The familiar safety of his home contrasted sharply to the sterile, quiet room of his psychiatrist's office, a cage set around Josh as he sat on the couch listening to someone with a clipboard ramble on, his hands fidgeting in his lap as his wallet was drained time and time again. He hadn’t expected to be here--not after his episode at age 11. But after everything that had happened with Hannah and Beth--the empty loss, the sheer guilt--it seemed like the only place in the world for him. He could picture his psychiatrist, a middle-aged woman with square glasses perched on the edge of her nose, the very picture of composure and elegance that only older women maintained, asking him questions for the past hour--probing but in a gentle, maternal way.

Josh Washington kept his answers vague, avoiding the darker demons that lurked just beneath his skin, biting his tongue from saying exactly what his mind conjured up. He remembered seeing her finally move, leaning forward slightly, her voice soft but steady. 'Josh,' she said then, 'you've mentioned several times that you're struggling with feelings of guilt and anger. But I think it's important to address something you might not be fully aware of. Based on what you've shared with me, you seem to exhibit some self-destructive qualities.' He remembered blinking.

The words hung in the air like a heavy weight. Self-destructive. Like a restless volcano. Like an angry bee. Like a snake eating itself. 'It seems like you’re caught in a cycle of making choices that hurt you or others, even when you know the consequences.' He squeezed his eyes shut. 'Sometimes, this behavior manifests as a way to punish yourself, to cope with feelings of worthlessness or unresolved trauma.' Josh wanted to believe her, to acknowledge that he needed help. But even as he sat there, it felt like a part of him had already given up on that, already resigning himself to the rage and the bloodlust.

He snapped from his thoughts, hearing footsteps by the door. You're home early.