Despite throwing everything he got at sparring with Mort – and making a ton of progress in the process – deep down Alex still felt angry and frustrated. He’d tried to do everything the bartender, in his capacity as the first line of advice and support for troubled late-night drinkers, had told him to; deep breathing, meditation, mindfulness.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

Mortimer had sensed it too, so he doubled down on the cognitive-behavioral therapy exercises.

After spending his pent-up energy by working out in the Happy Motel’s courtyard, Alex grabbed his therapy notebook, went to the cafeteria, poured himself a cup of coffee, and got down to work. Thankfully, the place was mostly empty. Bob was there, but he was too absorbed in a game of chess against himself. That was good. Alex could use all the peace and quiet he could get.

“Step one,” Mort had said. “Identify negative thoughts. Start by writing down the specific thoughts that bother you.”

Oh, he had plenty of very negative, very specific thoughts to identify. He did his best to be honest with himself, no matter how uncomfortable it sometimes proved to be. It wouldn’t work otherwise, Mort had told him.

“One,” he jotted down. “Yuma is an arrogant prick and thinks he’s better than me. He fucked my hand up on purpose.”

“Two, Fawkes abandoned me. She promised to stay, then bailed on me at the first chance she got.”

“Three, I’m shit, no matter how hard I try. I’ll never catch up to the other Aspirants.”

He took a swig of coffee, then read them again. One would expect that writing those things down would give them substance, give them power. Alex had quickly found out the opposite was true. Just looking at the hand-scribbled lines he’d written with a plain old Bic Cristal on a page of a dollar-store notebook helped him start deconstructing them.

“Step two,” Mort had said. “Evaluate the negative thoughts rationally, using questions.”

“What evidence do I have that Yuma injured me on purpose?”

“Did Fawkes really abandon me?”

“Am I truly useless?”

He wrote those down too, read them again. He didn’t really have to dig deep for the answers. He knew the answers.

Yuma was an arrogant prick, yes. He was also repressed, overstressed, riddled with insecurities. After their talk the other night, Alex had understood a lot about the other Aspirant. All that did not make him any less of an arrogant prick, of course. But it did make it harder for Alex to truly believe Yuma had injured him on purpose. However irritating, there was nothing to justify the thought that what he’d done was intentional.

Fawkes, on the other hand, had given him plenty of reasons to believe she’d intentionally taken off, despite promising she’d stick around. But even so, that didn’t mean she’d truly abandoned him. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t him that had pushed her to the breaking point. After finding Reiner butchered and strung up like a trophy for a monster, she had every right to be distant – every right to be consumed by her own grief. That didn’t make it easier to swallow, but at least it made sense.

And as for himself…

Alex had never had it easy. He’d practically raised himself, with his parents always working double shifts just to keep the lights on and food on the table. At school, he was never one of the cool kids, and his GPA barely scraped a 2.0. College hadn’t worked out – he’d dropped out before the end of his second year. And jobs? They were few and far between, most of them minimum wage, just enough to get by. Not to mention his love life; every relationship he’d ever been in was a parade of red flags, one disaster after another.

Of course he’d struggle with his self-worth.

With a track record like that, how could he not?

But that was exactly the kind of thinking Alex knew he had to challenge.

Sure, life had thrown more than its fair share of punches, but surviving wasn’t the same as losing. And survived, he had. Despite his poor socioeconomic background, despite the long hours his parents worked and the lack of support he’d had growing up, he hadn’t given up. He’d made it this far - even if ‘this far’ meant simply scraping by.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Yes, he might not have been one of the cool kids. What he always had been, though, was true to himself. And there were people who accepted, loved him for that. Packman. Aries. Good friends, through thick and thin.

And sure, college hadn’t worked out, but at least he’d tried. How many people just coast through life without even taking a swing at something better? Jobs had been scarce, but he’d always worked hard. Worked smart. He’d done what he had to do to survive, and there was a kind of strength in that.

And even in his love life – though filled with more red flags than Moscow in 1945 – he’d learned. He knew what to avoid now, what he deserved. It was easy to look back and see the mistakes. It was those mistakes that had shaped him into someone stronger, someone who could stand back up every time life knocked him down.

To fuck around was human, Pack used to say.

To find out was divine.

Despite everything, Alex had become a decent person – maybe not perfect, but someone who kept going, kept pushing, even when the odds weren’t in his favor.

He wasn’t useless; he was a survivor.

If he ever doubted that, he only had to think of that thick layer of rust-colored dust in that hall deep under the Vale of Ghosts. That was the only thing that remained of the eldritch abomination that had threatened to subjugate his friend.

And that had been his doing.

“Step three,” Mortimer had said. “Reframe the negative thoughts into more positive or realistic perspectives.”

He took up his pen again and started writing.

“Yuma didn’t injure me on purpose. He’s an arrogant prick, but that doesn’t mean I should let him get to me.”

“Fawkes has her own reasons for leaving. She’ll be back – and I can use this time to focus on myself.”

“I may be behind, but I’ve faced worse before. I’m not useless. I’m true to myself. I’m a survivor.”

Alex took another big gulp of coffee, then sighed. It felt good, like a weight had been lifted from his chest. Reframing those old, bitter thoughts made everything seem a little less overwhelming, like he was finally taking back some control.

He was mid-sip, lost in the brief sense of calm, when Bob suddenly appeared over his shoulder. The guard, always a bit too light on his feet for his size, startled Alex enough to nearly spill his coffee.

“That’s nice,” he said with a grin, eyes twinkling as he read the lines Alex had just written.

"Bob!" Alex looked up, trying to calm his suddenly racing heart. “You’ve gotta stop sneaking up on people, man! That’s private!”

“Not to worry,” the guard shrugged. “I have a notebook like that too. I’m happy for you. It helps.”

“Uh…” Alex fumbled as he hastily put the notebook away. “Wanna take a seat?”

“Sure thing, Alex!” Bob beamed.

The guard plopped down opposite him, glanced around to make sure no one else was nearby, then leaned in in an over-the-top conspiratorial manner.

“So, are you enjoying yourself in… You-Know-Where?”

Alex raised an eyebrow.

“Penny will skin both our butts raw if she hears us talking about that, Bob.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t tell,” the guard winked. “Yes?”

“I guess,” Alex sighed. “Yes, I’m enjoying myself, I suppose. Though I could certainly do without all the hurt and the pain.”

“Yes, that’s not nice,” Bob winced. “But it’s not nice here either, so what can you do? It’s life.”

Bob got lost in thought for a few breaths, as he sometimes did. Alex didn’t interrupt him.

“I miss it,” he finally said. “I wish I could go back. I like it better than here.”

“I know the feeling, buddy. Say, did you slip that note under my door a few weeks ago?”

“No!” Bob shook his head firmly. Then his eyes darted left and right, and he mouthed “Yes” with a mischievous grin.

“I thought so,” Alex whispered, playing along. “Thank you for the heads up.”

“You’re welcome!” the man beamed again, then his expression quickly turned more serious. “I had to make sure you knew it’s not a game. They say it is, but it’s not. And sometimes when people think it’s a game, they don’t play nice. They do bad things.”

“Like what?” Alex asked.

“Be rude. Take things that are not theirs. Hurt people.”

“Yeah, no, these are bad things. I try to be nice.”

“Yes,” said Bob, matter-of-factly. “You are nice. Penny acts mean, but is nice. Buggy acts nice, but sometimes is mean. But it’s okay. He’s not bad-bad.”

“Yeah,” said Alex, unsure of what else to say. “I guess he’s not.”

“You know who was bad-bad?” Bob said, frowning for a moment. “Jack. He was mean, both here and… You-Know-Where. He did bad things. But then Penny took her pistol and shot him in the penis, and he went away. They aren’t real bullets, you know. They are made of rubber. But they still hurt a lot. Like a motherfucker, Penny says.”

“Jack?” asked Alex, suddenly interested. “Was he an inmate here, too?”

“Yes. He came here after Penny and me, but before you and Buggy. Jack acted mean and was mean. Penny had a big fight with Mister Grimm afterwards. He promised not to bring any other bad people here, and she promised not to shoot anyone else in the penis.”

“That’s a relief. Say, were there any other people here too, besides us?”

“Oh, yes.” Bob said as he started counting on his fingers. “Marvin and Nolan were here before us. And Sarah, too. I think she was here even before Marvin and Nolan. Then came Penny and me – and Cade, too. The doctor. Then came Jack. Then came Lin and Buggy, but Lin was mean too and Mister Grim took her away. And then came Alex. You.”

“Where did all those people go, then?” asked Alex.

“You know,” Bob’s brow furrowed, “Mister Grimm does not like it when we speak about these things. So we should not.”

He rose from his seat, suddenly in a hurry.

“Good talk, Alex. I must do my chores. Penny will get angry if I don’t.”

“Bob?” Alex said, not willing to let the conversation die just as things were getting interesting. “Is Mister Grimm a bad person too?”

“Bad?” Bob echoed, glancing over his shoulder, his eyes darting nervously as if worried someone might overhear. “No, Mister Grimm isn’t a bad person. But he can be mean. And sometimes, he can be real scary, too.”

And with his usual good spirits evaporated, Bob hurried off to the cafeteria’s kitchen, leaving Alex staring after him, wondering what the hell had just happened.