So it's been quite a while, but here's another chapter. I didn't get many reviews for the last one, so I don't know if anyone even cares anymore, but whatever. Enjoy.

Chapter 9: Interrogation Banter

J.T

There's a bright light at the end of the tunnel; a light I can never seem to reach. My legs can't move fast enough, and the light keeps shrinking and shrinking until it's so dark, I can't see my hand two inches from my face. So I go ahead and pop a few pills. Then I can soar; fly up so high that it's pure white and the air is so thin, breathing becomes a struggle. It's a great feeling, riding that high, having the feeling of invincibility, power. The drop back down sucks. But that's the way it works, right?

Drugs simply became a part of me, like cutting for Ellie or food for Emma. It's a way of life. Really, it takes over your life. Suddenly, it's all about drug dealers, cash, how to get your hands on it. School, family, friends… they don't matter anymore. It's just all drugs all the time.

I don't remember doing one good thing since I started my junior year. I got my girlfriend pregnant, stole drugs for money, got hooked on said drugs, wound up trying to kill myself, and now I'm living here at Sunny Brook. There's never any sun, just artificial light, and as far as I know, there's no brook or stream or river or any of that. Just a bunch of lies and Prozac and psychos. Even the doctors here aren't so sane, it seems. A lot of the male staff members like to take advantage of the lonely, crazy little girls. I look the other way. I mean, it's not like they don't want it. They beg for it. And the ones who'd rather not steer clear.

But enough about that. Dr. Moon is pretty excited that I opened up the other day. She thinks it's this terrific chance or whatever. I, on the other hand, don't have as much enthusiasm. As I've said before, I want to get better, but does opening up to a stranger who your instincts tell you is your enemy seem fun to you? No. And if it does, please, go get your head examined. Or maybe you're just as crazy as me. If so, join the club. Take my place. I'd rather be anywhere but here.

I really feel like skipping therapy today. With all this talk about my parents and Level Two, I've dropped back down the ladder into my little hole. My brain keeps searching for that high, something to boost me back up. But there's nothing to get high off of in this place. Everything is locked up or out of reach. It makes me feel like overdosing again. And again and again.

And again.

.

I stood there, with the drugs clutched in my palm. The world was just sucky. Everything was messed up, so messed up it didn't seem like it would ever be straightened out again. And here I was, standing in the middle of the Ravine. The perfect place to be, right? Drugs, drinking, and bracelets galore!

Come on, man. It'll be okay, Jay said. He was so easygoing, so cool. He had nothing to worry about. Just not one fucking thing. How could he breeze through life so easily when it was so hard for me to make any sense about this?

"Okay?!" I shouted at him, "I lost my girl, I lost my best friend, my job, my family… and now I'm probably gonna go to jail."

He just stared at me for a minute. Maybe he was confused about how I could be so depressing. Or maybe he was just an idiot, I don't know. It was Jay, after all. Who really knows what's going on inside his head?

Hey, bummer times. At least there's a party.

Then he put on his sunglasses and walked away, smirking the whole time.

I glared at the back of his head, and then I did the only thing I knew how to do. I swallowed all those pills, one by one. I waited for the little capsules to shut down my brain. But instead, I got high, just like any other time. I figured killing myself would be different, but it wasn't. I laughed. I got made fun of. I dumped beer on my head. And then, my eyes rolled into the back of my skull and I was out. The best part was, I didn't even care anymore. At least there was a party, right?

It was so dark. Dark and loud. I heard big, weird noises. I could hear sirens and people screaming and laughing, cars speeding away into the night. My ears were ringing after only ten seconds. But it felt good to finally be at rest with myself. No more problems, because I was dead. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered, nothing ever would again. I didn't have to go to jail, I didn't have to be a dad. I didn't have to be anything.

Then, suddenly, there was all this stupid white light. I groaned. Someone really needed to shut those off. Give me back to the darkness, please. I could hear all kinds of stupid hospital sounds, and I knew I'd failed. I knew that I had to deal with life again. I was such an idiot. A total and complete idiot. A failure. I didn't deserve to live if I failed. I didn't deserve Mama and Daddy to come back, either. I didn't deserve Toby or Liberty or Grandma. I was just one big, fucking screw up.

Amen.

.

That night was the best, worst, scariest, most terrific night in my life. It was the last time drugs ever touched my system, and it was the first time I visited the dark place and wanted to stay there forever. No matter what was happening, I wanted to stay in the black. It was better than having to deal with everyone. Escape always is better than facing your fears. Or, at least it feels that way.

I slowly make my way to Dr. Moon's office. The hallways feel like they're miles long, and my feet seem to have weights attached to them. There's honestly no point in doing this. But I know that if I don't go, nothing will get better. I'll most likely be hunted down and punished for skipping therapy. Solitary confinement isn't exactly my cup of tea. I'd rather obey the rules, thank you very much. I'm a good dog.

I sit down in a chair in front of Dr. Moon's office door. Someone's session has run long, apparently. I can hear Dr. Moon talking softly though the door. The walls are suppose to be soundproof or something, but you can still hear. The carpenters who build this place weren't exactly geniuses. The walls are all so thin, I bet I could punch through them without damaging my hand. There's never any hot water, or heat for that matter, and the doors don't shut properly. This could be a trick Sunny Brook created, but it's a little cruel. I honestly don't want to be peeked in on while I'm trying to get dressed. It's slightly annoying.

The door opens, and some kid with spiked orange hair walks out, his hands stuffed into his pockets. Dr. Moon pokes her head out, smiling that stupid smile that makes me want to strangle someone.

"Ready when you are, J.T."

I should mention that I'll never be ready, but it wouldn't do anything. I stand up and walk into the small room with the bright blue carpet and striped wallpaper. I opt for the couch this time instead of the chair. You never know. Maybe she'll let me take a nap. I've never actually heard about anyone getting to sleep through therapy, but maybe I'll be the first.

I sit down and Dr. Moon sits across from me, crossing her legs, her notepad ready. I think how much paper this place wastes writing down our thoughts. They must've been great note takers in college. Unless they all just draw pictures, like in the movies. That would be a complete waste of money. Maybe they're all liars and freak shows, deserving to be checked into a mental ward themselves. Maybe everyone's got little secrets like that, deep down inside. I'm just unlucky. But that's no surprise. I always have been.

"So, J.T," she smiles politely. I stare, avoiding my eyes from the yellow pencil in her hand, "Interesting day on Saturday, wasn't it?" It's been a day in between since I saw Dr. Moon. There are no therapy sessions on Sunday, same as there's nothing else on Sunday in the outside world.

"Guess so."

"I wanted to know what you meant about what you said. About the color yellow?"

My breath catches in my throat for a moment, but I recover. I hate yellow…

"Nothing."

She stares at me. I can feel her eyes burning a hole in my head, even though I'm not looking at her. I want to forget about even being in this room. I don't want to remember any of it. I wish I had amnesia.

"Really? Nothing?"

I shake my head.

"Okay," she says, and scribbles on her notepad. This is surprising, since she usually jumps on all her victims and sucks them dry. Weird.

"Have you been feeling alright?"

"Yup," I say, my hands tightening around the armrest of the chair.

"What about Liberty? How's she been?"

My head snaps up at her, "How'd you know about Liberty?"

She smirks, "Your grandmother told me. I thought our sessions would benefit if we had a topic prepared."

I glare at her. That's just pure evil, bringing Liberty of all people up. Dr. Moon loves pouring salt into a wound. Hey, I'm a poet and I didn't even know it. Har, har, har.

"I don't talk to Liberty anymore."

I stare past her head at the painting of the ocean. White capped waves and a lighthouse in the distance. Is it suppose to calm me down? It just makes me angrier, that I actually have to sit in this room and be attacked like I've committed first degree murder. I haven't tried to murder anyone, thanks so much. Let's move on now.

"Maybe you should, since she's carrying your child."

I bet she can feel me squirming in my seat. She probably kills puppies and burns bugs to death in her spare time. Then she forces little children to work in factories like back in the 1800s or whatever, and then she beats them with her clipboard and stabs them with her stupid pencil.

"She doesn't want to talk to me. She's mad."

Scribble, scribble, scribble. I'd like to take that yellow pencil and shove it up her nose. Or somewhere else less appropriate.

"And why is she mad?"

" 'Cause I did drugs. I tried to kill myself. She doesn't want me to be involved if I'm going to be an idiot." Duh.

"Well, that's understandable," Dr. Moon says. I look around for an object to strangle her with, "But J.T, maybe she'll forgive you. Talk to her."

"She won't forgive me. Besides, even if she did, wouldn't she have said so?"

"It's very hard for someone to walk into a place like this," Don't I know it… "Maybe she's afraid."

"Right," She doesn't know Liberty. The Liberty I know is never afraid, "If Liberty really wanted to talk to me so bad, she'd do it."

"You never know. Why don't you call her?"

This woman shouldn't have been allowed to graduate. She's possessed by the Devil or something.

"No."

"You know, if both sides of the argument are being stubborn, nothing is ever going to get done."

"I'm not being stubborn. I'm being realistic. And I'm not calling her."

"You're scared, J.T. Try taking a risk."

"I've taken enough risks already, thanks. No way."

"Just think about it. This could be a real motivator for you. After all, what better reason to recover than to see your child be born?"

I hate her so much. She's right. I hate it when she's right.

I sit in the chair silently, because there's no way I'm actually agreeing with her out loud. It's painful enough to agree in my head.

"We can talk about something else if you'd like."

"No, I'm fine," I don't want to talk to her today, "You go ahead."

"Okay," she looks down, "Ellie Nash is a Level Two now."

Ellie bumped up a step? Why didn't she tell me? "Really?"

"Yes. She was willing to talk to me about a few things. Progress."

"Good for her. Now she can escort herself to therapy without a nurse!" my voice is dry and sardonic. Dr. Moon smiles.

"I'm glad you're so supportive. She needs it."

"I know."

"Did you ever think about supporting yourself that way?"

Softly I shake my head, "It's easier to support other people."

"Maybe, J.T. But in times like this, it can be much more rewarding to help yourself."