"I jerked you around," I blurt out. "I didn't give you a chance."
"Yeah," he says. "I know."
And it's awkward and I hate it, but I have to accept it because I'm supposed to be accepting things now and working with what's left. Because that's what my psychiatrist told me to do. So I almost hold out my hand to shake his, a symbol of acceptance and moving on, but even I'm smart enough to know how stupid that would be.
So I force a smile at him and continue my way down the hall.
"Hey, Parker?"
I pause.
"I'll see you in the fall," he says. "I mean, you never know, right? Maybe we'll actually get somewhere this time."
I turn around and he's standing in the middle of the hall, smiling at me, but I can't think of anything to say. We stay like that for a minute until he inclines his head and goes where he's going and I'm alone, like I've wanted forever, except that's not really true because Mom's waiting for me outside and there's a shrink waiting for me in the city and there's nothing I can do about the past.
"Recovery" is going to be boring and painful and painfully boring, I can already tell. Which is good, I guess.
I hope it works.
THE END
