A/N: I'm so sorry. I've been sick since this past Wednesday. I was supposed to work yesterday, but I had to call in sick. I'm still not completely over it, but I feel better than I have in a long time.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Til I Forget About You

Stubborn Pride

I was having my first therapy session at the Sycamore Treatment Center. I was reclining on a black leather sofa while my therapist sat in a black leather chair across from me. She was a middle-aged woman with short red hair and thick glasses. Despite the fact that I was lying down, I was tense. My eyes darted around the room wildly.

"Logan, why do you think you are here?" my therapist, Dr. White, asked.

"Because everyone thinks something is wrong with me," I answered, irritation in my voice.

Dr. White nodded her head, and jotted some notes down in her notepad before continuing to speak to me.

"What do they think is wrong with you?" she inquired.

"They think I'm suicidal," I replied bitterly.

The only sound that could be heard was the sound of her taking notes and the sound of my heart pounding in my chest. Right now, this was the last place in the world I wanted to be. I didn't want some stranger prying into my life.

"What about you? Do you think you're suicidal?" Dr. White asked.

"No!" I exclaimed indignantly. "It only happened once! It won't happen again!"

I sat up ramrod straight. My eyes darkened as I glared at my therapist. I pressed the palms of my hands firmly against the fabric of the sofa.

"Logan, you do realize that people don't normally try to kill themselves; not unless there is something wrong with them," she stated.

"There's nothing wrong with me! At least not enough to warrant me being here!" I shouted back.

"So you do admit that there's something wrong with you?"

"Yes! No! I don't know! Stop it! Quit trying to confuse me!"

Dr. White held her hands up innocently in front of her. Even though I was starting to get bent out of shape, she remained perfectly calm.

"I'm not trying to confuse you. I'm trying to help you. I'm trying to understand you," she said.

"Well don't! I don't want your help! I don't need your help! So just butt out!" I retorted.

"Logan, did you know that one-third of people who attempt suicide try again within a year? Did you know that ten percent of people who try to kill themselves eventually do?"

"Don't patronize me! I know the statistics!"

That wasn't me! I was different! I was part of the two-thirds who don't try to kill themselves again. I was part of the ninety percent who continue living. My eyes started to fill with tears; tears of both anger and sadness. My vision was clouded by my tears.

"Logan, any suicide attempt has to be taken seriously. Whether it was your first attempted suicide or not, something clearly led you to try to take your own life. You do need help even if you don't want to admit it," Dr. White said.

"You just think you know everything, don't you? Well you don't know me! You don't know the first thing about me!" I countered.

I couldn't believe I was screaming my lungs out at my therapist. I hated yelling. I hated fighting. I hated any sort of confrontation. It's just…I don't know. I felt like I was backed into a corner or something. I was sick of everyone treating me with kid gloves. Why couldn't they just believe me when I said that I wouldn't try to kill myself again?

"You're right. I don't know you. I don't know the first thing about you. Let's try to remedy that, shall we? Why don't you tell me about yourself?" Dr. White suggested.

"Or how about I don't, and we just pretend that I did?" I countered.

"Logan, I'm trying to help you, but I can't if you're not willing to meet me halfway."

I was shaking from head to toe. This type of physiological response was on par for me. That was why I hated getting into confrontations. Typically, I wasn't a stubborn person. However, I was convinced that without a shadow of doubt it was my own stubborn pride that was standing in the way of me getting the help that I so desperately needed.

I knew that I needed help, but I just didn't want to admit it. I guess you could say I was regressing back to the first stage of grief: denial. After all, I had always been able to fix things on my own before, so why should now be any different? Of course I couldn't ignore the fact that in the past, things had never been this bad. Still though, I viewed needing help, asking for help, as a sign of weakness. Before this mess even started, everyone viewed me as weak, someone they had to look out for and protect. How they treated me before paled in comparison to how they treated me now.

"No!" I exclaimed, shaking my head. "All you're going to do is judge me!"

"I'm not going to judge you. All I want you to do is talk to me. It will probably help for you to talk about whatever is bothering you. Plus, I'm a really good listener," Dr. White stated.

"Who said something was bothering me?"

"You're trembling like a leaf. You're bawling your eyes out. If that doesn't mean something's bothering you, then I don't know what does."

As if my argument wasn't already unconvincing, tears rolled down my cheeks. I wiped them away with the backs of my hands, but I knew it was too little too late. She had already seen them.

"No offense, but I don't care if you're a really good listener or not. Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe I don't want to talk about it? Maybe I just want to forget about it. Maybe I just want to pretend it never happened." I replied.

"You may not want to talk about it, but you need to talk about it. You can try all you want to forget that it ever happened, but that won't change the fact that it did happen. I can't just ignore that it has happened. You're so young. You have your entire life ahead of you. I would hate to see you throw it all away," she commented.

"I'm not going to throw it all away!"

"If you continue down the path you are on, then I'm afraid that you will."

"Oh really? And what path am I on?"

"A self-destructive one."

I scoffed. I eyed the doorway. I was tempted to just make a run for it. I could care less about this so-called therapy session. It wasn't doing anything for me anyways. I had this lady who pretended to care about me, but I knew that she treated all of her patients exactly the same. She was just doing her job. She didn't really care about me. As soon as I left her office, she could probably care less about what I did or didn't do.

"Why isn't anyone listening to me?" I screamed. "I'm not suicidal! I'm not going to try to kill myself again!"

"I hope you're right. Maybe you are. However, why can't you acknowledge the possibility that you might try to take your life again? It may not be soon; it might be down the road. It's easy for you to say right here and now that you won't try to kill yourself again. Before you tried to kill yourself the first time, I'm sure you never thought you would ever try to commit suicide, yet you did, didn't you? There's no telling what the future holds," Dr. White said.

Something she said struck a chord with me. I never thought I would try to take my own life. I thought that was such a cowardly thing to do. Yet, I tried to do precisely that, didn't I? Sure, at this moment in time, I was convinced that I wouldn't try to kill myself again. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean a whole lot. I got the point Dr. White was trying to make loud and clear.

"Why do you care? You don't even know me," I said. At least I wasn't yelling at her anymore.

"I care because you remind me so much of my son. He was around your age when he…" Dr. White trailed off, before she had to stop to regain her composure. A few tears streamed down the sides of her face. "I came home from work one day, and found him with a rope around his neck dangling from the ceiling of his bedroom."

I gasped in horror. I couldn't imagine how Dr. White must have felt coming home to a sight like that. My heart instantly went out to her. I started to feel like the worst person on the face of the planet. Here I had been a Grade A jerk to her. In reality, my situation was bringing up old wounds for her.

"That was the day that I dedicated my life to helping troubled teens. My son was an only child. He was my baby boy. I was too late to save him, but it's not too late to save others like him. Teens like you, Logan. I know I can't ever bring my son back, but if I could just save the life of one teenager, maybe just maybe it will make up for how I was unable to save my own son," Dr. White commented.

It was eerie how I found myself relating to Dr. White's son. Like him, I was an only child. We were both around the same age when we first tried to commit suicide; the difference was he was successful, whereas I wasn't.

Hearing Dr. White's tale put things in an entirely new perspective for me. I had a great amount of sympathy for her. No mother should ever have to lose their child that way, especially when that was the only child she had. It was then that I realized what I had put everyone who cared about me through. They had almost lost me like Dr. White lost her son. They didn't though. They wouldn't. Not if I had anything to say about it.

To Be Continued…

A/N: I don't know how I feel about this chapter. It was really hard to write. I think it was due to the fact that Logan seemed so OOC in this chapter. I guess that's because he was supposed to. The Logan we know and love would never act like this, but keep in mind that the Logan we're dealing with is dark and suicidal. Again, I apologize for taking so long to update this. If it wasn't for me having gotten sick, I would have updated sooner.