Griff doesn't blink. "Ethan is doing his job. Now I'm doing mine." He leans forward, forearms on the desk, those faded military tattoos visible. His green eyes are steady, penetrating, seeing through every layer of bullshit I've ever constructed. "How long has this been going on here? I know about your file. I want to know about it here."
"It hasn't. He's exaggerating."
"Liam." Just my name, but the way he says it is low and patient, which makes my defenses crumble. "I'm not asking to punish you. I'm asking because I need to know how to help."
The wordhelpburns in my throat like bile. I don't want help. I want to be left alone. I want to control one single thing in my life without someone turning it into a problem that needs fixing.
"A few weeks," I mutter at the floor, lying. "Maybe longer. I don't know."
Griff nods, like this confirms something he already suspected. He pulls a form from his desk drawer, yellow paper, official.
"Starting Monday, you'll attend twice-weekly counseling sessions with Dr. Herrera. Mandatory. Non-negotiable." He slides the form across the desk toward me. "Your meals will be monitored by staff for the foreseeable future. You'll remain in the dining hall for thirty minutes after each meal."
The words hit me one by one. Monitored. Mandatory. Non-negotiable. I feel my breathing go thin and rapid.
"I don't need none of that," I say, and my voice is angry, but I can't see anything anymore with the tears blurring my eyes. They're falling now.
"That's not your call. And if it’s not enough, you'd better believe you’ll be under 24 hr surveillance." Griff's voice is strict. Like he's challenging me to escalate this. But then, he softensit a little. "This isn't punishment, son. You're here to be helped. We'll help you."
I want to scream that I don't need fucking help. I know I sound like a little kid throwing a tantrum, but I don't care. I want to cry and destroy this fucking room. But I don't scream. I sign the form, slowly, still trying to think of a way out. But there's none. I'm locked in this fucking shit hole, and I have to comply. Iwillcomply, or they will make my life worse and worse until I comply.
I feel ashamed, angry, scared, sad, fucking suicidal. I don't want to kill myself, I just want to cease existing. I wonder if my mom also wanted that.
The hallway blurs. My sneakers squeak against the linoleum. I go back to my room. I know he'll be there. It's just before lunchtime. Fucking lunchtime, where I'll be supervised like a child. I never want to see him again, and, at the same time, to punch him in the fucking face. Howdarehe.
He's in the dormitory, sitting on his bed, reading his nursing textbook like it's a normal day, like he didn't just set fire to my life. Jack is on his bunk with a comic book. Miles is in his usual position, staring at the ceiling, somewhere else entirely. Harry isn't here, probably dealing or gambling somewhere.
The door bangs against the wall when I shove it open. Everyone looks up. Ethan's eyes find mine, and I watch him brace.
Good. He should brace.
"You had no right," I say, so angry I'm shaking. Jack lowers his comic book very slowly. "You had absolutely no fucking right."
Ethan sets the textbook aside. His movements are controlled. Infuriating. "Liam… baby…"
"Don't." I'm shaking. My hands, my voice, my entire goddamn body. "You don't get to call me that after what you did."
"You needfuckinghelp, don't youunderstand? I told you what I'd do."
"And I told you to leave me alone!" I'm screaming now. Jack swings his legs off his bunk, ready to intervene or flee. Miles hasn't moved, but I feel him watching. “That was MINE, Ethan." My voice rips from my throat, raw and bleeding. "The ONE FUCKING THING I had control over in this hellhole, and you ripped it away and threw it at Griff's feet like I'm just some case number, some pathetic charity project who…”
"Who what?" Ethan launches to his feet, knocking his textbook to the floor with a violent slap. His voice stays deadly controlled but his hands shake so hard I can see his veins pulsing beneath his skin. I hate that I notice. Hate that even now, I'm memorizing him. "Who can't be trusted not to KILL YOURSELF? Because that's exactly what you're doing, Liam. Maybe not with a gun or a rope, but you're dying right in front of me, and I'm supposed to just WATCH?"
"That's not your decision to make!"
"Someone has to make it, because you won't!"
We're close now, close enough that I can see the bruise along his jaw, the bandage still clinging to his eyebrow. Close enough that I can smell him.
"I trusted you," I say, and my voice breaks on the wordtrusted, and I watch something shatter behind his green eyes. "I trusted you with everything. I told you things I've never told anyone. I let you in, and you went straight to Griff to rat me out."
"Because I love you!" His voice rises, desperate. "Because I can't sit there and watch you destroy yourself and do nothing. I won't. I'd rather have you alive and hating me than dead from this. Do you understand that? I'd rather you never speak to me again than let you keep hurting yourself…"
He stops. Swallows hard. His eyes are bright, glassy, and I realize with a sick jolt that Ethan, who's usually a stone wall, perfect record, iron control, is on the verge of crying.
I can't look at it. I can't hold that image and stay angry, and Ineed to stay angry, because anger is the only thing keeping me upright right now.
"Don't pretend like this was love, because love doesn't look like this."
