Oh, crap. Now I was going to start crying, and I hated crying. Hated feeling any sort of weakness.

“What does broken feel like, Alyssa?”

“What does it feel like?” I laughed bitterly and clenched my hands together. “It feels like hell. It feels like I’ll never be normal again. Every night I relive the accident, and every morning it’s the same. It takes every ounce of energy I have to keep myself from crying when I brush my teeth. I can’t even bring myself to listen to music because it reminds me of him. I can’t get into trucks. And whenever I even hear a football game, I nearly have a breakdown.

So yeah, I would say that’s broken. When you can’t even function in a normal world. When you can’t breathe without your chest hurting.”

It was silent in the room except for my ragged breathing.

Mrs. Murray wrote a few things down then looked at me.

“Wow, Alyssa. I’m proud of you for being brave enough to share that. You realize we’ve never talked about your other fears before?

Only the anxiety about long car rides. I truly think you are making progress.”

“Right,” I mumbled, feeling suddenly drained.

“And…” She wrote a few more notes down. “Since you were late, our session is going to have to be cut short. I have another client expected in a few minutes. But Alyssa, I really want you to think about this grief group. The first meeting is a week from Saturday.” She pulled out a small yellow flyer. The fact that it had smiling people on the front did nothing to ease my misgiving that this was a bad idea. The meeting place was TBD.

I lacked the strength to argue at that point, so I swiped it and stuffed it into my messenger bag before saying thanks and stepping out of her office.

Needing escape, I stumbled toward the door and jerked it open.

And walked straight into a wall of muscle.

“Whoa there.” Strong arms came up to steady me.

I recognized that voice. Slowly, I raised my eyes and met Demetri’s horrified gaze.

I jerked away. “Are you stalking me?”

“Are you the famous one?” he stated. Quite snidely, I might add.

“Clearly not, considering I actually have humility.”

He smirked. “Little girl’s got a big bite.”

I rolled my eyes and tried to sidestep him, but he grabbed my shoulders again. “So, I guess that begs the question. Are you stalking me?”

Rolling my eyes, I clenched my teeth and jerked away from his touch. “Yes, rock star. I love you. I want to have your babies. I draw hearts around your name, and tonight, when I get home, I’m hoping to create a love spell that will make you fall in love with me.”

He smirked and his dimples framed his all-too-perfect face. I couldn’t pull my eyes away, even though my mind screamed for me to do so.

“I think you’re bad for my ego.”

“Someone has to be.”

“Touché.” His eyes flickered to my lips and then back to my face.

“Can I go now?” I pushed past him. He finally released me, but the sensation of his touch remained.

“What’s your name?” he yelled after me.

“None of your business,” I said without turning around. The car roared to life, and I was off. Though I’ll admit I did glance in the rearview mirror… maybe once or twice. Any living, breathing girl would. He was a god among boys, but he knew it. And his reckless type of lifestyle would be like my poison and my drug.

Staying away from him was necessary. I needed to protect myself at all costs.

Chapter Four

Demetri

Damn, that girl was hard to read and hostile to boot. One minute I thought we were flirting, the next she looked like she’d rather cut off my balls than say another word to me.

I never claimed to be the smartest guy when it came to the opposite sex, but she seemed like she was in to me, and then like flipping a switch, she turned indifferent.

I shrugged it off and went into Mrs. Murray’s office. It was a familiar place for me over the past year, especially since she had single-handedly been responsible for giving me the ability to move through my twelve-step program without jumping head-first into the ocean.

“Demetri, you’re early.” Mrs. Murray said sarcastically.

Okay, fine. So I was rarely early to anything. Crap, I bet I was late to my own birth. But in my defense, the whole job thing had me running on a different schedule. I started getting up at seven, eating lunch at noon like most people in this world, and going to bed at a decent hour in order to keep myself from falling asleep once I had to start work. Clearly it was a good idea, considering all the drama that took place at the taffy shop today.

I had only been at my new schedule for a few days, and already I was feeling a bit suicidal, like any minute the boredom would finally get to me, and I’d wake up to find myself actually crazy. You know, the type of crazy where drool flows out of a guy’s mouth and he think cats talk to him.

“Have a seat.” Mrs. Murray pointed to the usual couch. I laughed and sat on the floor as was my custom. Something about sitting on the couch made me uncomfortable. I mean, I’m sure it was a comfortable couch — it was leather after all, but it made the whole situation seem too real.

If I sat on the couch, it meant I was actually in therapy.

If I sat on the floor, I could convince myself I was just at Nat’s house hanging out. Most the time I would go into the kitchen halfway through our session, grab some popcorn and soda, then return and spill my guts.

I was always like that.

Lucky for me, Mrs. Murray didn’t mind, as long as I stayed out of trouble and actually participated in our sessions.

I leaned my back against the couch and sighed, running my hand through my still wet hair.

“How has work been?” Mrs. Murray asked once she took a seat and grabbed her notepad.

“Well, let’s see.” I cracked my knuckles and laughed. “I sing a taffy jingle on a street corner like some cheaply paid whore, and today I almost got my car towed.” I ended with a little smile and waited while she wrote stuff down.

“So it’s going well then?”

“I haven’t been arrested yet for public intoxication or selling drugs to little kids, so sure. It’s going well.”

“Two sarcastic appointments in a row. How did I get so lucky?” Mrs. Murray mumbled behind her notepad. I don’t think she meant for me to hear.

“What was that?” I cupped my ear. “You weren’t just complaining about your favorite client, were you?”

Mrs. Murray rolled her eyes. I laughed at her expression. She knew me far better than even Alec these days. I told her everything.

It helped that her daughter was my best friend, even though it made Alec want to punch me most the time.

“So, this taffy job… do you feel like it’s keeping you out of trouble?”

I leaned forward. “That’s a dumb question.”

“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows lifted.

“Watch.” I cleared my throat. “Asking if it’s keeping me out of trouble is like asking a kid if school keeps him from joining a gang. Or if joining the football team keeps you from doing drugs and having premarital sex. Staying out of trouble has nothing to do with keeping your hands from being idle.”

I cleared my throat.

Mrs. Murray scribbled a few things down. “Now I’m intrigued, Demetri. What does it have to do with?”

I shrugged. “Color me weird, but I don’t think giving away condoms keeps kids from hav**g s*x. I also don’t think parents who allow their kids to drink at home are keeping their kids from underage drinking. And keeping me busy doesn’t keep me from doing stupid shit.”

“Then what does?”

I grinned. “It all comes down to my self-control and my desire to be a better person. Occupying my time with tons of busy work just irritates me. If I’m going to do something stupid, or if any kid’s going to do something stupid, they’ll just wait until they have time to do it. Like after football practice, or after their job. Anyway, to answer your previous question, the job makes me want to kill myself, and I mean that in the most sarcastic way possible.” I exhaled and popped my knuckles again. “Half the time I want to get high, the other half I wish I was drunk, which leaves like an hour in my day when I’m not thinking about those things, and during that hour all I can think about is the fact that the one woman I’ve ever truly loved, died, and I could have saved her.”

Mrs. Murray’s eyes widened.

I hadn’t meant to say that much.

I blamed the fact that my head was constantly clear. I was getting more and more honest about my emotions. I couldn’t figure out if that meant I was getting weak or that I’ve always been that guy, I just never knew.

The silence was deafening. I cleared my throat. “I’m just going to go make some popcorn if that’s cool?”

Mrs. Murray nodded.

I pushed to my feet and nearly ran out of the tiny office into the kitchen. Within seconds I felt like I could breathe again, but it didn’t change the fact that I had just admitted, not only to my shrink, but to myself, how completely screwed up I was.

In a few minutes I had popcorn and a soda. I glanced back at the office door and took a deep breath, hoping to God that she wouldn’t make me talk any more about my feelings.

It was quiet when I walked in. Mrs. Murray sat, legs crossed, waiting for me. I plopped onto the floor and tossed some popcorn into my mouth.

“We have about fifteen minutes left of our session, Demetri.”

She always did this, mainly because the first time we had a session I would ask how much longer we had, like every five minutes. Now she just told me, so I wouldn’t interrupt her.

“Okay.” I sipped the sugary soda. It was nothing like beer. It made my stomach almost sick, but ever since I quit all my addictions, I needed something to drink that wasn’t bad for me — not that high fructose corn syrup was good, but still.

My obsession with Starbucks had also skyrocketed over the last year. It was the only way to keep the cravings at bay. I would drink soda during the afternoon and evening, and in the mornings I had at least three cups of coffee. I added non-alcoholic Kahlua creamer in order to get my fix.

Keeping my fingers occupied, when all I wanted was a cigarette, also proved a problem. At nineteen, it wasn’t like it was illegal, but smoking went hand in hand with drinking for me. If I had one, I wanted the other, so I had to cut everything out of my life.

Nat had suggested licorice. It helped sometimes. Most of the time I just felt like beating my head against a wall.

“Demetri, did you hear me?”

“Hmm?” My head snapped up. I reached for more popcorn, but the bowl was empty. I really needed to start running or doing something so I didn’t blow up from all the stress-eating.

Mrs. Murray set down her notepad. “I think we made a lot of progress today, Demetri.” She cleared her throat. “I also think you’re right.”

“Pardon?” I sputtered.

“What you said about people making choices. I think you were spot on. Not only that, but it’s a very wise thing for you to say at such a young age.”