Free Suicide Notes by Michael Thomas Ford

and Allie been sexually intimate?”
    Like that’s any of his business. I wanted to slap him. I hate to admit it, but I’d actually almost started to think old Cat Poop wasn’t so bad. But as soon as he asked me that, I knew he was a dirty old man. I mean, he’s only like thirty-five or something, but that’s old enough to be a dirty old man. The point is, he just wanted to hear about teenagers getting it on.
    “What kind of pervert are you?” I asked him. “Can’t you just look at some porn? Or do you like hearing people talk about their sex lives?”
    He didn’t answer the question. I didn’t expect him to. I’d caught him, and he was probably embarrassed. He should be. I mean, some stuff is just private.
    “How many times do I have to tell you that nothing is bothering me?” I said.
    “If nothing is bothering you, then it shouldn’t be too difficult to talk about why you tried to kill yourself,” said Cat Poop. “Can you do that?”
    “Sure,” I shot back. “If I wanted to I could. But I don’t want to. Not with you.”
    “Are you saying you’d like another therapist?” he asked me. “I can arrange that if it would help.”
    I almost told him to go ahead and do it. Then I thought about having to answer the same stupid questions all over again. As annoying as he was being right then, at least I had Cat Poop trained a little bit. If I got a new therapist, I’d be starting all over again.
    “No,” I said finally. “I don’t want a new one.”
    “I’m honored,” said Cat Poop.
    “But I’m not talking about Allie, or sex, or anything else that isn’t any of your business,” I warned him. “Just so we’re clear on that.”
    “Well, think about what you do want to talk about,” he told me. “We’ll pick up tomorrow.”
    “I can’t wait,” I said as I stood up. “Oh, and by the way, you need a haircut.”
    As I turned to leave, I saw him reach up and touch his hair. Score one for Jeff , I thought as I shut the door behind me.
    When I got back to the lounge, the new girl, Martha, was there. She was sitting on the couch, still holding that rabbit in her lap. She was staring out the window at the snow.
    I was going to go back to my room, but something made me go over to Martha. She didn’t even look at me when I sat down next to her. I kind of wanted to say hello to her. I mean, I know it’s not easy your first few days in the nuthouse.
    “I like your rabbit,” I said.
    Martha stopped rubbing the rabbit’s ears and looked at me.
    “Does he have a name?”
    She nodded, but didn’t say anything.
    “He’s your best friend, isn’t he?” I said, and she nodded again.
    “I have a best friend, too,” I told her. “Her name is Allie, and I tell her everything. Do you tell your bunny everything?”
    Martha nodded and held the bunny close to her, like she was protecting him.
    “I bet he’s a good listener,” I said. Then I told her, “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. We can just sit here together.”
    She buried her face in her rabbit’s fur, but I could see she was smiling. We sat like that for about an hour. I talked about some stuff, nothing important, and she sat there and listened. It didn’t matter that she didn’t say anything. I think she was happy just having company. I guess having a stuffed bunny for your only friend can get a little lonely.

Day 14
    My bandages came off today. I didn’t know they were coming off, so it was a little bit of a shock when Goody Two-shoes called me into the medical room after breakfast and pulled out her scissors. And it was even more of a shock when she unwrapped the gauze and I saw the stitches. I don’t know what I thought would be there—maybe some tape or something—but there were little black crisscrosses along my wrists, like tiny railroad tracks. Or animal prints. It looked like a mouse had run across my arm with muddy feet.
    The stitches came out, too. That hurt a little, because the skin had healed