"So... what was the eventual cause that made you decide you'd be better off dead?"

"My sister yelled at me," I murmur.

"What did she say?"

"Too much."

"I'm going to need some details, Newt. I can't help you if you don't answer properly."

I sigh. "I don't know—said she gave up on me. That I'm a bad brother. That I'm selfish. Cold, distant—wrapped up in my own misery, hurting the others around me. That I'm a weak piece of shit."

"And you think she's right."

"She is right," I correct. "She's completely right."

"So you know what's wrong, yet you don't want to fix it." Jorge clears his throat. "What other reasons did you have?"

"Everything she called me out on."

He raises an eyebrow. "What about your home situation? Your relationship with your friends and roommate? Neither of that affects you?"

I shrug a bit.

"Well? What's your home situation like?"

"My parents are divorced. My mom is always stressed out and my dad started a new family. Got a son with his new wife."

"Have you met either of them?"

I nod slowly.

"Did that change anything? Did they make you feel a certain way?"

"Made me realize my family will never be like that again."

Jorge tilts his head, understanding. "Okay. Were they nice to you? What are their names?"

"The kid's named Chuck. He's alright, I guess. Too young to understand the situation. Like ten."

"So your parents have been divorced for quite some time."

I nod again.

"What about school? What was it like for you?"

"Fine. I had nice friends. No trouble."

"Had?" He repeats.

"I mean, I got other friends during high school. They're a bit different, but it's not... never mind, it is. It is what changed. Mostly."

"What are they like?"

Ashamed, I look down at my shoes—brown vans, with no stains at all. "Eh, they're... I don't know how to explain it."

"Do you like them?"

An unwanted shiver runs down my spine as I shake my head, as if they'll find out about this. "Not really."

"You hang out with them to fit in?"

"I guess so, yeah." My cheeks grow an even deeper red.

Jorge sighs out, "Let me guess, they catcall and have no idea how the world works."

I nod.

"And do you have friends here? At college?"

"I interact with them, but it's not like we regularly hang out."

"What about your roommate? Sander?"

My stomach twists. "What about him?"

"You tell me," Jorge says, leaning forward. "You live with the guy. Do you get along?"

I fidget with the edge of my sleeve, trying to gather my thoughts. "Not really. But he's nice enough, I guess."

Jorge raises an eyebrow. "Just nice?"

"He's loud," I add quickly, my voice defensive. "Always talking, always... doing stuff. I don't know. He's... I can't explain it."

Jorge studies me for a moment. "You don't like him?"

"I didn't say that," I snap.

"But you're uncomfortable around him," Jorge states. "Why?"

"Who says I'm uncomfortable around him?"

"I did."

"Well, you're wrong."

"Does he ever say or do anything to make you feel judged? Like he's looking at you a certain way?"

My head snaps up at that. "No. Why would you say that?"

"It's just a question, Newt," he says. "But the way you reacted tells me maybe you've noticed something. Something about Sander does affect you."

"Yeah, he's a breathing skippy ball."

Jorge grins. "A breathing skippy ball? That's a creative way to put it, but that doesn't sound like a reason to tense up whenever I mention him."

"I don't tense up," I grumble.

"You're practically wringing your shirt off," he points out, "So, tell me, Newt. What is it about Sander that bothers you? Is it just his energy, or is there something else?"

I glare at him. "Why does it even matter? He's just my roommate."

"Because you seem more affected by this guy than you're willing to admit," Jorge says calmly. "It's my job to figure out why."

My jaw tightens. "I don't like the way he looks at me sometimes, okay? Like... like he's trying to figure me out or something. It's annoying."

Jorge leans back in his chair again. "And how does that make you feel?"

"I don't know. Like I want to yell at him to stop. Or leave me alone."

"But he hasn't done anything wrong, has he?"

I press my lips together. He doesn't know about that one night—and I will definitely not tell him. "No. Not really. He's too nice, probably. Always asking if I want food when he orders or if I'm okay when I'm quiet. It's suffocating."

"So he's considerate, and that suffocates you?"

"You don't get it. He's too considerate. Like, who does that? No one actually cares that much. It's like he's doing it on purpose, like he's trying to make me feel bad for being so ignorant towards him."

Jorge scribbles something on his notepad before glancing back at me. "Maybe he's just being himself, and it's your own feelings—your own self-judgment—that's making it hard to accept?"

"Self-judgment? Right."

"All I'm saying is that sometimes, when we don't like ourselves, we assume everyone else feels the same way. We project. And maybe Sander's kindness feels like an attack because deep down, you don't think you deserve it. Do you ever feel like maybe you're pushing Sander away because he's kind? Like maybe you're not used to that sort of attention?"

I glare at him. "Why do you keep going on about him? I told you, he's just my roommate. He's loud, annoying, and nice. That's it."

"'Nice' seems to bother you a lot."

"Because no one's really that nice!" I snap. My voice echoes a little, and I immediately regret raising it.

Jorge doesn't flinch. He just waits, like he knows there's more.

I groan and sink lower in my chair. "He just... he acts like he knows me. Like he's trying to be my friend or whatever. And I don't need that."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want it!"

Jorge looks a little too triumphant. "Or maybe you're afraid to want it."

I pull a face, even though it feels like someone's ripping my chest open.

"Newt," he says softly, "it's okay to admit that you're scared. It's okay to admit that someone like Sander makes you feel vulnerable."

"No. It's not like that. He's just... he's weird."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"It's too much!" I yell. "He makes me feel—" I stop myself, my throat catching the words. "I get this... stupid feeling when he's around."

"Sounds like confusion to me. Or fear."

I let out a laugh. "Fear of what? Sander? No way."

"Not fear of him," Jorge says gently. "Fear of what you might feel about him."

I shake my head as hard as possible. "No. No, that's not... I'm not like that."

"Like what, Newt?"

"You know. I'm not like that."

"There's no shame in being gay or bi, or however you might identify," Jorge says firmly.

"I'm not! I'm not... that."

Jorge doesn't react to my outburst. "Okay. Then why does the idea of it make you so angry?"

I feel like I'm choking on air. My heart pounds, and my chest feels too tight. "Because it's wrong," I spit out.

"Who told you that?"

My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. I stare at Jorge, feeling trapped in this room. The air is thick and every word I want to say is caught somewhere in the chasm between my brain and my mouth.

"It's just like that."

"You're homophobic?"

Only for the sake of defending myself, I want to tell him 'yes', but the words just can't leave my mouth. "No."

"Do you think you might have internalized homop—"

I jump up. The chair nearly falls onto the ground. "Why did you just assume that I'm gay?!"

"Newt, sit down. And I did not say that. I'm just trying to figure out what's going on here. Did anything... strange happen between you and Sander? Something that makes you feel so uncomfortable around him? Something that makes you think this way?"

"It has nothing to do with why I was at that ledge. You're not even a real therapist."

"You think you're the first person I'm trying to help? You're not, Newt. So if you'd just tell me what's going on between you and Sander, maybe we can make progress. Sander also never speaks a word about whatever is going on—"

"Sander speaks to you?"

"You're not the only one with issues and you know that."

Of course I do. And I never tried making it about myself. That's exactly why I neglect people, but according to Sonya, that's pulling others down with me.

I often wonder what's going on in other people's minds. I wonder what went through Sander's mind when he said he didn't want to stop me that night. I wonder what went through his mind when he asked for the cigarette.

The way his mood changes when he sees me—I wonder about that. The way he tries to get good grades but somehow never manages to get an A. The way he apparently isn't as open as he seems.

Andthe way, sometimes, I wish I could be more like him.