The easy excuses fell apart; they were still true, but they rang hollow in the moment. It was Rhemann’s voice in his head, Rhemann’s and his friends’ and Neil’s, drowning out his miserable thoughts and excuses with unrelenting force. Jean squeezed his hands until his fingers went numb and willed himself to believe the words as he slowly spoke them into existence: “I deserve to get better.” “You do,” the doctor said, with an easy and unhesitating compassion that would somehow keep Jean sane during this horrible session, “and you will.”
