Newan shakes her head. “You know exactly who it was. When you’re ready, you’ll be able to come to that realization on your own. In the meantime, yes, I suppose your rather brief summation’s correct. You need to man up. And that means continued therapy. This isn’t a simple fix, Zeth. You’re pretty fucked up.”

I laugh. “That your official diagnosis?”

“I didn’t need to talk with you to know you were fucked up. But yes.”

“So I have a lifetime of head-shrinking ahead of me? A lifetime of journaling and talking about my feelings? And then I might not try to murder anyone who happens to be in the same room as me while I sleep?” I say anyone, but it’s pretty clear who I mean—Sloane. Newan tips her head to one side, giving me a curious look.

“You really care about her, huh? I knew you did, but this…this is totally against your archetypal behavior. I never thought you’d be able to get yourself here.”

“Don’t be too fucking impressed, Newan. I’m still me.”

She shrugs. I note with some amusement that the Taser, at some point during the last few minutes, has been abandoned on the arm of her chair. “Okay, then,” she says. “In answer to your question, yes. You have a lot of work ahead of you. I can help you, though.” She scowls, as though offering her assistance causes her physical pain. “To say I’m conflicted in this matter would be the understatement of the century, but if you’re willing to put in the hard yards for Sloane, then I’m the last person likely to talk you out of it. We can see each other twice a week. Get the ball rolling. In the meantime, if your violent outbursts are concerning you, I can give you some medication to help with that.”

“Sleeping pills?”

“Anti-psychotics.”

I stand up. I’m halfway to the door before Newan realizes she’s fucked up. “I don’t mean you’re a psychopath, Zeth. I just mean that anti-psychotics have shown to help significantly when—”

“Shut the fuck up.” I spin around, focusing the full force of my anger on her. “I’m not taking any fucking pills, Newan. Nothing. Not sleeping pills. Not anti-fucking-psychotics. Nothing.”

“Okay.” She holds up her hands—the Taser is once more firmly gripped in her right fist. “Forget the medication. I’ll still help you.”

“And why the hell would you do that?” I growl.

She looks miserable as she lowers her hands. “Because…despite what you may think, I love my friend, Zeth. And I know I’ve screwed up, but all I’ve ever wanted for her is for her to be safe. If I help you, if I make sure you’re healthy and handling your baggage, then I know there’s no way in hell you’ll ever hurt her.”

I feel like puking onto her polished fucking tiles. Like no other, this woman has the ability to make me feel like a pile of shit. “Okay, fine. I’ll come to you, Newan. But I swear to god, if you try to pull anything with the cops—”

“I won’t. I promise. But you have to try.” I glower at her, fighting the urge to ask what the fuck she thinks I’m doing right now. “Just being here isn’t going to cut it, Zeth,” she says, as though reading my mind. “You can’t keep calling me Newan. You use my surname against me as a weapon—something you did to other inmates when you were in prison? You saw them as your enemies. People to keep at arm’s length. You do the same thing to me. If you see me as your enemy, we’ll never be able to work together to get you where you so clearly want to be.”

A part of me wants to run right now. I want to walk out of that door, slam it and never fucking look back. I can’t envision what she’s talking about—us working together to fix me. A team. But then I remember the pressure of Sloane’s head against my chest, the solid, reassuring weight, and I know I’ll do whatever it takes. I want to give her what she wants. Sex is all well and good, but I know her. She craves a level of intimacy from me that I’m terrified to give her right now, because the consequences are just too dire. And more than that, I never thought I’d see the day, but I want that level of intimacy, too.

“All right. I’ll try.”

“Good. I’m glad. I really am. But…you know this is going to be hard, right?”

I open the door, pausing in the doorway. “So far nothing in my life has been easy, Pippa. I’d be really fucking surprised if the universe decided to give me a break now.”

I wake up to the smell of eggs. The other side of the bed I find myself in is woefully empty.  My heart sinks a little, which is stupid, I know, but sometimes a girl likes to be surprised. In a good way, and not by the barrel of a gun or something equally as horrific. As I’m thinking this, a small yelp breaks the silence of the room and my heart jumps into my throat. I sit upright to find a pair of warm brown eyes staring back at me. Ernie the Schnauzer, stretched out across my feet at the end of the bed. He makes a disgruntled sound—oww!—as he licks his chops, clearly unhappy at being disturbed by my waking, and then rests his head on his paws.

“Oh. You,” I tell him. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, his long grey whiskers twitching as he gives me a quiet uffff, which I’m assuming is only half a woof. He continues to grumble as I jimmy my feet out from underneath him and clamber out of bed. My body is sore in a way that makes me smile secretly to myself. Zeth-sore. I’m a fan of being Zeth-sore.