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Summary
The guilt and embarrassment were eating Reggie alive. Who gets addicted to spying on their friends fucking around? He was sure that therapist he stopped seeing in the eighth grade—too expensive, his dad decided, and, unnecessary, his mom agreed—would have him committed.
Reggie got fixated on things a lot. The color red. His bass. Barney the Dinosaur—it wasn’t just for kids, okay? But his fixations always ended or mellowed down into a favoritism that passed as normal. This was not fading, and it was never going to be normal.
He was starting to realize just how damaged he was.
~
OR: Reggie can’t stop watching Luke and Alex.