"7:15, that's our time."

He taps his foot against the carpeted floor of his therapist's office, wondering if he should say it. If he should even say her name out loud. He hasn't done that in at least a year. He'd never say it; especially not in front of his friends. As the therapist, a middle-aged woman in a grey pantsuit, takes notes on his progress, he clears his throat and decides to speak, "She's coming back from California. Today." She looks up, "Who?" It takes him a while. He has to work up the nerve to say it. "Maddie," he says, picking at his nails. He only mentioned her name once, in his first session last year, but the therapist nods. She was the only good thing he's ever mentioned. "Something bad happened, I think." Cover art by Brigid Vaughn (burdge on deviant art) #freementalillness