I had managed to fall asleep once the sun started to rise. Coincidentally, that was about the same time Axel calmed down enough to remain still, giving me some peace and quiet for the first time in hours. I think he managed to get to sleep as well, but he may have also just reached the point of exhaustion and passed out. Honestly, I really didn't care.

Trying to get to sleep was the fun part. Axel tossing and turning, swearing every now and then. I was growing increasingly frustrated with him because he kept turning down my offers to get one of the attendants, but gradually just chose to ignore him. I still felt bad, of course, because, even though I should pretend that he doesn't exist, it was harsh watching him go through his withdrawals. Especially knowing that he had to go through them four times prior at the clinic and god knows how many more before that. But I didn't have time to take pity on a guy I didn't even know…

In my attempts to ignore him, I was trying to formulate a plan. I was planning on starting my stay here with a positive outlook. Even though my anxiety insisted on creeping back when I wasn't distracted, I was going to attempt to treat each day like it was my everyday life. At least that way, if I could get in the mindset, it would be a bit easier on my brain who was still trying to process my predicament. Besides, it wasn't like I was going to be strapped to some table and cut open by an evil doctor. It was a rehab clinic that had hundreds of patients before me and they all turned out relatively okay, I think. At least they had survived.

So the sun was rising, I had decided to have a better outlook on my situation, and Axel was finally quiet. I felt as though the day ahead of me was going to be off to a good start or at least and okay one. I'd take 'okay' over 'shit' any day.

Remember how I mentioned Murphy's Law? And how that's pretty much sewn onto my flesh? Well…

My sleep wasn't a great one, hell, it wasn't even good, but it was still sleep. There were no dreams and the springs were digging into my back, but, hey, I was still asleep. I did not sleep much the day before, obviously. In fact, I didn't sleep much since I found out I would be attending rehab, so every second I spent with my eyes shut with my conscious blinking out of existence temporarily was a blessing. I cannot stress it enough. My body, at this point, literally craved sleep and every minute I slept was like having a drop of water after being stuck out in the desert for years. Dreamless or not, it was that good for my body and if it meant I wouldn't feel like a zombie anymore more, it was great for me too.

Until I was woken up. I wasn't being shaken or poked or even yelled at, but waking up after having so little sleep and having a shitty night prior, it was still pretty fucking annoying. Have I mentioned that I'm just not a morning person? My plan on having a positive, sunny outlook completely exploded in a ball of flames and quickly left my mind. At the time, I didn't even feel nervous about being there, I felt angry. Maybe it was the fact that my sleep had been disturbed, or maybe it was simply because I wasn't as sweet and positive as my half-asleep self thought I was. What woke me up? An argument. At seven o'clock in the morning there were two wonderful people bickering in my room. I opened my eyes and stared - glared - at the wall in front of me and quietly plotted their demise. My brain was still fuzzy and the voices and conversation didn't seem to make much sense, but it certainly managed to disturb me. I sighed a little when the pieces started to fall together, closing my eyes again in hopes to vanish into the mattress or maybe use their voices to lull me back to sleep.

It was Mrs. Hunt and Axel, naturally. How did I not know that even in my sleep deprived state? A silence filled the air that felt tense even though I still had no idea about what was going on. I heard heels click on the linoleum floor followed by what sounded like the blinds on the window being opened. From the hiss from Axel and red that flooded my eyelids, I figured my speculation was correct.

"Axel, please, get up," Mrs. Hunt's voice stated firmly and took on a scolding mother's tone. A quiet "fuck off" was the response making her sigh in frustration, her heels clicking on the floor again. "You are not the only one here who is not feeling well, you know. You need to eat just like the rest of them." Oh, god… The food… I could only imagine the horrors some greasy chef would cook up for us. My seemingly now permanent headache was acting up again making me pinch the bridge of my nose. Just listening to these two seemed to stress me out and I knew I'd have to deal with this for two months. Wasn't this place supposed to be calm and relaxing? "Breakfast is in an hour, Axel, I want you to be there." The clicking of the heels headed towards the door, stopping when Axel piped up.

"It tastes like shit." His voice was a lot softer than normal, the bite was missing from his words and there didn't seem to be much effort behind it. I rolled over, a part of me confused on why the redhead had such a sudden behaviour change and the other part actually curious. I squinted through the bright room, trying to get my eyes to focus on the bed across from mine. I could see Mrs. Hunt out of the corner of my eye, but Axel's bed just literally looked like a lump of blankets, the red spikes peeking over the top the only indication that Axel was actually there. I shifted my eyes over to Mrs. Hunt who glanced down at me briefly. Oh, man. You could tell that she did not want to be here.

"Your body needs food to ge-"

"You didn't make me last time!" Axel's whine cut her off, sounding more like a six year old boy than the voice of a groan man. My headache pounded with each syllable. I groaned under my breath as I summoned enough strength to sit up. It was apparent that I would not be allowed to get back to sleep, but I definitely did not have to listen to these two argue for what could be hours. Hunt had a point, obviously, but if Axel didn't want to take care of his body, why bother? Let him rot. She was still doing her job either way, it was up to Axel if he would accept her help or not. I suppose not everyone had that mindset, but with this guy, it may have been your only chance to keep your sanity.

"Can I have a shower?" I asked suddenly, cutting off another round of bickering. Both of them fell quiet and Mrs. Hunt looked back at me, the frustration evident on her face even thought it wasn't directed at me. She waved her hand towards the door, sidestepping to let me out.

"Yes, yes. Just go. Tell the attendant by the door and she'll turn on the water," Mrs. Hunt stated distractedly, her attention quickly returning back to the 'lump' on the bed mid-sentence. I should have guessed I would have to deal with another attendant just to use the shower. I was praying that every time I had to take a piss I wouldn't have to sign forms and contracts and be run through security. At least I was able to get out of the room and have some time to myself. Provided I didn't have someone "help" me in the showers, making sure I wasn't up to anything suspicious or potentially damaging. Fuck it. At this point I didn't even care. I was too tired for any of that to cause an ounce of humiliation in me. I fled the room as soon as possible and wandered down the hall, following a sign's direction that was posted on the wall.

I could see that a few other people were up, either sitting in their beds or actually leaving their rooms. I felt out of place. Everyone seemed to have an almost green look to them, as if they were about to vomit any minute. Some were shaking, others groaning - the whole lot just looked like some kind of disease took over and managed to miss me. I wasn't really like them anyways, though, and, while I should've been glad for that, I hated sticking out like a sore thumb. There was no way any of the addicts noticed me not suffering from withdrawals in the state they were in, but it didn't make me feel any better. It was like being that one kid in high school who did something really embarrassing like puke all over their desk or had a video no one was supposed to see go viral. Everyone has felt like an outcast before and every single person can tell you that, no matter how glad you're not a part of the group you're being shunned from, it fucking sucks.

I probably hurried down the hall faster than I needed to, making myself look more paranoid than I really was. That was either a good thing, making me blend in, or made me seem even worse. It wasn't my fault that I seemed to be the only one who wanted a shower in the morning. The showers were probably communal anyways, why not go when no one else is around? I'm sure some people have no problem showering with a bunch of drug addicted, homeless people, but I definitely was not one of them. I pressed the small button beside the door that had a sign boldly stating "SHOWERS" and tried to peer through the window of the small attendant's booth that sat outside. It was surrounded by glass, to protect them I assumed, and it seemed to have lead to the front desk where a woman was sitting, flipping through a newspaper. I rolled my eyes when someone did not come after a few seconds, pressing the button again to release another buzzing sound.

I get it. There was no way that there was going to be a designated shower person, but I was pretty sure that the woman reading a newspaper could help me for a brief minute. She glanced over at me and turned back to the paper. Was she fucking serious? I exhaled irritably, trying to calm myself - trying to keep my headache at bay - and knocked rather loudly on the window. She sighed as well, frustrated for whatever reason, and stood up and walked over to me.

"Don't knock on the glass," she scolded, tightening her ponytail and scowling at me through heavily mascaraed lashes. Really? I clenched my fists at my sides, biting the inside of my cheek as I tried to think of something to say that was a lot better than what I wanted to say. "Can I help you?" she practically sneered, looking at me like I was a piece of dirt or something. I released another breath and pushed my hair back, cringing to find it rather greasy. Judging by how it felt, I'm sure she could've seen what I needed help with.

"Can I have a shower?" I finally managed to ask, offering a brief smile to show her that I wasn't one of the other people here. That, yes, I was quite coherent and I could function just fine. As if she were copying me again, she sighed and plopped down into the office chair and began typing on the computer.

"Name?"

"Roxas." She turned her head back over to me, peering up at me like I was stupidest person she had ever met.

"Last name."

"Strife…" I hissed, tasting blood in my mouth from the small wound I was slowly forming. I had to keep reminding myself that I wanted to get through here positively and relatively unnoticed. I really didn't need to get noticed by smashing the glass and yelling at the girl. She typed in my name on the computer and scanned through whatever was on the screen.

"You'll have to wait 'til tomorrow." I stood there dumbfounded, probably not making her impression of me any better. "Go to the cafeteria now and a wait for breakfast." She stood up from the chair and started to leave.

"Wait!" Could she not see how disgusting I looked right now? I'm not really some weird pretty boy or something, but I really just needed this time to myself. To clear my head and think. Besides, I felt revolting. All the panicked sweating the day before didn't really leave me feeling the best. Everyone knows, no matter how shitty you are feeling, that a shower brightens your day even a little. "Why?" I practically demanded the answer from her, knowing I sounded rude, but I really didn't give a shit right now. She was giving me attitude, I was going to give it to her right back. I watched her roll her eyes and sit back down in the chair, turning the computer screen towards me and tapping a pen against it.

Requires Supervision: Undetermined.

"What does that mean?" I hissed through clenched teeth. I wanted to shower. Was that a crime here? Was it a requirement to be filthy?

"It means that you may or may not be a danger to yourself so we cannot leave you unsupervised in an area that does not have cameras," she stated matter-of-factly, rising from her seat again. I was baffled by that. I may have fucked up a few times, but I was never considered a threat to myself. I understand and feel bad for the people who are a threat to themselves, but I personally found it pointless. In fact, I was a little offended.

"Excuse me?" I snapped suddenly, before she could turn her back on me again, "I'm not a threat to myself! What would I even do in there? Smash my head against the faucet!" She shrugged at that, her face remaining emotionless as she turned the screen back into the original position.

"It will be determined by tomorrow, after you talk with your doctor. If you feel that you need a shower you may wait until during your free time this evening and go in with one of the attendants." I couldn't believe this. I just wanted a shower. Especially now, after this. I just wanted to stand in some hot water and melt away from everything for a few moments. To let everything fall into place.

"Mrs. Hunt said-"

"This is what the computer says, Mr. Strife. Now, go to the cafeteria or I will call someone to escort you there," she cut me off bitterly, narrowing her eyes at "the unruly patient" and waited for my response. I really wanted to fight back. I really did. I wanted nothing more than to break down those shower doors and barricade myself in there. But, I walked away. Angrily mind you, but I still walked away. It was a little difficult, but I was trying to remind myself to pick my battles. Some ditz at the front counter wasn't really a battle in my books. I'd just have to wait until tomorrow. There was no way in hell I was going to be diagnosed as a danger to myself.

Breakfast was just as I was expecting it to be. We were given vitamins in these small Dixie cups, accompanied with our choice of orange juice or skimmed milk, something that vaguely resembled oatmeal, and either a banana or some soft looking cantaloupe. I chose orange juice and the banana and carried my obnoxiously bright orange tray over to a secluded table at the far end of the cafeteria. Hey, I wasn't here to make friends. Anyways, I couldn't even stomach looking at my own food, I didn't want to be surrounded by more.

My oatmeal, if it could be called that, looked like it could have possibly been alive or could be alive. I finally got up the nerve to taste it having watched a few people being scolded and lectured by the various attendants wandering between the tables. I knew they, for the most part, wanted to help us, but the constant mothering was suffocating. I didn't want to deal with it. I had my own mother at home, probably fretting over me at this very moment, so I really didn't need more. The oatmeal, for the record, didn't have much of a taste to it, but it at least had the consistency of oatmeal. It was instantly better than hospital food where, as we all know, everything tastes like death on a stick and looks even worse. At least the stuff here was edible. Not enjoyable, but edible. That was good enough for me. It sounds completely moronic, but it was a small comfort knowing that I wouldn't be vomiting after every meal here.

About halfway through breakfast, my mind wandered back to this morning and to the little argument Axel was having with Mrs. Hunt. I had no idea how long the two were at it before I woke up and, for all I knew, they both could still be at it right now. As if she were reading my thoughts, Mrs. Hunt came stomping into the cafeteria and I assumed the two were finished, but she merely grabbed a banana and stormed back out in the direction of our rooms. Either she was hungry or Axel was going to get that fruit shoved somewhere very unpleasant if he didn't eat it. I chuckled a little at the thought and shook my head, returning to my lumpy meal before me. At least he'd get what's coming.

Why was I here…? I stared down at the massive sheet in front of me which held a rough outline of a human body on it. Why was I here! Markers were scattered around the floor between me and other rehab members who were busily working on their papers before them. Group therapy…

After breakfast, we were basically told the gist of our schedules and where we would find our daily ones. I was learning quickly that at least we would not be spending our whole time in therapy, but rather doing a lot of activities. It was a way to get us distracted or find something else to channel our energy into rather than doing drugs. And I fucking hated it. I get that this shit could be helpful, introduce people to new hobbies or use activities to relieve stress, but seriously… How was drawing our emotions into a generic outline of a body supposed to help right now…?

Our overly enthusiastic group leader was some guy who insisted we just call him Bob, which, oddly enough, was fitting because he really seemed to look like Bob Ross, that afro painter guy. Apparently, this would be a weekly exercise to show how much we have changed over the course of our stay. I couldn't even draw anything right now, I couldn't imagine attempting the same thing every fucking week. "How do you feel? Do you feel sad? Are you empty? Draw it! Express yourself!" Bob encouraged as he walked around the room. I stared at the green marker in my hand, willing it to just draw something for me, anything. "Are you happy? Are you proud of yourself!" his voice boomed again, reeking of cheerful enthusiasm. "We don't need pictures. Lines, scribbles, whatever you feel like! This is you and no one can tell you who you are!" I looked around the room again, watching Bob applaud some of the people for their efforts even if they were just stabbing angrily at the paper. In fact, he was cheering those ones on. "Let your anger out! Rip the paper! Destroy it! Don't let the anger get to you!" A loud rip sounded from a few people who happened too rip their papers in half, causing Bob to cheer. This was a fucking mad house, not a rehab center. Kill me.

I carried on through the day with pretty much the same vacant, borderline mortified, expression. Group therapy lasted a few hours after that awkward art exercise and a lot of people seemed really into sharing their stories and Bob was more than thrilled that they wanted to. He didn't force us at least, so I had to give him some props for that. That whole thing carried on for four hours. I learnt that not all the patients needed to show up for this one, some of them had their one on one therapy at this time and would get free time for the remainder. It would rotate in that fashion and I was actually excited for when my turn would be to miss out on this thing twice a week. Lunch was about the same as breakfast, edible, but no where near satisfying. At one I was learning coping tactics to avoid relapse, at two I met with my therapist who was a soft spoken old lady (and who assured me that I would be getting my showers), and at three I was back in Bob's excruciatingly happy grip for the mandatory group therapy everyone seemed to have attended, except for Axel who had been missing all day. Finally, dinner. After dinner I completely ignored the whole free time I had from six to eight and just went straight to my room. I needed sleep. I felt that the day was a little hectic and, not going to lie, unbearably childish, but my anxiety managed to leave halfway through. The only problem I was going to have was actually participating in these little fun filled activities, but other than that, I felt like I could stomach two months of this.

Axel seemed to be asleep already or was still asleep, but he was hiding under his blankets again so I wasn't sure. Either way, he didn't say anything to me and I was grateful for that. My body felt like lead and I didn't even care about the shitty mattress I had to endure. Going to sleep was a lot easier this time. Staying asleep, yet again, proved to be a problem.

I jolted awake at, what I assumed to be, at least one in the morning. There was a horrible retching sound followed by some cursing. I quickly looked over, seeing Axel vomiting into a bucket with Mrs. Hunt sitting on the bed beside him. They were kind enough to at least turn on a lamp instead of the actual lights, but, unfortunately, it wasn't the lights that woke me. The thought was nice...

"Jesus fuckin' Christ…" Axel groaned, hunching over and heaving into the bucket again. I was slightly horrified. I knew nausea and vomiting were a symptom of the withdrawals, but he sounded fucking horrible. Not to mention I woke up nearly with a heart attack because of him. Mrs. Hunt looked over at me and turned her attention back to Axel.

"Come on, Axel. Let's go to the washroom so Mr. Strife can get back to sleep," Mrs. Hunt softly stated, sighing when Axel growled, but heaved again and began coughing.

"Does it look like I want to fucking move right now?" he hissed, his voice strained, as he spat into the bucket. "He can just ignore me if he wants to sleep…"

I rolled my eyes at that and turned my back to them, sandwiching my head between my pillow. Even when sick he was a fucking asshole. After a few minutes of bickering, of course, and bouts of "Don't fucking touch me!" and other offensive phrases, the two managed to leave the room. The shitty sleep before made falling asleep again a hell of a lot easier and I was out almost instantly.

"Where do you want our date to be?" I stirred a little, feeling something make the bed dip and the springs creak. I practically jumped out of my skin when I realized Axel was draped across the end of my bed, jolting to the sitting position.

"What the fuck are you doing!" I snapped, trying to calm down my heart from its second near heart attack. I darted my eyes to the clock. Three in the fucking morning. Really? Oh my god, I wanted to kill him.

"Our date?" Axel whispered, his eyes closed with his eyebrows knitted together. He still looked sickly and I was internally begging him not to puke on my bed. Just because he was still awake didn't mean he had to wake me as well!

"What fucking date? There is no date!" I practically squeaked, tempted to kick him off, but decided against it in case he exploded and shot puke everywhere.

"Fucking humour me!" Axel snapped back, catching me off guard at how blunt he was. He groaned a little and put his hand over his eyes. "What the fuck's your name, anyways? Unless you prefer 'cutie.'" This guy was fucking mental.

"I'm going to sleep."

"You're not being a very good roommate," he teased, even though he sounded absolutely exhausted. I just wanted to sleep. Why didn't he want to sleep? Why did he have to bug me? Why didn't I have another roommate?

"It's Roxas." Why did I tell him! I laid back down, turning onto my side and curling my feet up to avoid touching Axel.

"Roxasssss…" he hissed the 'S' and then chuckled to himself, even though I didn't know what was so funny. I didn't think he did either. "I like that name."

"That's great," I muttered back, trying to pull the blankets up that Axel had pinned under him. He laughed again and sighed quietly.

"You're so negative. Don't you like it here?" Axel whispered again, but I made the question rhetorical and tried to get back to sleep. I knew it wouldn't happen, but it was worth a shot. "You didn't get sick… You're not an addict, huh?" I remained silent still, hoping he would just tire himself out. Aerith's words rung in my head again; You're here for yourself, not to make friends. I felt Axel roll over and stare at me, much like how he'd been staring when we first met. I looked back at him and my mouth grew dry at how bright his eyes looked in the dark room, almost like a cat's. "See something you like…?"

"Fuck off." I could feel my face heat up and was thankful that the dark room would hide it, but Axel laughed anyways at my embarrassment. Okay, so I was staring a bit, but that was because of his freakishly unnatural eyes, not because they looked nice or anything. "Can I please just go to sleep…?" I asked finally, practically whining. I felt utterly defeated right now and I just didn't have the energy to argue with him.

"After you answer me. Why are you here if you aren't addicted?" It really wasn't his business, but I was willing to do anything to get him to leave me alone. Regardless, I still hesitated. It's not like it was anything bad, but I didn't need to hit anymore speed bumps along my "road to recovery." "I'm not gunna tell or nothing.' We're roomies! Aren't we supposed to know the best and the worst of each other?" Axel stated as if he could pick up on my hesitation. He kind of had a point and I really couldn't see him dashing off down the hall to rat me out to the people he obviously despised.

"I'm not an addict," I sighed out finally, sitting up to face Axel instead of laying down. I had to look away from the eyes staring back at me intently so I wouldn't lose my track of thought. "I'm just here to keep up appearances because of a little mistake. My mom's a respected lawyer and my dad's a respected lawyer and they live in this big house and spend their money on anything they really want. They're not celebrities or anything, obviously, but when you have that kind of money, you need to be careful around your circle of friends. One fuck up and your social standing is obliterated, suddenly no one wants you to take their cases, then you lose your job…"

"Sounds like high school," Axel snorted, causing me to scoff and nod. It was true. All of the fancy little soirées my parents would throw sounded as though a bunch of teenaged girls were running the party with all the gossip and rumours. My parents never participated too much in the gossip, but they avoided stepping on anyone's toes to keep their standing.

"Anyways, I do drugs the odd time, mostly just pot if anything, but I happened to get caught with coke one night. My friend's coke, but, as you can imagine, telling the cops that I was holding it for a friend didn't go over too well. It wasn't really even the coke that got me in trouble, it was a drunk fucking fight that did. The guy who started the whole thing called the cops on me and charged for assault or whatever and got me in shit. He was charged as well, but he wasn't the one with drugs on his person," I paused and shook my head, flopping backwards on the bed. "I'm twenty-one, was living on my own, but my parents were still pissed. Long story short, to save you all the court bullshit, I was going to land some time in jail. I really didn't want to spend time in there."

"I wouldn't either if I had a cute ass like yours," Axel commented offhandedly, dodging my foot that I shot out to boot him. "I'm kidding! Jesus!"

"As I was saying," I seethed, rolling my eyes, "having a brawling druggy of a son is like a black mark on your permanent record for my family. They would rather have an addicted, troubled son who desperately wanted help and acted out to get it. So, my dad, the one who represented me, some how wormed me into rehab. Having a son that goes to rehab still isn't the greatest, but I'm sure they could play the sympathy card well enough." My parents really do love me, but they also loved their social standing. Anyways, it was easier on me in the long run. I still had a record of course, but it was a lot better than showing that I spent time in jail, no matter how short the duration. "I have some 'parole officer,' assigned to me now, but she's a family friend so it's not too bad. I'm not really on parole or probation or whatever, she's more like a babysitter - going through the motions of her job for the court, but not actually doing it. I'm not really an addict anyways, so it's just for looks again." Axel let out a low whistle when I finished and sat up to face me a bit better.

"So, I rich boy got in trouble with the law and mommy and daddy got him off the hook?" he asked, his grin painfully evident even through the dark. I scowled at him, wishing it really was that black and white and didn't put any strain on my family. Dad didn't really talk to me much and mom was always breathing down my neck now. I wish I just had to go to rehab and everything would be fine.

"What about you?" I asked suddenly, glaring into the green eyes after he stood up from my bed. Axel heaved a dramatic sigh and headed over to his bed, lying down and pulling the blankets over him. It was only fair, after all, if I told him my story, he could tell me his. After downplaying mine, I totally wanted to rip his 'sob story' to shreds now.

"I just met you!" he announced finally, a grin hiding in his voice, "I can't just spill my guts out to you. You might blackmail me, stranger."

"You're a dick."

A/N: Hey. This took a little longer because I kept writing ahead instead of this chapter! AH! I just want to clarify something because I'm not sure how many people understand it. I have GAD (General Anxiety Disorder) and, while Roxas does not have it, there are many parts where his anxiety definitely acts up and then seems to vanish. Just as the rest of this story, I'm basing a lot of things off of my experiences. Roxas' anxiety is based off of mine - when I'm distracted it leaves, when I'm alone it returns, when something new happens it can start up again, etc. etc. When I try to voice my thoughts (such as Roxas attempting to make a plan on how to survive this place, where he doesn't belong) it sounds like a jumbled mess that jumps from thing to thing. Positive, negative, flawless, failing, "This'll totally work!," "Why the hell am I doing this!" I'm trying to make Roxas' thoughts a lot clearer than what mine would be, but still keep the kind of irrational mess. So, it may be a little confusing for those who do not have anxiety and also because this story isn't based on anxiety, so it doesn't go into a lot of detail.

By the way, I was totally that kid who puked on her desk. :I Love me.