She poured us some tea in mismatched cups, eyeing us, waiting to see if we trusted her.We all looked into the steaming amber liquid before taking sips. She settled into a squashed overstuffed chair beside a bookshelf. The titles there were not tomes about brewing spells, holding seances, or even psychotherapy. Instead I spied classics, Gulliver’s Travels, The Secret Garden and a collection of Dahl.

“You like to read, Logan?” I jumped, forgetting that we’d just introduced ourselves before she offered us tea.

I cleared my throat, “Sometimes.”

“When?”

“Is this relevant? When I feel like it! Listen, I didn’t come here to chat.”

“Then why did you come?”

I looked at Bryce whose face was stony. I swallowed, “I realized that I needed help, okay?”

“And how did you come by this conclusion?”

“It was in the hospital. After I woke up and I found out I had O.D’d.”

“You were on drugs?!” She looked sharply at all of us, suddenly angry. “I cannot help anyone who takes drugs!” She stood, ready to kick us out.