I opened my eyes.

I was sitting in a chair in my room.

The window was open and a cool breeze came in off the Pacific.

Had I been asleep? Dreaming?

I didn't remember anything.

I looked down at my hand -- it was bandaged. It hurt. I didn't know if it was the same day or days later. I was groggy and incoherent. I was numb.

I suddenly felt the need to talk to someone, to a friend. To an ally. I made it to the phone and dialed... home.

"Hi -- it's Andrew and Eric. We're not here right now, so BEEP."

"Andrew... Drew, you have to help me," I whispered. "Drew, they're killing me here, they're drugging me and they're trying to get me to admit to things I never did, things I don't know about... Drew, where are you? I need you to come down here right now, Drew -- and get me out of here, now, Drew. God, can't you do that for me? Think of everything we've had, everything we've done together... Drew? Please, Drew! Please, Drew!"

And then I was exhausted. As if I'd run a thousand miles, I felt sick to my stomach and delirious. I dozed off -- or just spaced out for a while... or several hours...

*****

It was group time and I had to share again. Not wanting to remain in my room or repeat my failed escape as before, I talked about changing my name from Luigi Espinosa and Eric Lewis.

"Why?" asked Hank.

I don't know if it was the tranquilizers they had given me yesterday or not, but suddenly I didn't know why. And the room full of eyes staring me down didn't help.

"Maybe Luigi isn't who you actually are-- or who you thought you were," piped in a woman.

I looked up, seeing a large woman sitting in at the other end of the circle. She smiled at me with a calming grin, and there was something vaguely familiar about it. I knew her name was Hillary and that she tended to dress rather conservatively-- well, kind of like, ironic as it sounds-- like Hillary Clinton. Only with a lot more make up.

Hank motioned for her to continue. "Well," she concluded, "If you haven't come to peace with who were then, and I don't know what happened to make you want to change your name, but maybe you're coming to terms with that now?"

I took it in.

I listened.

"Shut your eyes." said Hank. "What do you see?"

I flashed on the image of my parents and my overbearing mother telling me to go back into the confessional. A confessional?

I opened my eyes. "Church. A confessional." I could feel my heart racing and suddenly my stomach was in knots.

"What do you feel?" asked Hank?

"Fear."

"Fear of...?"

"Confessing. Telling the truth. Saying what I had done wrong. Sinning." Suddenly the room spinned and I saw Father Dugan and me in the confessional, his hands touching my crotch, saying it was God's will-- and that he could make me understand. His acid breath bellowed across my neck, as he kissed my ear harder and harder.

I blinked my eyes and found myself back in the room.

Hank stared at me, the entire room silent.

Suddenly I was overcome with sadness and began to cry, but I felt better. God, I couldn't stop crying.