DR. FRITZ HANDS me three stacks of Post-It notes. One stack is green, one red, and the other yellow. I stare up at her. "We doing arts and crafts today?" I deadpan and she smiles softly.

        "Something like that," she says with a wink. "But for now, let's catch up. It's been almost two weeks since our last session. What's been going on?"

        The first face to flash into my mind is Roman's disappointed eyes as he stared at me in the terminal last night. I blink the image away, instead staring down at the Post-It's and wringing my fingers. "Let me remind you that it's important to be honest, Braylen," Fritz murmurs, her tone soft. "I want to help you. But I can't do that without having all the information."

        "There's a guy," I blurt. "I don't understand how I feel about him."

         Dr. Fritz shows no surprise to my admission. "Go on."

        I swallow hard and stare out the window. "He's...amazing. In the strangest way. I've never met anyone as kind as him. And for some stupid reason, he likes me," I say. "He must think he's a pretty shitty person to think he deserves someone as bad as me."

         "Why do you think you're bad?" Fritz asks.

        I glower at her. She knows how much I despise questions like that. Fritz chuckles and leans forward. "Okay, let's try that again. Why do you think he's good?"

         I think hard for a moment. I wanted to get this right. I wanted her to know what I knew about Roman De Carlo because maybe then he'd make some sort of sense.

         "I can tell he's been through a lot," I start slowly. "Maybe even worse than me. I have this theory. The world is going to fuck you up no matter what. In some sort of way, it's going to ruin you. We all handle it in one of two ways: we either become the evil that killed us, or we transform that evil into good. I know what side I'm on. I've always known. But when I look at him, all I can see is that good.

        "I think he's felt pain, so he knows how to remedy it. He knows fear, so he knows how to make me feel safe. He knows loneliness, so he does his damn best to remind me that I'm not," I continue. "Selfless, kind, strong. He's all of that and more."

        Dr. Fritz purses her lips together. She seems to be holding back words. I lean forward. "Remember our promise, to be honest?" I remind her.

        She smiles. "It sounds to me like you might be falling for this man."

        My heart sinks straight to my stomach. I sit back, folding my hands onto my lap. "I'm not," I mutter, voice shaking. "Roman knows I can't do that."

       "Why not?" Fritz asks.

        I continue staring down at my hands and she sighs after a moment, quickly realizing I'm not planning on answering. "Do you think you punish yourself, Braylen? Do you think that you deny yourself of the things you want because you feel you don't deserve them?"

        I glare up at her. Hadn't she been paying attention? "I don't deserve them," I spit. "I'm arrogant, I'm self-centered, I'm cold. I am nothing like him."

         "I don't look at you and see those things," Fritz says. "He may not see them, either."

        There's a pause. Fritz stands up and takes a seat at the edge of her desk, looking down at me. "You don't need to answer this aloud. Maybe you can write about it in your journal or just think about it. What are you punishing yourself for, Braylen?"

        "I'm not," I answer quickly and Fritz holds up a hand.

        "Only you can admit the answer to yourself, Braylen," she says. "Let's take a look at the colored Post-its, shall we?"

        I stare at the notes and Fritz continues. "I want you to look at the red notes. Think of all negative emotions. All negative aspects of your life. Look at the yellow. Visualize things that are neutral; neither good nor bad but somewhere in between. Look at the green and think of all things good. Got it?"

        I bite on my bottom lip. "So, it's not arts and crafts?"

         "I'm going to say words and if they're positive, negative, or neutral, you're going to write it down on the corresponding Post-It note," she continues, ignoring my question and handing me a black sharpie. "Don't overthink it. Just write. First thing: friends."

        I clutch the sharpie in my hands and write the word out on the yellow note. I rip it out of the stack and place it on the table. "Family."

        My hand hovers. Eventually, I write out the word again on a neutral note. "Sebastian."

        I freeze. I glare up at Dr. Fritz with all the animosity I can manage. "Clara—" I start.

         "Write it on whichever note you think best represents how you feel about the word," she deadpans.

        Tears prickle in my eyes. I blink them back and write his name on the yellow note. I wanted him on the green. He should be on the green. But all I could think of was his dead body next to me...

        College. Yellow. Malibu. Red. Maine. Red. Where did I belong?

        Robyn. Yellow. Devin. Yellow. Who could even stand me anymore?

        Ocean. Red. Beach. Red. Piano. Red. The Academy. Red. Red. Red. Red. Everything was fucking red.

        "Are we almost done?" I ask. I felt like throwing up. I felt like crying. I felt like nothing.

        "Last one," Fritz promises. "Then you can leave."

        Thank god. "Okay," I mumble.

       "Roman."

        I stare up at Dr. Fritz before leaning forward and scribbling his name on the Post-it. I grab my belongings and stand up from my seat, eyeing the green note with Roman written on it just once before walking away.

¥

        It seemed I was in dire need of a lesson in self-control.

       The words Roman muttered as we left the airport had bounced around my head for the past 24 hours and there was nothing more I wanted than to remedy them, to prove them wrong. But still, a part of me knew that that wasn't possible. Or at least, it shouldn't be. He shouldn't try with me. He should've given up long ago. Maybe this wouldn't be so uncomfortable if he had.

       I breathe out a sigh, setting down the notebook in front of me. It was nearly halfway full, with stories of my life now and stories of Sebastian. I'd managed to answer Fritz's question from yesterday, though it took a lot for me to do so. I rub my chest with the back of my palm, panic coursing through my veins as I attempt to slow my breathing.

       Bridget, who was sitting across the couch from me, glances up from her ukulele—it was her hobby for the summer, apparently—and stares at me. "You okay?" she asks, eyebrows raised. The worry in her voice alerts Bethany who was perched on a seat in front of us and she looks up from her worn down cover of Sense and Sensibility.

        "Hmm?" I mumble absentmindedly. "Yeah, I'm okay."

       Bethany and Bridget exchange a look before returning to their activities, Bridget strumming chords, and Beth flipping pages. "You know, Hiro is coming down for the wedding. A little earlier than the rest of his family, I think," Bethany says. "He should be staying with us for at least three weeks."

       "Great," I deadpan, though I really am excited about the chance to see my half-brother and the rest of my siblings again. I hadn't seen him since Christmas last year. Even then he'd been taller than me. He was probably seven feet now.

        A hand smacks me on my shoulder and I jump. "What the hell?" I scream at Bridget, whose palm is still outstretched. "What did you hit me for?"

        "To get your attention, obviously!" Bridge hisses, staring at me. "Now, what is going on?"

        "Nothing," I spit back, rubbing my now aching shoulder. "It's a Saturday night. Don't you two have parties to go to or something? Instead of sitting here and torturing your favorite cousin?"

        Beth and Bridge share another look. I raise an eyebrow. "What?"

        Beth swallows hard, setting down her book entirely. "We were invited to some parties tonight, but we chose not to go."

        "What? Why?"

        Bridget winces softly. "Well, ever since you got back from Florida, you've just been moping around. Beth and I figured you were lonely and would appreciate some...company."

        There's a pause before I realize how utterly depressing this is. My teenage cousins were staying in on a Saturday night to keep me company. How embarrassing. "God, I'm such a loser."

        "No, you're not," Bridget says fiercely.

        "Well...," Beth sings, her voice fading out. Bridge and I shoot her a look and she smiles sheepishly. "Okay, how about this? You go out tonight. Some club or party wherever. And you have a damn good time."

        I shake my head. "The only club I've ever been to was The Pub. And I can't exactly go there...right now."

        Bridget clicks a few buttons on her phone. "Okay, then. What about Sphinx? It's only a mile or so from here."

       I gnaw on my bottom lip. "I don't know about this. Why can't we just stay here and watch Teen Wolf or something?"

        "Because Beth and I really want to go to that party," Bridget presses, eyes widening in excitement. "Oh, and we want you to be happy. That too."

        "Good save," Beth mutters, rolling her eyes before turning to me. "So. You in?

        Green and gold eyes flash through my mind, the disgusted expression on his face as he looked at me in the airport. White, hot pain flashes through my chest and I sigh. There was my answer, I supposed.

"Yeah," I muttered, playing with the rips on my jeans. "I'm in."

¥

"You really think this is a good idea?" Sebastian asks as I check myself out in my car mirror. "Do you think dancing and getting drunk at some club is going to make you feel better?"

"No," I respond. A man close to my window glances at me as if I'm crazy and I blush softly. "No, I don't think that," I think instead. "I have other plans for tonight."

Sebastian grimaces. "What is that supposed to mean? Braylen?"

I shut my eyes tightly and by the time I open them, Sebastian is gone. Perfect.

        I glance down at my outfit once more before deciding it was satisfactory. I'd dressed simply, just in a leather jacket and a white t-shirt. Suddenly, it clicks in my brain who I sort of resemble when dressed this way. The very person I came here to forget about.

        "No Roman," I whisper to myself. I'm out of the car and on my feet in an instant, walking straight to the jumper. There wasn't even a line.

         I flash my fake ID—though I had little intentions of getting drunk—and enter the purple-hued club. It was dark and surprisingly empty for a Saturday night, though I'd come slightly early. I decide to wait out the crowd at the bar and order myself a negroni—something I'd never tried before and wouldn't make me think of Roman.

        About halfway into the drink, I realize the mistake. This bartender was nowhere near as talented as Rome. It only made me think of how much better his drinks were. It only made me think of him.

        After a quarter past eleven, more people shuffle in. I've retired to a beer only and was sipping it slowly. The bartender nods towards me. "That woman's been looking at you all night," he says, cleaning out a glass. "You know her?"

        I turn my head. There's a brunette woman in a red dress and matching heels, accentuating her curves and the slope of her shoulders. She was gorgeous. And she was looking at me.

        "No," I mumble. "Not yet."

       I stand and make my way over to her side of the club, her eyes tantalizing and teasing as they look at me. In the middle of walking towards her, I run a hand over my jacket and make a detour into the bathroom instead. If she wanted me, she'd follow. I knew it.

        I push open the bathroom door and wait. Stand with my hands straddling the sink, take a deep breath. Shut my eyes, force his face from my mind. Hear the door click open, turn my head. Her.

        She's on me in a second, hands looping into my hair and tugging at the strands until my lips are brought towards hers. I follow her into the kiss, bringing my hands to rest firmly at her waist. Her hands suddenly dart to mine and lower my grip until it reached her bottom, just above the hem of her dress. "I don't think names are necessary, do you?" she asks, panting.

"No," I huff, bringing my lips back down to hers for another kiss. She was short, though her heels added extra height, and I was quick to pick her up and place her on the sink for better access. The girl smiles into the kiss and tugs away my leather jacket, tossing it onto the counter beside us.

Part of me worries that anyone could walk in, the other part doesn't care. It was a club. This was what people did at clubs. This was supposed to be fun.

So why couldn't I feel anything past her hands touching my bare skin underneath my shirt? Why couldn't I feel any satisfaction from her grinding against me? Why did her kiss feel like nothing?

"Because it's not him," Sebastian calls out so clearly that I push myself off of the woman.

Her lips are swollen red and her dress strap is falling. She doesn't move to fix it. "Something wrong?" she asks, eyebrows raised.

"No," I mutter, but my voice is breathless. "I mean, no, I don't think so. I t-thought—"

"You thought you could be one of those people that hook up at clubs with one-night stands, but you're not," Sebastian continues. "You can't be. You have feelings for someone else now."

"There's someone else, isn't there?" the woman echoes. "Someone else you care about?"

She hops off of the sink, stands up shakily, and pats my cheek. "You should go and find her. Tell her how you feel. Life's too short," she says with a small smile as if she were offering me advice that was worthy of the Nobel Peace Prize.

I couldn't go to Roman. I didn't deserve to. But she was right about one thing.

Life is too fucking short.

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double update ! happy monday !!