We drove the first hour in complete silence.

Just Drew and I.

I couldn't speak-- I couldn't think.

Numb.

I was numb from the day.

I agreed to go to the clinic. It worked, they wanted to trap me and they had succeeded. They were right, they were all correct. Good for them, aren't they smart?

We stopped in San Juan Capistrano for lunch.

I couldn't eat.

I wanted to eat, I wanted a drink. I couldn't.

I wanted sex.

With Andrew, with the waiter, with the cashier.

With anyone, I desperately needed to feel someone, to feel someone's sex on me, in me-- I went to the bathroom, locked myself in a stall and took care of it.

It helped.

*****

We were only ten miles from the clinic.

We spoke softly now and then about things that needed to be taken care of while I was gone...three months. Three months! I felt so disgusting, I felt like a guest on one of those damn tabloid talk shows. I was furious.

No, not furious.

Terrified.

But there was no way I was going to let Andrew see that. To him, I was fine. " I'm so glad you did this, Andrew," I said finally, knowing he'd brighten if I said that.

He didn't.

"No, you're not. You hate me right now, Eric. You don't have to admit it, you don't have to be honest right now-- coming here is enough. When you allow me to sign your intake papers, that's enough. And if you make it the three months...we'll see if you still hate me...we'll see."

He was right.

I hated Andrew right now.

I wanted to kill him.

I wanted to reach over, take the steering wheel and kill us both. Take the van over the freeway overpass and just be over with this whole thing in a mass of melted steel and fire.