"Shrinks wasted their so-called education," Greg said with a thin smirk.

"How so?" I had to ask. I would have anyway. It was easier to let him say what was on his mind at the moment, whether it be suicidal tendencies or his contempt for the rest of the human race. I'd steer the conversation back. There was no escaping it, and he knew it. Just because he confessed his suicidal thoughts didn't mean he was going to do something about them. For all I knew he had thought of suicide before, he just wasn't telling me.

"There's no need to spend tens of the thousands of dollars to mess with someone's head. I do that every day for free."

We were still sitting on the sofa as the soaps played out to an inattentive audience. Finding about some bimbo's evil twin or surprise pregnancy was the last thing on our minds right now.

"I can't argue with that, but you should take a step back and–"

"And what? I'll tell you what. Okay, I'll admit it just for you. I'm miserable. I'm depressed. I have been for years, but now it's time to do something about it, isn't that right? I'd say I'm the most pitiful excuse of human being to walk on two legs, except I can't walk on two legs."

"Is that really how you see yourself?"

He paused and let out a despondent sigh. "Sometimes, I guess. I don't know."

"I wish you would reconsider."

"There's nothing to reconsider. The answer is 'no'." Then just loud enough for me to hear, he muttered, "I should have kept my goddamn mouth shut."

"You need–"

"No."

"Would you just listen–"

"No! Didn't you hear me the first time? What is it about the word 'no' you don't understand? You can shut up about it now. I'm through discussing it." He sat brooding at his end of the sofa, his eyes still red and puffy.

"I'm not," I said slowly, the resolve in my words was heavy and Greg felt smack down on him like a cold wet blanket, then smack down on him again for good measure. He was going to listen to me one way or another, even if it meant both us of began to kick and scream.

He smirked again, this time it was acrimonious. Now it was time for his second favorite defense mechanism–getting on my nerves and getting under my skin until I bled. "You're just loving this, aren't you?"

"What, that my best friend is hurting and miserable?"

"Your need to be needed."

"Even if said need exists, what about it?"

"Nothing indulges that like looking after a cripple."

"The fact that you're crippled is beside the point."

"Is it? Is that the real reason your marriages didn't last, your wives just didn't need you anymore?"

"My wives divorced me because I cheated on them."

"Ah, it wasn't the wives, it was the all the cute little candy-stripers and big strapping male nurses that needed the handsome doctor."

"I guess."

"There's no guessing about it. Your wives certainly didn't need a cheating queer bastard of husband around–"

"Shut up!" Those two words come out like a new razor, quick and sharp. They had the desired effect, he shut up and looked away, knowing he had gone too far yet again.

One of these days I'm going to say something you won't get over. Then where will I be?

"You need some help," I resumed as if nothing had happened. Pain had turned him into a vicious monster again, a different kind of pain, but that didn't make hurt any less. "Please, please, will you at least think about it? I'll pay for it."

"I bet you will," he mumbled. "Save your money, Jimmy. Therapy is out of the question."

"Why? Because the truth hurts?"

"More than you'll ever know."

I knew he'd resist. He wouldn't be caught dead on a therapist's couch. It was time to bring out the big guns. "You're getting some help."

"No, I'm not. Unlike you, I don't need anything except some Vicodin." He tipped two pills into his mouth and washed them down with his now flat soda.

"Would you please get some help? For me?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. They were flat and suspicious. "Is this what it's come to? You're laying a guilt trip on me?"

"Yes," I said and closed my eyes for a moment, wishing that it didn't have to come to this at all. Not at all.