Disclaimer - I don't own anything.
Warning - Sexual content (consensul and non-consensual), language, drug use

Step 1 - We admitted we were powerless over our addiction - that our lives had become unmanageable.

Oh fucking hell.

I'm a drug addict.

I let out a hoarse bark of laughter as the thought flooded my mind. My parole officer glanced over at me, raising an eyebrow behind dark sunglasses.

They say an epiphany can strike you at any moment over the most mundane thing. My epiphany decided to hit me full on at 120 miles per hour at the underwear aisle in WalMart. I am in such a drug-hazed daze that I've been standing here for a good part of an hour trying to decide if I need new boxers. I don't remember anything from the night before and I don't know what made me decide I needed to go underwear shopping. I have plenty of boxers… I think.

This is all Mom's fault. She had known something was wrong for a while, but wasn't willing to dig deep into the problem or, heck, even ask me about it. A bunch of kids become depressed after the death of a parent, right? She probably thought I would just get over it eventually. There were times where I wanted her to ask about it. I wanted her to look at me and realize how fucked up I was. I think she didn't notice... She just didn't want to deal with it. Or care enough to ask. How fucking hard is it to just ask me if I was ok?

Probably just as hard as it is for me to admit I have a problem.

Dad had noticed though. He was always able to tell something was wrong. All I had to do was walk in the room and he'd be able to tell something was wrong. When the drugs started though it took him a bit longer to catch on completely. But when you have a fairly normal lifestyle and your kid has never done anything dramatic before why would you think drugs? He had noticed the drop in grades. Nothing dramatic though, I wasn't an A+ student. He also noticed the change of friends, from Hayner to Seifer. And everybody knows Seifer is good for nothing but trouble. Dad was always the one that noticed things like that about me. He knew me inside and out. He was my best friend and I was his.

Mom on the other hand didn't notice anything. She never tried to notice anything unless it affected her in some way. She tried to act like the perfect mom in front of friends and family. She would put on this act like everything was great while everyone could see. But once the audience was gone she just didn't care.

She did ok with dad and Cloud. She wasn't the perfect wife or mother though. She'd have dinner on the table when dad got home from work sometimes. Other times she'd be locked in the bedroom and dad would have to sleep in the guest room. She would go to all of Cloud's sports games at school but then she would just sit there and zone out, her hair covering her face. But after the game she was all smiles and taking him out for ice cream to celebrate.

Dad says she hit a rough patch when Cloud was about 2. She was diagnosed with cancer. It was curable. But because of the treatment the doctor told her she couldn't have any more kids. I think she took that as a challenge. Because 8 years later she had me. Dad said she was so happy when I was born. She took me everywhere to show me off. I was her trophy child. After awhile once everyone knew she had been able to have kids again she wasn't showing me off anywhere. I was stuck in daycare while she stayed home doing nothing. Dad even had to start picking me up after work because mom kept forgetting me.

I never expected mom to say anything to me while dad was alive. But I knew the day was coming that dad would say something. I even tried stopping when I got the vibe that he was going to ask. I never stopped though and he never did ask. He kept calling me into his study and he'd open his mouth, and nothing. He'd shake his head and smile. Denial. He was trying to deny the fact that something was wrong with me. How could his youngest son be a drug addict? No parent wants to come to the conclusion that their child is an addict. His epiphany unfortunately didn't come before he was shot.

Dad's death killed me inside. I couldn't... still can't get that horrible image out of my head. I will always blame myself for what happened. It was all my fault. I not only led myself down a path of destruction but my entire family as well.

My drug use after that day sky rocketed. It was no longer recreational but to help me live. Even though I tried to kill myself more than once while on them. They numbed me more then I already was.

Not even a year after dads death mom had a new bf. I hated her for that. And I hated him because he tried to play dad with me. He was always calling me kiddo. I was not his fucking kid. I was beyond rebelling at this point. Calling mom a bitch, ignoring her, wishing her dead instead of dad. Mom at first passed my behavior off as teen rebellion and depression. She wouldn't even flinch when I said I hated her. She didn't care what I thought about her because she thought the same of me. Her stupid boyfriend though was constantly trying to get her and I to talk though. Was always saying we could make things work, that we just needed to get over this rough patch. I hardly knew the guy and he cared more about me than my own mother did. And I hated him for it. He never stopped trying though. He'd take my meltdowns and hers in stride. Must have had skin like leather. I honestly don't know why he was dealing with us. He wasn't bound by marriage like dad had been. Dad could have left though if he had really wanted to. With all of moms issues he was always telling her he loved her. Stupid boyfriend must be able to see the same thing dad saw, the thing I'm not able to see. He also saw all the signs of drug addiction. He was able to convince my mom who then admitted she kind of thought the same, but was hoping it was a phase. He did the one thing dad wasn't able do. And I hated him even more.

She hopes everything I do is a phase. She probably hopes the fact that I'm her son is a phase. She hates the fact I'm so much like Dad. I make her feel guilty. I am a carbon copy of my dad but on drugs. And because I make her feel guilty she takes everything out on me. It's not my fault she has to have regret rip through her being every time she looks at me because I remind her of Dad. Either way it's her own damn fault. She should have been a better wife and mother.

I remember her and her boyfriend calling me into the living room. Stupid Boyfriend was holding Mom's hand as she sat there in tears. Sobbing so hard that she couldn't breathe. She didn't really care in the usual motherly way, she was just crying because her trophy child was a screw up. Trophy children are supposed to behave and be perfect. But the shit really hits the fan if it misbehaves. I'm sure deep down I felt bad for making her cry. But on a higher emotional scale, I was mad that I had been caught. Why did she have to choose now of all times to pretend to care the slightest bit? Of course I denied everything. They didn't fall for it. I did. I had convinced myself that I was fine. I just had a couple of small kinks to work out.

Later that night I had snuck out of the house. Okay, so it wasn't really sneaking. I left the house through the front door, ignoring the protest from mom. Like she really cared. I ended up meeting with Seifer and his gang at the sandlot. I did my usual services for Seifer and afterwards he gave me something to shoot up. I had no idea what it was, probably some combination of drugs. But either way I shot it up without question, without worry, and without caring what it was doing to me and what it could do. It was good. Real good. And that was all that I cared about.

I don't remember much from that night. Flashes here and there, none of it making complete sense. Like Seifer pounding into me while I was pushed up against a wall. Rai, Fuu, and a few others were laughing beside us and calling dibs on the next turn. Next thing I knew we were in the shopping district, Seifer's arm wrapped possessively around me. I leaned on him for support as he downed a few beers, laughing and talking nonsense with his friends. I loved how he always had a hold on me. He brought out the worst of my masochistic streak. He'd hurt me and I'd beg for more. That's how pathetic I had become.

One thing I do remember very clearly is the sound of glass shattering. I remember it scaring me because I was too high to notice what was going on around me. Someone, maybe and most likely Rai, had gotten stupid-er and thrown a rock at a store window. Everyone thought it was funny till the flashing lights of the police cars came into view. Then everyone ran, but me. Seifer let go, not bothering to help me as he took off. Some boyfriend... I fell to the floor in a heap and rolled over onto my back, watching the pretty red and blue lights and not understanding how much shit I was going to be in.

I was sentenced to three months in juvie. Worst time of my life. No drugs and I had to wear orange. I hate orange. This is where I ended up meeting my parole officer, Rude. Quiet and pushy. We get along alright, I guess. Can't really tell since neither of us talk. After three months of being in that shit hole I was allowed back home on 2 years probation. First thing I did was get a hug from Mom, which was a bit of a surprise considering the fact that we were standing on the porch where neighbors could see all and anything. I prayed for her demise in those three awkward seconds.

The second thing I did was burn anything orange in my closet.

Within a month I was able to get my hands on some drugs. I tried to stay off... I swear... But that small ounce of willpower vaporized within seconds. And now I was here standing in WalMart staring at underwear and feeling the disappointed vibe rolling off Rude. How the fuck did he find me here anyways?

I groaned as I pushed the palms of my hands into my eyes. Felt like I was going to be sick.

"Everything alright?" Rude asked, adjusting his sunglasses.

"I'm a drug addict…" I sighed, as I took my hands away from my eyes and running a hand through my hair. Or I at least tried to, it was kind of hard when you hadn't showered in who knows how long.

"I know."

"I should tell Mom…"

"I think she knows too."

I turned, finally breaking my eye contact with the underwear and glared at the bald, annoying man. "I know that you fucktard. I meant I should tell her I agree I need help." Oh my god the world is coming to an end... Me agreeing to get help? Ha... I think I might throw up.

"Well we should get moving. Did you decide which pair you're going to get?" Rude asked, motioning to the underwear. I just rolled my eyes and walked off. He quickly caught up to me, his steps matching mine and standing close enough I could feel him.

I can't believe I'm going to do this. Their going to send me back to juvie. I really can't go back there. That place was hell.

"I'm going to be sick..."

Rude had a split second to step away from me as I unloaded my stomach content in the middle of the underwear aisle.

Stupid fucking drug test. I'm sure it was pretty obvious with the bloodshot eyes and dazed look on my face that I was on drugs. But now it was proven. Mom sat in the leather chair next to me, glancing between me and the judge who sat behind a large desk in front of us. Rude stood off to the side not seeming to care.

"Well, Roxas…" The judge started, glancing up from a file to look at me, "Most recovering addicts do make mistakes. Luckily you hadn't taken any illegal substances. And I do hear from your mother that you yourself have admitted you need help. I believe we can do something for this besides sending you back to Juvenile Hall. But I would like to talk it over with your mother first."

I just nodded my head and left the office, shutting the door behind me. Flopping into a hard plastic chair I leaned my head back against the wall behind me. What's going to happen now? I kind of snorted at the fact that I honestly didn't care. As long as I didn't have to wear orange. But if wearing orange is what I needed to recover then I guess I could deal. Maybe... Ugh, no I couldn't. I'd be offing myself before I even got there. There was no way in hell I would be able to survive another stay at juvie.

I sat there for about an hour just thinking about ways I could get away with killing myself and my hatred of orange before Rude opened the door letting me know I could go back in.

"So your mom has mentioned something she's been thinking about for awhile. And I think it might be a good thing too. Your mother got into contact with your older brother, Cloud. You will be moving in with him. You will be under house arrest. You will be wearing an ankle monitor and be doing random drug testing. You and your mother will also have to duscuss schooling options. As part of this deal you will have to stay within your boundaries, stay clean, and get at least C's in school. How does that sound to you? I think it's fair enough. You're not a bad kid, Roxas. You've just made bad mistakes. But remember, this is your last chance. After this we will have to send you back to juvie. And you aren't going to be a minor forever. If you don't get this sorted out you will be sent to jail. And jail is not the same. Trust me, Roxas. You don't want to end up there. You are better than this."

I sighed and looked down at my shoes. Move in with Cloud? That wouldn't be too bad. He was always cool. A little high-strung, but cool. We haven't really talked recently though. He got distant after Dad's death... Blames me for it... And I don't blame him for blaming me. I didn't pay much attention as Rude talked about someone named Reno who was a friend of his and was also a parole officer. He'd drive me to school everyday, monitor drug tests, and do all the checking in on. Apparently he knows Cloud too. So he couldn't be that bad either.

While I filled out a few papers, my mom said goodbye to the judge and Rude. The ride home was silent. Mom never looked at me or tried to make eye contact. So I didn't bother either. Once we were in the door though, Mom started bawling. I hugged her awkwardly as she went on about how this new arrangement would help because she didn't know what to do anymore. This made me feel bad too. Slightly... No... No, not really. Freedom! And she was probably thinking the same.

"Well step one is done right? Admitting that I was in shit?" I joked as she blew her nose into a tissue.

"Roxas…language…"