I'm trying out an experiment here with this little piece I've come up with. It's going to be a short story about Sydrian, of course, and I'm not going to be writing a summary because I don't want to say too much. I'm sorry ahead of time if there are any spelling mistakes or anything like that. I'm on wordpad and they don't autocorrect anything and I might have missed something when editing. So, I hope you like this chapter and decide to hang on to the story :)

Rehab.

I look up from the paper in utter shock and disbelief. "You're kidding me right?" I say.

Silence greets me and Dr. Olendski's eyes drift down to the huge manilla file stamped Ivashkov. "This is not the first time you've been caught in this kind of situation Mr. Ivashkov, nor is it your second, third, or..."

"Alright, that's enough," I snap as I slap the paper on the table.

Her voice echoes in my head, not your first, not your second, third... My blood y hands start to shake and I clamp them over my tired eyes that are shadowed by dark bags underneath them. I close my eyes and take in a deep, shaky breath and try to lull my pounding heart.

Rehab. She's telling me to go to rehab.

A voice in the back of my head tells me that this is the right way to go and that this is the right thing to do. But the hole in my heart tells me something else. It tells me that no one, not even some highly priced, award winning phsyciatrist can help me stitch it up. It's a hole that will never be mended. Only the tingling taste, the intoxicating illusions, the soothing after taste of tobacco and vodka can wash the pain away until there's nothing but me and a room full of empty bottles and cigaratte butts. No voices, no pain.

Dr. Olendski has been my pschyiatrist for the past few years. She's been with me from the day I was caught sneaking alcohol home and through all my bar fights, including the fight yesterday night. And now, she's given up on me. Just like my mother, my emotionless, cold, father.

"I'm empty Adrian," she had said. "I no longer can help you."

She doesn't get it. She doesn't feel the pain that's eating me away. She doesn't know how it feels to be looked at with disgust, to have your own father consider you a piece of trash. No one ever understands, no one but my aunt. But now she's gone to. And now I have no one to believe in me, no one to tell me that I'm their favorite, that I'm not worthless but invaluable.

Bile rises in my throat as I slowly push myself up to my feet. I take a long look at the thick file on her desk before looking down at my family ring, the one my aunt had given me when I was a mere child. "I am not going to rehab."

So how was it? I hope you loved it. I love this idea I have and I know that I'm going to be having a fun time writing it. It's a little difficult to write because it's in Adrian's POV but hopefully I'm doing good. I'll try to update daily and most importantly...

LEAVE A REVIEW! FOLLOW! AND FAVORITE! I need to know how I'm doing and reviews are the only way for me find out so click that REVIEW button!

Purrfictionist