is that what happened, Logan."

It was taking a lot for me to hold back. I could just feel myself about to blow.

"She was the one that made you this way?"

"You know, Dr. Reed, I'd like to know where you get your information…I mean whoever tells you these things obviously knows nothing about me." I was pissed beyond reason. I hated it more than anything when someone assumes they know what makes me tick. He knew nothing about me, other than what was on his charts.

"So why don't you tell me?"

I could've slapped myself. I had played right into the palm of his hand.

"You keep letting things slip out, Logan…I know your type. Willing to give me nothing, keeping things bottled up inside of you," he sighed, as if saying it was a sad thing, "until things erupt. Like what happened with you…you keep this up, and something much worse will happen."

What the hell, I thought, I had already let so much slip it couldn't hurt to keep going. "Like what?"

"Like suicide…that you actually go through this time."

He still knew nothing, and that made me boil even more"Your charts should tell you that I've said it was an accident."

"You can keep denying it; or you can just learn to accept it."

"There is nothing for me to accept. You were not there, you do not know what happened."

"I have been informed."

"Well, were you also informed that Mitchum's the one who coaxed the doctor into prescribing me the medicine?"

"Yes."

"So none of the blame comes on him?"

"Logan, your father knows it was wrong, and he feels-"

"A great deal of remorse?" I sat up. "Is that what you were going to say?"

"Well, yes."

"Oh, well since you know him so well, maybe you could enlighten me…that must be why he's been pulling overtime every day. And that's also why the only words he's said to me in three months were, you're moving back in." I laughed. " I guess he cares so much that everything he "wants" to tell me has to come through my mother."

"Did you ever think he might have difficulty telling you himself?"

"Well, he's never had trouble telling me what a worthless piece of shit I am before."

I stared at him while he scribbled on his notepad. I had really come out of my comfort zone with him during that session. I hadn't ever let that much slip to any doctor, or most people for that matter.

"Well, Mr. Huntzberger, I believe we'll continue this again next Wednesday."

"I believe so." I nodded at him before I left the room. It was funny how fast an hour passed when you kept things bottled up.

I came home and went through my usual routine of setting my keys and coat in the same place. I had just gone to lie down when I heard the usual creak of my door and light flooding my room. Then the usual gentle rubbing arm, "I'm not hungry." I said, as usual, trying to get her to leave.

"I'm not offering." I looked up to see my mother holding my phone, throwing off our usual routine. "Its doctor Reed." I dropped my head back into my pillow, grabbing the phone from her. She left the room, and only a crack of light remained.

"Hello."

"Logan, I forgot to give you an assignment for next time we meet."

"Homework…?" This was unbelievable, not only was it an effort going to therapy, I now had to put more into it.

"You could say that. I want you to write a letter to the main cause of your drinking. Bring it in with you next session; you don't have to read it. We'll burn it, or rip it, or whatever else you want. But we will discuss it." He paused. "So…don't forget, and I'll see you Wednesday." I dropped the phone on the bed, still laying face down. I put the letter out of my mind and fell asleep.

I sat up in complete darkness. It was three-fifteen and I heard Mitchum coming upstairs, just getting in from work. I rose from my bed, closed the door, and lay back down. I spent a couple minutes with my eyes closed trying to sleep, but I couldn't. All I could think about was that stupid letter.

I went to my desk and flicked on my light. I knew I had to get this letter over with. No matter how much I hated the idea of doing something someone else told me to do, I felt like I needed to.

After moments of contemplation I decided to just go for it.

Dear Rory,

I guess I'll never get over you. I mean that's why I'm writing this to you, because you're to blame for all my problems.

And I'm sorry that I gave you an ultimatum like you did to me, and it backfired in my face. I really just wanted to be with you and came back to bite me in the ass. Sorry I ever cared.

I felt the happiest around you, and it's just so ironic that now I feel the worst around you…or when I think about you. You always used to make me want to be a better person, and now you just make me miserable.

And I hate you for that. I hate you for turning me into somebody who can't do anything without being reminded of you…or can't lead a normal life because everything is miserable for me. And you did that, solely you.

I want this letter to be the last I think of you, and the last I have to deal with you. I hate how things ended, and I hate that we have to be this way. But maybe this will help me to come to grips with it.

- Logan

And with that I set my pen down. It was a spiteful letter, but it was exactly how I felt. I stuck it in an envelope and wrote her name on. Rubbing my eyes, and glancing at the clock I noticed it was almost five. It had taken me over an hour to write that stupid letter.

I tossed it on my desk and turned out the light. I sat dozing for a couple of minutes before deciding to go back to bed.

Then came the gentle touch on my arm again. "Logan, honey…do you want lunch."

"No," came my reply. That was really a lie, though; I was starving.

She sighed getting up from the edge of my bed and left the room. I rolled over looking at my clock, and saw it was two. Then something much more interesting caught my eye; the letter on my desk was gone.

I jumped from my bed and over walked to the desk…it was really gone. I had to grip the sides of my desk…I couldn't breathe…I felt like my throat was closing. I was sweating and my hands were shaking. All these terrible situations popped into my head…I couldn't take it…I had to find out what had happened to the letter.

I stumbled down the stairs, my heart pounding, and my hands still trembling. I saw my mother sitting at the table eating, she looked so peaceful, and I wanted to ruin that. I wanted her to feel as bad as I did at the moment.

"Did you…take that letter off of my desk?" I said pointing in the direction of my room, my hand still trembling in mid-air.

She finished chewing the bit of sandwich she was eating, and wiped the corners of her mouth. "Yes I did, I put in the mail for you. You didn't leave a return address so I did that as well." I was having an internal argument at the moment. I was telling myself that it wasn't her fault she was just trying to be nice. Then on the other hand I was saying she was a nosey bitch trying to ruin my life.

"There wasn't even an address on it…how could you mail it?" I felt light-headed. My shaking and sweating had increased tenfold as I stared at her, hoping her answer would be she didn't realize…she just put it in the mailbox without realizing.

"I just looked her up in your address book…honestly, Logan, what's gotten into you?"

I stared at her…I could feel my legs turning into putty…I heard a thud that didn't seem like it was coming from myself, as I hit the floor.

And then I awoke in the hospital, for the second time in the past month.

"It seems that whatever event occurred triggered a panic attack." The white-coated doctor was telling my mother, and only my mother, as Mitchum didn't seem to be present.

"A panic attack?"

"Yes. It's a period of intense fear, anxiety, or distress. Its usually-"

My mother cut him off, "No. I know what a panic attack is, I'm not retarded. I just don't see why he," she said gesturing in my direct, "would have one."

"Well, considering his history, Mrs. Huntzberger, a panic attack isn't that out of the ordinary."

"I'm sorry…you're saying that it's ordinary for my son to act like a mental case!"

"Mrs. Huntzberger, maybe you should come in my office…"

"No. I will stand where I am at, thank you, I am perfectly capable of taking your news here."

"Fine, you know you're son's condition, I'm sure." She nodded. "Well, mixed-anxiety depressive disorder is characterized by irrational fears of everyday things and also fatigue and being prone to headaches, I'm sure you know that as well." She gave another nod. "Common symptoms of just GAD are similar to those of a panic attack. Since this was just a one time thing, and not an on-going series of events, it was easier to conclude that it was a panic attack."

"And…?"

"His therapy obviously hasn't been working, we suggest that he starts having it more often. You could possibly have another hour session scheduled for Fridays, as well."

My mother sank into a chair; she was obviously having trouble dealing with the fact that her son is a mental case. I could see her eyes start to water, and the doctor become tense as most did when a patient's relatives showed emotion. After a few brief moments of silence, his pager went off and he was excused from the room, much to his relief.

I watched my mother dig around her purse and produce a cigarette and lighter. She had started to light when I spoke, "You're not supposed to smoke in hospitals mother, especially when you're in a room with the ill." She looked up and dropped her hand with the lighter. Sighing she put away the cigarette and lighter.

"So, I guess you heard all that, then?" She walked to the side of my bed.

I nodded as she had to the doctor.

"I'm sorry, Logan…" she started to break into tears, and hid her face in her hands, " I feel like this is my fault…" Even though she was playing the very well used dramatic card, I couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

"Its not your fault…"

"No…" she sobbed, "If I hadn't…I could of stopped this…"

"You couldn't have done anything."

"I could've stepped in, I could've recognized it earlier."

"Mom…"

She looked at me, teary-eyed and opened her mouth to say something, something that would make me feel guiltier, but she was interrupted.

"Look what we have here…" Colin trailed off walking in the room, Finn followed close behind, eyeing a nurse on rounds. I smiled at the sight of them; they had truly been there for me, throughout everything. "Hello, Shira." Colin said, hugging my mother. I think the only reason she hadn't cringed at the thought of hugging one of my friends was because of her fragile state.

"Hello, boys." She replied, breaking away from her half-hearted hug…wiping her eyes. "Excuse me for a moment," she smiled, "I'm gonna take a quick break…let you boys talk."

Colin and Finn waited until she left the room to pull up chairs and begin asking questions.

"So, what exactly happened?" Colin asked.

"I- it was nothing…really." I said, Colin and Finn exchanged glances.

"Logan, you didn't-"

"No, Colin, I did not." I looked away out of annoyance and embarrassment. "I had a panic attack."

"Panic attack…?" Finn scoffed. Colin gave him a look of incredibility. "I meant…uh," he stuttered, "why'd you have to come to the hospital for a panic attack."

"I don't know." I was even more annoyed now. "I…had to write a letter, thanks to Dr. Reed, to the main cause of my drinking…and I did, and my mother accidentally mailed it…"

"Who was it to?" Colin asked.

"Uh…Rory." I scratched my head, still not looking at either of them.

Both their eyes grew wide.

"What'd you say?" Finn asked.

"Well…I definitely conveyed strong feelings of bitterness, resentment…and hate."

"Wow…" Colin remarked.

"Yep, wow…"

"Well…maybe it didn't get to her," Finn suggested.

"No, God doesn't like me that much," I sighed. The doctor reentered the room to tell my mother it was safe for me to go home, but she was still on her break, so he instead he told me to drink plenty of liquids and that he conversed with Dr. Reed, who agreed that a Friday session, would help.

So my mother drove me back to the house, and Colin and Finn left to do whatever it is that they do, and I once again retired to my room.

I slept for around three hours total. The rest of those hours I spent creating scenarios of what would happen. I couldn't stand laying around and obsessing over this so I decided to see if there was anything to eat.

I went down stairs and it struck me that the house was dead silent. I walked throughout the whole house and my mother was gone- I finally came across a note of hers attached to a sandwich in the kitchen.

I sat at the table, reading the note; which said she went to a banquet, and eating the sandwich, when the doorbell rang. I crossed the dining room to the foyer and answered the door.

I had an immediate dizziness sensation. My heart rose to my throat and was pounding. My palms were sweating, and my breathing was shallow.

On my doorstep was my missing letter and the recipient holding it.