My Little Pastry Chef
Ch. 1- Rehab Blues
A/N: CrAsh-y goodness. Craig's still in rehab, and receives an unexpected visitor- one bearing baked goods. Sequel (ish) to Sometimes. This is what happens when Ashley arrives at Craig's rehab center in Vancouver.
Craig sat on the bland gray couch in the rehab common room, a battered leather notebook lying open in front of him as he absentmindedly chewed on his pen cap.
His therapist had said that keeping a journal would help him 'deal.' Of course, he had no idea what he needed to deal with. I'm a bipolar crackhead whose best friend hates him and no one comes to visit in rehab. I have no issues. None at all.
After his first individual session two months ago, he had received what had then been a pristine black-leather notebook. He had been skeptical at first, but after the first of dozens of lonely visitor's days, he began to write in earnest, filling the pages with entries, songs, random quotes- anything that happened to pop into his head.
Craig sighed and glanced at the analog clock hanging on the wall. It was four-thirty; visitor's day ended at 9. Patients were allowed visitors every Tuesday, and his friends from group therapy had all left that morning, trying to disguise the pity in their voices when saying goodbye.
He hadn't had one visitor in his entire stay in the center. Joey called every other day, but he felt too awkward to visit his wayward stepson in the place he had tried so hard to teach him not to end up. His friends had seemed to abandon him too; he had only received one letter in response to the six he had sent.
Another part of his therapy had been to write letters to people he knew- those who had had a profound effect on his life, and those who had been affected by his addiction. It had been his choice to send them, hoping that by some miracle someone would understand.
He'd sent letters to Marco, Jimmy, Spinner, Manny, Ellie, and even Ashley. The last had been a long shot, but he'd been desperate; she had understood him so well so long ago, perhaps she'd understand him now.
The letter he'd received, however, contained no such miracle.
It had been delivered a month and a half into his stay at the center. He had been filled with a bitter, sharp resentment at himself for what he had done, not for what he had done to himself but for what he had done to Ellie. When he said he loved her, he had been telling what he thought was the truth; he had loved both her and Manny at the time. But once again he had been caught between two girls, desperate, with a debilitating crack addiction to boot, and he had exploited Ellie's feelings for him in order to appease the demon inside that was howling at him.
His thoughts afterwards were filled with her beautiful red hair, along with the hurt and anger in her hazel eyes as she denounced him as a bastard for manipulating her.
His heart had leapt when he saw her familiar handwriting, and once the envelope reached his hands he had torn it open, nearly destroying the letter inside.
He had read it eagerly at first, expecting, if not complete forgiveness, a return to the way things were between him and Ellie Nash. He had always been able to apologize when he screwed up, and everything was forgiven. It had been that way with his abusive father, it had been that way with Manny, and it had been that way to an extent with Ashley.
Which was why what Ellie had written shocked him to the core.
Craig,
Answer me this honestly: do you ever think about anyone other than yourself?
Your letter was filled with your feelings, your loneliness, and your shock that no one's been there to support you. No matter how much you claim to have meant it, your apology was simply not enough, too half-hearted to spark any forgiveness. I'll head off the question at the pass- you need to apologize until you mean it. Be as passionate as you were when apologizing to Ashley for manipulating and breaking her heart too.
Perhaps if you thought about how the rest of us feel, you'd understand why no one's there for you.
You told me you loved me just to get your hands on your crack. You knew how much I liked you, how much I loved you. And this bullshit about you loving me back… I don't believe a word. It's just you trying to curry favor with me, trying to get into my good graces. But you still haven't stopped to think about how betrayed and hurt I feel.
You pull this shit all of the time. When Ash left for London, it was only about you. How much you loved her, couldn't stand losing her even for the summer, not how she honestly felt overwhelmed and emotionally exhausted.
It's always been about you and what you want, but this time, Craig, apologizing won't help anything. I was your best friend. But I don't know you anymore.
I don't want to, not until you learn to think about someone other than Craig Manning, the cokehead would-be rock star.
Ellie
Just thinking about the letter would bring tears to his eyes. The letter sat in its envelope in the back of his notebook, but he hadn't been able to open it again.
It killed him to know how Ellie really saw him now, how she didn't believe in anything he said or even in him anymore. A would-be rock star… She had been harsh, she had been enraged, neither of which Craig had ever felt focused onto him from her before.
Ellie had revealed his flaws in the most blunt manner possible; nothing had softened the blow. But far from making him feel better because he could improve, he felt guilty and ashamed that he hadn't been able to see those flaws himself.
He himself wasn't sure if the feelings for Ellie he was parading around were real. Perhaps it had only been the desperation; perhaps it was only chemically induced passion. That would explain why it was fading. That would explain why nothing he felt for Manny or Ellie last year came close to what he felt with Ashley. It simply wasn't real.
Craig sighed, and glanced at the clock again. It was four forty-five: only fifteen minutes had passed as he had mused. The open pages of his notebook were still glaringly blank. He had no idea what else he could do to pass the time.
He felt like this every visitor's day. And he knew he'd feel like this every visitor's day in the foreseeable future. Next week's happened to fall on Valentine's Day, as his luck would have it. And once again, he'd be alone, alternately staring at the pasty white wall, the clock that always seemed to tick slower, and his frustratingly uninspiring journal.
He had just gotten up and stretched with every intention of going back to his room and taking a nap when one of the middle-aged female receptionists stepped into the lounge.
"Craig? There's someone here for you."
He looked at her in disbelief, her words barely registering. After a few seconds, she inclined her head in a gesture indicating that he should follow her.
He did as she bid, following her and her orthopedic shoes into the blindingly white lobby of the center. He glanced first at the waiting area, anticipation and excitement causing him to grip onto his notebook as if it were a lifeline. Seeing no one there, he glanced at the desk, and what he saw slackened his grip and allowed his journal to clatter to the floor.
There stood a girl in jeans and a gray sweater, standing even taller than normal in a pair of black high-heeled winter boots, a beautifully decorated cake in her hands.
My favorite little pastry chef… he thought absently as his jaw dropped down to the floor to join his notebook.
"Ashley?"