“No, Kristie. Let me answer Evan,” I spoke up, my eyes meeting his beady dark ones head-on. This guy was used to intimidating others. Well, he could just f**k off.

“I don’t think that would be appropriate, Aubrey,” Kristie reproached me firmly. I was going to be in trouble for this. But something had to be done. These people didn’t respect either of us. They sat there in their self-involved bullshit, thinking they were the only ones with pain. And they didn’t understand a goddamned thing about it.

It was time to page Dr. Fucking Phil and call them on their crap.

“I lost my fifteen-year-old sister to a drug overdose three years ago. She was pumped full of heroin by a guy she thought loved her but then left her in an alleyway to choke on her own vomit. Her body wasn’t discovered until two days later when the trash guys came to empty the Dumpster she was propped up against,” I snapped.

Evan’s eyes went wide, and I couldn’t help but relish the way he seemed to recoil at my moment of honesty. And then I realized what I had said. Christ, I hadn’t meant to say any of that.

I looked around at the group, and everyone’s expression was the same. Shock. And pity. Which made me want to hit a wall.

But when I dared to look at Maxx, I didn’t see any of those things on his face. Again, there was an emotion I wasn’t sure I was interpreting correctly. Because he looked relieved?

Kristie cleared her throat, trying to take control of the group again. Judging from the look of restrained anger on her face, I had screwed up big-time. “I want everyone to take a few minutes and write about one of the events on your life map and why you feel that impacts your addiction,” she directed, getting to her feet.

Kristie met my eyes and jerked her head toward the hallway. I sighed and followed her. After she had closed the door to the classroom, she rounded on me. “That was completely and totally inappropriate, Aubrey. I’m in shock right now that you would do something like that. Not only did you belittle a group member and invalidate his feelings, but you made the group about you and your feelings. While disclosure can be beneficial, it most certainly isn’t when it’s given in a context like this. It has to be about solidifying a connection between counselor and patient. When it’s all about you, it’s not healthy,” she lectured, and I hung my head in shame. She was right. I had overstepped.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that,” I replied.

Kristie shook her head. “I have a good idea why, but this isn’t the time or place to get into that. I think it would be best if you left tonight. I’ll finish group by myself. And then I think we need to sit down with Dr. Lowell and talk about whether your continued participation in this group as a co-facilitator is suitable,” she remarked, sounding nothing like the compassionate and nurturing counselor I knew her to be. Right now she was disappointed and unhappy.

Wow, I had really messed things up.

“I understand,” was all I said. I felt horrible, both physically and mentally. I should have gone home and gone to bed and worried about the mess I’d made in the morning. But the thought of possibly running into Renee was less than appealing. I wasn’t able to hide my emotions very well, and even though she was on most days still firmly up her own ass, my roommate still read me better than anyone.

I ended up wandering around campus. I felt achy, and I most likely had a fever, but I just couldn’t make myself go home. It was late, and very few people were still out. I finally sat down at a bench by the library and stared at a wall that was painted with bright greens and blues. The central image was a figure of a woman walking off a wooden pier into a sea of black sludge, her long blond hair waving behind her as she fell. Her face was nondescript except for her smile. It was as though she was happy to be going to her death.

Well, that was freaking depressing.

I stared harder at the picture, uncomfortable with the odd sense of familiarity I felt. Looking at the woman’s graceful yet agonized form, I felt as though I should recognize her.

Bothered by my increasing disquiet, I stood up and walked closer. This was not your typical campus painting of daffodils and laughing students. I had seen this particular kind of art several times before. I leaned in to try to see the details in the poor lighting. And there it was—the tiny patterns on the woman’s dress composed of dozens of Xs.

I didn’t notice any numbers or words in this picture, though, so I didn’t understand what its intent was. It was my understanding that X’s paintings held the clues to the location of the club Compulsion. But this picture seemed to have nothing to do with that.

This was a painting created for some other purpose.

“So what do you think?”

I looked over my shoulder to find Maxx standing behind me. I turned back to the picture, not bothering to answer him. The truth was, my outburst in the group had left me feeling raw and vulnerable, and seeing him so soon after making a gigantic ass of myself was embarrassing.

As he came up beside me, the sleeves of our jackets brushed against each other. Maxx inclined his head toward the painting and asked me again, “Well, what do you think of it?”

I shrugged, not really in the mood for small talk. My pounding head couldn’t handle a go-around with the group Romeo. I started to walk away from him when he grabbed hold of my arm.

“Wait, Aubrey. Please.” It was that word that did it. Please. It was uttered softly and sincerely. And it held me as fast and surely as if he had put his arms around me.