A/N: Thanks for sticking it out. I'm all done now. Mark isn't mine, Dr. Lopez and Emma are. Review me if you like it, if you don't. Whatever. Another hearty thanks for all the time you guys spent reading this.

Session Ten

This is it. The end. No more. All I have to do is live through this and I'm done. Free. It feels kind of liberating. Knowing that I've made it through ten weeks with this woman, and that it's done some good. It's helped, at least slightly. Or so I seem to think. My head feels clearer, at least. It's not completely clear...nowhere near it. But it's better.

"Hello, Mark..." Dr. Lopez pipes up when I enter the room. I smile at her and sit down in my chair for the last time. Damn, does it feel good.

"Hey..." I speak, adjusting my glasses and pushing them up closer to my eyes. She smiles and scoots forward on her swiveling leather chair.

"So...last session, huh? After this I can sign that paper, send it to the hospital and you're a free man, so to speak..." She teases. I offer her another smile and nod, looking down at the carpeted floor.

"Yeah, I guess so..." I look back up at her and she smiles at me. Genuine. Not the fake therapist-smile I've seen in the past weeks.

"So...why don't we finish up by...just talking. You tell me what you feel you've gotten out of this. What you still need. What your concerns are..." For once, I don't hear a pen click and papers shuffle. No more taking notes...no more analyzing every thought and spoken word in this room.

"Alright..." I mutter.

"So. How are things with Cindy?" She asks. I shrug my shoulders.

"She hasn't spoken to me since she was here. My mom calls a lot, gives me an update on how Hannah and Sam are...but other than that, no word from her." And then, I find the words I've been thinking just fall out. "It's better that way."

"Why is it better that way?"

"Just because. You saw how we were in here. Neither of us are ready to sit down and fix that, and it's better to not talk to her at all than to skirt the issue and feel all awkward. It's not like our family was all that close-knit anyway. She has her views and I have mine. And we're not going to change each others mind about that. So...it's better this way. When things...develop I guess, we'll fix it. We'll both stop being stubborn and set and we'll...I don't know. We'll fix it when we need to. I'm not exactly missing out on anything. Am I?" Dr. Lopez's eyes are wide. Surprised that I'm talking so willingly? Maybe.

"I suppose not." She nods her head and folds her hands. "How about Emma? Have you seen her since...two weeks ago was it?"

"Yeah..." I nod, folding my legs in a more comfortable stance. "We fought, as usual. and...talked. A lot."

"About?" Dumb question.

"Everything. Why I was a mess, why she was so upset. Just...everything. Why we were so harsh on each other...all the millions of reasons why we won't work."

Dr. Lopez's head tips almost apologetically at this. "What about the reason's why it will?"

"We went over those too..." I mumble, scratching the back of my neck. "I guess...I guess we decided to not...expect so much anymore. Because it's obvious that neither of us can do anything about it right now."

"Did you find it easier to talk to her? To tell her about your concerns instead of catering to hers?" She asks me. I shrug, pausing a little to think about it.

"I guess. I mean...things aren't perfect, but...they were a little easier." She accepts this answer and moves on.

"I don't think we ever addressed the issue of your friend...Collins, was that his name? How is he after his...attack..."

I shake my head a little, sitting up in the chair. "He's in the hospital again. The doctors are trying to tell us that there's a possibility he'll get better instead of worse, but...we know. Roger and I both know..." I hadn't spoken about Collins to anyone yet. Not Emma, not Joanne. Of course, they knew it was happening, they went to visit, they came to the hospital. But I've never said a word about it until now.

"Know what?" Dr. Lopez leans forward and nods a little.

"That he's sick of fighting anymore. He knows it. We know it. It's only a matter of time before his body knows it. I'm headed over there after this, actually. I told him I'd come by and hang out with him..." I laugh a little. "He's so bored there."

"How much longer do you think he has, Mark..." Her face is concerned. For me.

I stutter, incomprehensible noises coming from me before I make some semblance of English.

"A few weeks. A month, tops..." One would think that saying that would make me realize it fully. But it doesn't. I know it should register, but it's not. I know I should feel so...not like this. But I don't.

"What is your friendship with Collins like?" She asks, pulling out her glasses and putting them on. Without thinking I blurt out something completely true.

"The only stable one I have..." My own voice chuckles a little, and my thoughts move way too fast for me to get them all out. "Collins is the only person I've ever really told pretty much anything to. He's great like that, he can listen and not lecture you on what to do. And he was always the brains. I mean, Collins, paired with Roger and I were just...so weird. You have Collins, the NYU professor. And then you have me, who did two years at Brown before dropping out. And then there was Roger, who had never seen the inside of a college save for a frat party or two. So Collins knew everything, where the cool places were, how to hotwire cars and ATMs...not like we ever did that...but, I don't know. It just...freaks me out to think that he won't be there anymore. No matter what...I knew I could always count on Collins to be there and have advice, or food or money...or anything we needed. He was the provider. The one with all the ideas and all the solutions..."

"And without him...you're..."

I laugh a little, dryly. "Lost, I guess."

She nods. "So that's why you're so worried about Roger being around, right? Since you could share those things with Collins, when he's gone, you've only got Roger left. It's just you two."

It all makes perfect sense in her head. It fits in mine too...a little more jumbled and not so clear cut, but pretty much the same idea. I nod at her and she smiles.

"So, Mark. Here's what it comes down to." Removing a manila folder from her bag, she opens it up and looks down at what it entails. "I'm fully prepared to sign this paper. You run it to the hospital, and we're done. That's it. You don't have anymore obligation to see me, or the inside of this building ever again." She clicks her pen and scribbles her name in a long, flowing script. I feel myself exhale.

"So, that's it?" I ask. "We're done?"

"As soon as you sign it." She pivots the paper and turns it towards me. I look down at the blank line under her name. "You sign it if you believe that this has been beneficial and you won't be needing the hospital to cover anymore. If you don't sign it, and decide to continue here, you go halves with the hospital."

"Well...what do you think? I mean...am I...all set here?" I ask, taking the pen from her.

"I can't tell you that, Mark. That's a decision you need to make. Not me."

Dammit. Not as easy as I thought it'd be. I let the pen hover over the paper for a moment before she speaks up.

"I think you should take this home. Sit down and think about it before you make a decision. Okay?" She hands the paper and folder to me and I stand.

"Yeah..." I mutter, handing her back her pen. She extends her hand, takes it, and then keeps her hand out. I take it.

"If I don't see you again, Mark..." She shakes it and I nod.

"Yeah. Thanks..." The only words I can manage to stutter out. My head's trying to decide what I need to do. I leave her office and head straight for the elevator. I enter and rest my head against the wall. I thought this would be easy. I go in, have her sign the damn thing and get out of here. No strings attached. But no, I have to think. I have to fucking evaluate myself.

Have things really gotten better? I suppose they have. Maybe not better, but a little easier. It's easier to talk to Roger, it's easier to listen to Emma, it's easier to dismiss Cindy. It's better, yes. So I should be done, right?

Wrong.

I'm not done, I'm nowhere near being done with this. Sure, I can survive without it every week. I don't need it. I know I don't need it to live. I've done just fine without it all my life. But for some reason, something's changed. There's something here that wasn't before, or maybe something's gone that I had before, or maybe it's all in my head and therapy is what Roger said it was, a big fucking joke. But I don't care. It makes things easier for me. I

I watch the doors slide open and a few people stare at me as I don't move. They clunk shut again and I press 21 on the row of buttons. I feel it jerk to start and continue to carry me up.

Maybe I'm a nutcase for deciding to continue. Maybe I'm wasting my money.

But at least I'm sleeping at night.