Ten | newtmas

forty four

"So what have you been able to do without completing your tens?"

"Nod, wash my hands, shake my legs," I say. "Oh, and walk."

"Walk?" Janson asks. He looks impressed.

"Walk," I confirm.

"That's quite a big improvement, Newton. How have you felt?" Janson asks.

"I've felt good," I lie. "A lot less anxiety. I think it was just about... accepting everything I can't control."

"Have you thought anymore about how moving here affected you? Or your parents' unhealthy relationship, or how things ended with your best friend?" Janson asks.

Don't cringe. "I have. It's been nice to admit things to myself," I say, fighting back my urge to scoff at his words.

"Mind demonstrating one of your ERP exercises for me?" Janson asks.

I knew this would happen. Thomas prepared me for this yesterday. I repeat the thought in my head. I'm taking control. He'll know for sure I'm exaggerating about my recovery if I can't do this now. I can't blow it.

I nod three times, then stop, forcing my mouth into a half smile. Just act like you don't hear the numbers all around your head. Pretend they're not there.

"Very good," Janson says approvingly.

"Thank you," I say.

If I can do this a few more times, I'll look sane. Sane enough to get out of here.

I don't have to look up from my journal to know who's entered the room.

"I'm assuming you're writing about me?" Thomas asks.

I laugh. "I'm writing the date, actually," I say.

"That's nowhere near as fun," Thomas says, plopping down onto the bed next to me, putting his back against the headboard like mine.

"Agreed," I say. Thomas peeks over at the page, and I cover it quickly.

"So you were writing about me?" Thomas asks with a smirk.

"No," I say too quickly. It's true, I'm not, but I still don't want anyone to read it. "I'm too afraid someone will take my journal and read it again."

Thomas frowns. "Well then you can talk to me about me."

I roll my eyes—just the once—before closing the journal and tossing it to the bottom of the bed. Thomas seems a lot better today than he was yesterday. He spent the majority of the day being angry at Vince, and I couldn't blame him much for it. Vince was one of his biggest allies in here.

"Fine. Thomas, Thomas is being nosy," I joke.

Thomas fakes a hurt expression. "Whatever. Anyway, Janson went well?"

"I'd say so. He's glad I've improved so much," I say. Thomas gives me a slow nod. He seems uneasy. "What?"

"It would be nice it that was all more... real," Thomas says. He almost sounds afraid of my reaction, but I feel the same way he does. I don't like having to pretend I'm better than I am.

"It would," I say. "But I have been doing kinda well, right?"

"You have," Thomas says.

I take his hand—because I want to, and also as an example. A few months ago, I couldn't even imagine this. "I'd say this is my biggest improvement yet."