Chapter 2, 12 Steps
Matt careened down the street, lit dimly by evenly spaced pools from lamps. Neon signs cast a lurid glow over the concrete. Miller was feeling good for the first time in months. Though the young man was not yet of drinking age, he had easily convinced some of his former LAN party cronies to fork over a few bottles.
He stumbled into several passersby, still nursing the last of the ill gotten bottles in the crook of his arm. He had managed to forget entirely about his recent troubles and fancied himself in the virtual world he had once reigned.
Just then, he passed by a tall building adorned with Gothic spires. A humble sign beckoned with the words "12 Step Program". A perverse giggle bubbled out through Miller's freshly painted lips as an odd idea struck him.
His mother, when he still associated with her, had been a notorious drunk. His childhood was studded with incidents that would have humiliated any mother, but had only driven him to apathy. Nothing would make him feel better tonight than hearing others complain about their own misery.
The inside of the church was tastefully decorated in the same Gothic style. Gleaming floors led to a room with a high ceiling. Inside was a small half moon of chairs. People of various ages slouched in them, staring at their feet or at the wall. The meeting had already started, but no one took more notice of him than to nod in his general direction.
Miller could not help but grin sardonically as he sat in an empty seat. He had seen his mother fail out of more rehabilitation programs than he cared to remember. If there was anyone worse off than him, it was these wastes of space.
Matt was barely able to keep the smug rapture off his face as he listened to how "Peggy" had relapsed after three months of sobriety. He fought to contain giggles when "Daniel" broke down and wept over how his wife and child had left him. Odd, Matt thought to himself. He had never considered himself a masochist before. Perhaps it was the booze.
"What about you?" A voice interrupted his amused reflections.
"Hmm?" Miller teetered.
"What's your name son?" A middle aged balding man who sat beside him leaned over towards him Matt vaguely remembered, from listening, that his name was Ted.
"Ah!" Matt coughed excitedly, trying to contain his merriment, and of course how loaded he was. "Matt."
The man who had asked his name leaned backwards again, catching the smell of alcohol on Miller's breath. Despite this, he continued. "What brings you here today, Matt?"
"Oh you know, the same as everyone else, I 'spose." Matt said rather unconvincingly.
Ted looked at him intently for a moment. Miller brought a hand up to scratch his neck where his leather jacket poked him. "You have a problem, son." Ted concluded.
The bluntness of the statement caught Matt off guard and for a moment he dropped his pretense of sincerity. "A problem?" He retorted back, a defensive note creeping into his voice.
"Yes, Matt. That's why we're all here. We've all got a problem." The bald man said matter-of-factly. "So why don't you tell us about it?"
Miller twitched in his chair, his merriment quickly disappearing like water through a drain. The others in the room were looking up at him, waiting patiently. Matt let out a sigh that was one part reluctance and the other part boredom.
"Fine. My name is Matt. I have a problem." Miller rattled off the familiar line that he had heard his mother say at least a hundred times. But as soon as he spoke them, they took on a new meaning.
"I have a problem," he repeated. "I used to be in a position of power. I had everything figured out. I had.. friends," he chose his words carefully. "Someone took it away from me. Now I don't have any of those things. I'm reduced to live in a hovel, a fraction of my former glory."
"Alcohol will do that to you, son." Ted offered sympathetically when it looked like Matt could go no further. "The first of the 12 Steps is to admit that we are powerless over our addiction. Your life has become unmanageable."
".. Yes, alcohol has taken those things from me." Matt said sarcastically, a sudden surge of hate for his current condition surging into him and infusing the word with bile. Of course, he was not speaking of alcohol. He had Rain, the leader of the Third Street Saints, in mind.
"Step five. Admit to yourself and others the exact nature of your wrongs. Alcohol may be a cruel mistress, but you made your own decisions. She doesn't make you do anything." Ted said perfunctorily.
And just like that, the mirth that had caused Matt Miller to enter the church, on a whim, was gone. A dull pain in his hands caused him to look down and it was with surprise that he found he was clutching his fists so hard that his nails were digging into his flesh.
"Would you like to know the rest of the steps, son?" Ted's voice broke through Matt's thoughts. He was surprised to find his head nodding, his dark hair falling over his eyes.
It seemed like hours later that a mentally exhausted Matt Miller exited into the cool night air. He clutched a pamphlet that he was sure they gave every addict that walked through the door. His steps were sobered by the thoughts he picked over deliberately in his head. The walk back to his flat was completed in pensive silence.
He climbed the flights of stairs to his door and slid his key into the lock. That was certainly not how he had imagined the night would go. His thoughts were divided between dismissing the incident as ridiculous and sitting down and having a long cup of tea while he milled it over.
"Hello, what's this?" He asked no one in particular as his foot slid over something laying on the floor as he entered the flat. He bent down, his hands feeling blindly in the dark. The unmistakable feeling of paper greeted him. Matt reached up and flicked on the lights.
A letter looked purposefully up at him. Dark, bold text bearing the name "Matt Miller" were the only words on it. No stamp or address. Someone had delivered this by hand and had entered his apartment to do so. He flicked the envelope open with great interest and unfolded its contents.
The words "MI6" and "appointment" flashed through his mind over and over again as he devoured the letter's meaning.
"Step 2: Believe that a higher power greater than yourself can restore you to your sanity." Matt found himself saying, and a jovial chuckle escaped his lips.