A/N this story is dark and tragic and possibly triggering. I've never been to rehab or had an addiction so I won't get everything exactly right, please feel free to correct me if something is glaringly wrong.
"Hi, my name is Christian and I abuse alcohol, cocaine, and prescription pills."
"Hi, Christian," the group murmurs a response. Looking around the "circle of trust" I can't help but mentally kick myself for being stupid enough to get caught trying to steal my mother's prescription pad. Now I'm stuck in this shithole with these fucking losers. I don't have a problem. I'm happy with my life. I don't need help; I need a fucking Klonopin and bottle of Jack.
"My alcohol addiction began when I was thirteen. I'd steal liquor from my parents' mini bar or take leftover bottles of wine after dinner parties. At fifteen, I started to experiment with weed and mushrooms. Things escalated quickly after that," I pause rubbing the back of my neck. Sharing all this personal shit goes against who I am, but I know the only way to get out of this hell and convince my parents I'm fixed is to play the part.
"Umm," I struggle, sweat dripping down my brow. My heart is racing and although I spent the last two days in a hospital bed going through the worst fucking withdrawal of my life, my head is still foggy. "A few days before my seventeenth birthday, I overdosed on Tar, uh Black Tar Heroin. I was in a coma for four days. They said it was a miracle that I woke up and an even bigger blessing that I didn't sustain any lasting damage."
I sigh, recalling the look on my mother's face when they finally discharged me. I promised myself, and her, that I would get clean. I never wanted to hurt Grace, my savior, but I can't help it, I'm fucked up, it's how I was born. It's how I'm wired.
"After that I stayed clean for a year. I got focused, finished my senior year, graduated with my class, and enrolled in classes at WSU. My parents didn't think it was a wise idea for me to go so far away to school, but I was stubborn and I went anyway," I shrug. That's when I really started to spiral. Three hours away from home and I might as well have been on the other side of the world.
"I couldn't handle that much freedom," I confess. "I got shitfaced every single night. Freshman year I managed to stay away from the hard stuff, only smoking weed and getting drunk. I didn't see anything wrong with my drinking. My parents had no idea I'd fallen off the wagon because I maintained a 4.0 GPA. I had succeeded in regaining their trust and once I realized that, I let my guard down. "
"One night, while I was home from school, I wandered into my mother's home office looking for a pen and that's when I saw it, one of her prescription pads just sitting on the desk. It was new, maybe only missing a page or two, so without thinking I ripped off a few sheets, grabbed a pen and walked out like nothing ever happened."
"My intention was to sell the pills for beer and weed money. I guess it's true what they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I quickly became known as the pill man on campus and business was booming. The more money I made, the harder I partied and the harder I partied, the more out of control I became."
"Fast forward two years - my mother is disappointed in me, my father wants me in jail, and my brother and sister pretend like I don't exist. So yeah, that's me, flawed black sheep of the prestigious Grey clan, asking for help, looking for a way to belong." I finish, running my fingers through my hair.
"Thank you for sharing," John, the man leading the group, replies as he motions for me to sit.
I fall back into my chair and take a deep and cleansing breath. It feels bizarre being so open and honest with a room full of strangers. I think I've spoken more to this room of addicts in the last five minutes than I've spoken to my family in the last five months.
The man next to me stands and introduces himself to the group. "Hi, my name is Jack and I am a meth addict." Jack, the meth head, is about 5'10 and rail thin. He has greasy red hair and lifeless blue eyes. He looks old, his face is scarred, covered in sores, and his teeth, the few he has left, are rotten.
"Hi Jack," the room chants in unison.
Jack drones on and on about his first time using meth, but hard as I try, I just can't focus on what he is saying. The nurse from the detox ward warned me that this would happen. Common withdrawal symptoms she said, but I never thought it would have this effect on me.
"Christian, it's time for you to grow the fuck up and start acting like a man. You're twenty years old and you're still pulling the same bullshit you pulled when you were in high school. Your mother is worrying herself into an early grave and I'll be damned if I lose my wife because you can't seem to outgrow this rebellious stage."
I remain impassive, silent.
"Jesus, Christian, we've given you everything you could ever want. We love you unconditionally, we've offered to get you help on numerous occasions, and we've forgiven you of all your past wrongdoings, how could you?"
I'm a fuck up, I can't be fixed, and there is nothing I could have said to him that would've come close to making up for all the shit I've done. I love my family and I want nothing more than to make them proud of me, to be worthy of their love, but I am just bad. My birthmother was an addict. I am an addict and God forbid if I ever have children, they will be addicts too.
"So you're just going to ignore me?"
"Dad, I don't know what you want me to say. I fucked up. I agreed to do this so back the fuck off."
"One, watch how you speak to me, I'm still your father, and two, you stole your mother's prescription pad, you forged her signature, and you filled those prescriptions illegally. Your mother could have lost her job and her license, and her reputation could have been ruined all because you fucked up. If it were up to me, you'd be rotting in a cell right now."
"Thank God for small favors."
"It's like I'm talking to a brick wall. This is it son. This is your last chance. If you don't get you act together then I am done. No more free ride. I won't pay your tuition. You can't stay at the house. Consider this as your warning, if you don't successfully complete this program, not only are you no longer welcome in our home, but I will go to the police and tell them all about your little prescription pill ring up in Portland, are we clear?"
"Crystal."
Rehab or Jail, those were my only options and that's how I ended up here, listening to Jack tout the dangers of meth. Only twenty seven days left.
"Ok, who's next?" John asks in his pretentious British accent, peering around to look at the person sitting next to Jack. "Ah, yes Anastasia, please share a little about your addiction."
"Umm, ok." Her soft, melodic voice immediately pulls me out of my fog. Two little words and my entire body is on alert. I sit up a little straighter, craning my neck in an attempt to see the owner of the voice that has unexpectedly stirred emotions inside of me that have long since been buried.
As she stands, I finally catch a glimpse of her. Even under the harsh neon light of the clinic she is breathtaking in the most unconventional sense. She's skinny, almost too skinny. Her skin is pale, her messy brown locks are piled high on top of her head, her powder blue eyes are sunken in, and she looks tired. There is something about her, something that no one else in the circle possesses, and that something has me drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. If you look closely enough you can see it - hidden just beyond the sadness- hope.
"My name is Ana, and I am addicted to smack." Of course she's addicted to the drug that nearly ended my life, how fitting. "I'd always been a happy person." My body edges closer as she begins to tell her tale of addiction. She is my new drug of choice; no other drugs can compare. "Well, happy enough," she clarifies. "My real dad passed away before I was born. My stepfather, Ray, came into my life shortly after and raised me as his own. He saved me in more ways than one."
"Anyway, my mom and Ray got divorced when I was fourteen, and we moved around A LOT. She met husband number three while we were living out in Arizona," she cringes, visibly. Her entire demeanor changes at the mention of him, and instantly, I want this man dead.
"Umm, that was a rough time for me and to cope, I started to experiment with drugs and alcohol. Like everyone else here, I started with the light stuff. I smoked pot and popped X at parties, mostly socially, anything to numb the pain. Then, as time went on and things at home got worse, I started using more and more, not only at parties or with friends, but at home, after school, hell, I even toked up during school."
"At sixteen, everything came to a head. My mother confronted me about my problem and… well… I," she stutters, her eyes shift to the floor and a single tear rolls down her cheek. I inch closer and closer, practically sitting on top of Jack, aching to comfort her.
"Take your time. Ana," John reassures. "We aren't here to judge, only to listen."
"Things got bad after that. I stopped going to school and started to really spiral. I just didn't want to feel anything anymore."
"The first time I shot up, a sense of calm washed over me body. It was like this instant gratification. Nothing seemed to matter anymore, I could do anything, handle anything when I was high, so my mission was to never come down, and I didn't, not until the night my mom walked in on, umm," She pauses her eyes darkening at the memory. "Anyway, she flipped and the next day I was on a plane to Seattle, to Ray, to my savior."
"Now here I am," she concludes, tugging at the sleeve of her sweater, "an eighteen year old high school dropout, on her last chance. My dad mortgaged his house to send me here and I won't let him down, not anymore."
"Thank you Ana," John, nods and I finally relax back into my seat. The next person in the circle begins to speak, but my mind is flooded with thoughts of the beautiful girl who has me so utterly captivated.
John concludes the session with a recap of the rules and regulations during our stay at Silver Linings. We were all briefed when we signed in, but most of us were either high or in the early stages of withdrawal and probably only lucid enough to sign on the dotted line.
"Group will be held twice a day, once with your orientation class, the people sitting in the circle with you today, and once with a smaller more intimate class of people with similar addictions, in different stages of recovery. You will also be required to attend one-on-one counseling with the therapist you were assigned to when you checked in. Failure to miss any group or individual sessions will result in a loss of privileges for the week. If you miss more than one you will be put on probation."
"While we encourage you to connect with your peers, we have a zero tolerance fraternization policy. Your health and recovery should be your main priority. In short, focus more on getting clean and less on getting laid."
"Drug testing will be done once a day; if you fail to produce a clean sample you may be asked to leave. Addiction is serious, and it's something that we do not take lightly. If you are not committed to your recovery," he pauses, going around the circle, making eye contact with each one of us, "then we cannot run the risk of letting that toxic attitude poison the rest of our patients."
"There are ten people in this room. Three of you won't make it past the first week. Another four of you will relapse within the first thirty days of graduation. That means that only three people will successfully beat their addiction this time around." He stands, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "This is life and death, please accept the help that we are offering you, because you might not get a second chance."
The room goes silent, we all know what he's saying is true. I look around at my circle of peers, wondering who the lucky three will be. This disease is my curse, I've accepted my fate, and I've made peace with that, but that doesn't stop me from hoping that the beautiful little brown haired girl to my left makes it out of this alive.
"If everyone could stand please," Johns voice, breaking the grim silence. "We end each group session with a prayer to remind us of why are here and to help us stay focused on the battle ahead. Some people battle addiction all their life, but I have faith that if you take what you learn here over this next month and use it out in the real world, then every one of you will find peace."
"Please bow your heads. God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time; Enjoying one moment at a time; Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace; Taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it; Trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His Will. Amen."
"Amen." I whisper, lifting my head up to sneak a better look at Anastasia. Her clothes are baggy, almost like she's wearing men's clothing. Her gray sweater is hanging well past her thighs and her loose fitting jeans are rolled at the ankle, probably to prevent them from dragging on the floor.
Standing up a little taller, I make my mind up to talk to her. I've never been particularly shy around girls; the one redeeming quality I inherited from my birth parents is my looks. I used to think the attention I received from the opposite sex was a curse. I wanted nothing more than to be invisible, but my face made that virtually impossible. It wasn't until I started getting really heavy into drugs that I saw the power I held simply by smiling. Girls are suckers for my gray eyes, one look and I could get them to do whatever I wanted. If I needed a ride somewhere, because my parents didn't trust me with a car, or if I needed one of them to score for me all I had to do was pick up the phone.
Anastasia is a different beast entirely. I'll have to play my cards right with her or I run the risk of getting us both kicked out of here. John made it clear, there is to be no fraternizing with other patients, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him.
"Alright guys," John addresses the group once more. "We're going to take a quick tour and then I'll take you to the dorms. All of your belongings should be in place in your rooms, and you'll have an hour to settle in before lunch." He finishes, clapping his hands. "Please feel free to ask any questions or voice any concerns. This is your home for the next month and we want you to be as comfortable as possible while you work towards sobriety," he nods. "Ok then, follow me."
Everyone begins to file out of the room, and I fall in line behind Anastasia. We are the last two people out the door, and I use our close proximity to my advantage. Leaning down I whisper into her ear, "Hi, I'm Christian."
She jumps slightly, angling her body away from me so that our eyes meet for the first time. I am transfixed by her gaze. There is a depth in her stare that most junkies have lost. Sure, she has the telltale signs of addiction, but there is also life, and blinding light.
I run my fingers through my unkempt copper locks in an attempt to break whatever spell she's cast over me. "You're Anastasia, right?"
"Look, dude. I don't know what your deal is, but don't ever invade my personal space like that again," she bites, rolling her eyes at me.
I smirk. "It's rude to roll your eyes at people, especially ones you've just met," I tease, falling in step beside her. That one small act of defiance sealed her fate. No one outside of my parents has ever told me no before. I can talk my way into or out of everything, a fact that I've taken advantage of a majority of my life.
"I don't know what you're selling, but I'm not buying. You heard him," she points ahead to John. "Patients aren't allowed to fuck other patients, so please just leave me alone."
"Who said anything about fucking?" I smile, turning up the charm. I know I should just drop it, but I can't, there is something there, something more.
"Are you listening to anything I'm saying? Let me break it down, so that even you can understand me, Not. Gonna. Happen." She emphasizes each word. Her tongue darts out, and she moistens her plump pouty lips.
I hold up my hands in defeat. "Listen babe, I don't know what you think I'm doing, but I swear my intentions are pure," I lie. My intentions are anything but. It's more than a physical attraction, I can't explain it, but I need to possess her. I want to consume her, just as she has unknowingly consumed me.
"Yea, right," she rolls her eyes again.
"Honestly. We're stuck here for the next month, what's wrong with trying to have a little fun?"
"You see, that right there is the problem," she stops pointing at me. Her blue eyes darken as she unleashes her rage on me. "This is a joke to you. You aren't serious about your sobriety; my guess is you are only here to shut mommy and daddy up. One look at you and I can tell you don't belong here with the rest of us. You're just the poor little rich kid who likes to piss his parents off. You don't have any idea what it's like for the rest of us. I've done some unspeakable shit in search of my next high. This," she whispers, gesturing around us, "is my last hope and I will not let some six foot two GQ reject fuck that up for me."
She shoots me one final glare and then storms off to catch up with the rest of the group.
"Silver Linings Drug and alcohol Rehabilitation center is one of the top rehab facilities on the west coast. The campus consists of five buildings strategically situated on ten acres of land sitting right off the coast of the Pacific Ocean. Not only do patients have access to the beach," John explains, "but we also have a swimming pool and a Jacuzzi."
"There are tennis courts, a full gym, and a variety of other activities at your disposable whenever you are not in therapy. We encourage everyone to find something they love, and focus their energy in learning a new hobby or perfecting a craft you may have neglected due to your addiction."
We walk a little further before stopping in front of a large glass building. "This is where the cafeteria is housed. There's a music room, an art room, a kitchen where we hold cooking classes, and the gym."
As we continue to walk the grounds of Silver Linings, I replay the conversation I had with Anastasia, over and over again in my head. She called me out on my bullshit and although she doesn't know dick about my past or my addiction, she has worked out that I am probably the worst thing that can happen to her recovery. It's just too bad I'm selfish enough to pursue her anyway.
After the tour, John shows us to the dormitories. He hands us our room assignments and then leaves us to get settled. Opening the envelope with my name on it, I empty its contents into my hand. There's a piece of paper with my room number, 305, and my roommate's name on it. "Jack fucking Hyde," I mumble to myself as I climb the stairs to the third floor.
A/N Thank You Ordlas for being the best BETA ever.