"That's very good. You showed a lot of courage by doing that."

He's glowing a little bit. "Thank you."

"Earlier this week you were having a lot of trouble. How did you come to accept it?"

"Well, some friends at camp-- the ones I was teaching math to?-- they had me say it to them to practice."

"They sound like good friends."

"They are." He remembers how nice Sasha's hands felt in his hair. "Also, I didn't want to have to do more worksheets about the porn I read." 

"We've often found that to have a therapeutic effect! How do you feel about being able to say it?"

He thinks. "Happy, I guess? Like I'm less." He hesitates. "--It's kind of stupid, I don't think saying it has to have that effect, but if I say I'm homosexual and no one-- decides I'm gross and don't deserve to be loved and should be kicked out of society-- it makes me feel less. Broken."

"That's very normal, Lev. Most people feel that way about the first step of treatment."

"Really?"

"Yes. The secrecy and shame associated with homosexuality makes people feel like they're sick and wrong and can never get better, which ironically makes them more likely to experience same-sex attractions. When you admit that you're a homosexual, you can manage it."

"--I actually am though. Sick and wrong, I mean."

"Can you tell me why you think that?"

And suddenly he's babbling. "Because I can't do any of the stuff people want me to do here. I can't play sports and I can't fix cars or do yardwork or any of it. It's like you have this little box you want men to fit into and I can't fit into the box no matter how hard I try and you keep wanting me to cut off bits of myself so that I can fit and I keep trying and trying but I'm bleeding all over the place and it hurts so much and it's still not good enough and, and you're complaining that I'm getting bloodstains all over the box because I'm not trying hard enough at being good at fitting into it--"

"It sounds like you feel uncomfortable with people's expectations of you and you have a lot of self-hatred about not being able to live up to them without making yourself miserable."

"--Uh. Yes. That."

"That sounds really, really hard for you."

He starts crying.

It hadn't actually occurred to him before that anyone might think his failure was hard on him, as opposed to on everyone else.

"I." He sniffles. "I kissed a guy for the first time when I was here."

"That's not unusual. Many people find themselves kissing people of the same sex in the first weeks of camp."

"--It's not?"

"We put seven homosexual teenagers in a single room and made them spend all of their time together. Some of them are going to kiss. It doesn't have to destroy your recovery unless you decide to let a slip turn into a bender-- to take some terms from our friends at Alcoholics Anonymous."

"Oh. --Are you going to ask me his name?" 

"Did he assault you?"

"What? No. Of course not. He would never."

"Then, no, I won't ask. He'll tell me himself when he's ready."