...

The Sacred Rays
Circling The Drain: Part Two
364 days ago.

The words Promises Treatment Center were carved into a large, black rock at the entrance to the fenced in house. Deep behind a forest of palm trees and large bushes was the small abode with Moroccan-style architecture. Large arches framed the lower level patio with burnt, rustic orange shingles running across the roof. The rustic dining room, cozy living room, and new kitchen all flowed from one to the other in the ground-level's open concept. Off in a more private corner of the house was a large room containing only a circle of chairs and a large quote on the wall saying, 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. Ascending the large spiral staircase next to the room, the second level offered five small bedrooms and a communal bathroom.

A steam cloud rolled out of the doorway as Troy cautiously trotted across the linoleum tile so as not to slip. His fingers gently dragged across the wall as he walked, feeling every miniscule bump and crevasse in the stucco. Finally, the cold tile underneath his feet transitioned into plush, warm carpet as he entered his private bedroom.

Minimalism was a key design in the guest rooms. With only a queen bed, a dresser, a desk, a chair, and a framed picture of a lake, the room was mostly empty space. Draping his soaked towel on the back of the chair, Troy then began dressing in a pair of baggy sweat pants and a plain white T-shirt. When suddenly, three knocks sounded on his door and voice shouted from the other side, "Group in five minutes!"

Troy reluctantly left the safe solitude of his room and began descending the stairs to the bottom floor, when he caught the sight of a tall figure entering the group therapy room before him. Quickening his pace to catch up, he entered the room and sitting in the closest chair facing away from his was the man with medium-length, straight black hair. Cautiously walking around the man and taking a seat in the chair next to him, Troy immediately recognized the person once he his profile was exposed to him.

"Jimmie?"

The man looked over at Troy with a petrified expression, "Wow," He began to speak nervously, the shock still apparent in his wide, brown eyes, "No one has called me since high school. But yeah, it's me." He said, averting his embarrassed eyes from Troy's intrigued gaze.

"What are you doing in here?" Troy questioned him in total surprise.

"That's very naïve, Troy," Jimmie laughed uncomfortably. "Probably the same reason you are."

"But…" For a moment, Troy was completely lost for words, his mind struggling to take in the current rock of information life just struck him with. "You're Rocket Man!"

"And you're Bolton," Jimmie shot back defensively. "What's your point?"

"I'm sorry. It's just…this is so unexpected." Troy's blue eyes scanned Jimmie's face, which didn't look terribly older since the last time they saw each other apart from the short stubble on his jaw. "You were my prodigy at East High. I just never thought of you in a place like here. I'm shocked is all."

"Really?" Jimmie asked with a disbelieving scoff.

"Yeah," Troy chuckled in agreement. Troy could barely hear the counselor and the others enter through his spaced out daze with his eyes glued on Jimmie.

Finally, the counselor demanded his attention with her loud, high pitched voice saying, "Good morning, everyone!" She had a short bob of bright orange hair cut off just above her emerald green eyes. The few freckles on her sharp cheekbones complimented her light skin tone. Her clipboard of plans rested on top of her pencil-skirt covered knees. "Today, we'll start off with introductions as usual, then we'll watch a short film on addiction and medication, and we'll end the session with a group activity."

...

Jason sadly commented, "This feels weird," with his downcast eyes sheltered behind his long, dark brown hair as his head hung low.

"I know," Zeke responded empathetically, patting Jason on the shoulder in hopes of raising his spirits. "But it's what's best for him. Hopefully he'll be back before we know it!"

Jason looked up into Zeke's eyes; some light returned to them as he optimistically replied, "True. He could have been sent in for longer."

"That's very possible." Chad added. He hadn't entertained the thought before, but Troy may very well take much longer in rehab than anticipated. Or worse, he could even resist their treatment entirely. It was a complete mystery what would happen with Troy in the next two months and Chad didn't like that feeling whatsoever.

Chad peered off into the distance; his eyebrows dipped low in concentration, Meanwhile, Jason's hopeful words bounced off the walls of the conference room, "He could even get out earlier!"

"Sorry I'm late!" A new voice interrupted Jason's. The others turned to see their fellow team member Ryan enter the room.

"Hey," Chad greeted Ryan somberly.

"Hey," Ryan responded gently while tossing his brief case onto the table to take out his materials. Noticing the grave shade cast over his friend's face, Ryan asked Chad, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," He sighed unconvincingly. Ryan's unwavering concerned expression urged Chad to continue, so he did, "I'm just anxious about what's going on with him right now. It's weird not knowing about what he's doing and not being with him. We haven't been apart for more than two months since..." He let out a labored sigh and glanced to the ceiling in thought, "I don't think we've ever been apart for this long, actually. We even studied abroad in Japan and New Zealand together during our undergrad. We were just inseparable."

"Chad, you need to realize that he's with professionals." Ryan turned himself in his chair sideways to face Chad as he reasoned, "He's actually safer with them than he would be here. We couldn't stop him from doing what he did. They can. They will help him in ways that we can't. He needs to be with them right now, not with you."

"Yeah," Wishing Ryan's words had raised his mood more than it actually did, Chad struggled to look hopeful as he softly replied, "you're right." Swallowing roughly, Chad distracted himself by opening browsers and tabs on his laptop aimlessly.

"Hey," Ryan's gentle voice was barely audible as he laid a warm hand on Chad's sleeve, demanding his full attention.

It wasn't that Chad didn't appreciate Ryan's help; rather, he was frustrated that he needed it at all in the first place. He wished that he wasn't put in this situation to begin with. He wished that his best friend didn't need to be worried about. He wished that he wasn't where he was right now and the only thing he wanted now was a distraction. A proposal. A client. A blank word document, for crying out loud! But Ryan was bringing him back into the dreaded reality. With his patience wearing thin, he snapped, "What?"

Slightly taken back, but nevertheless undeterred, Ryan said, "He's going to be okay."

It must have been something in Ryan's confidence in the best possible scenario that made Chad consider for just a moment that maybe, just maybe, Troy would be. For a blissful moment, the worry and weight of Troy's addiction was removed from Chad's fatigued shoulders. When suddenly…

"Bolton with an addiction!" The man announced to the room as he entered, his skinny, long legs stomping across the floor as he continued, "Who would have thought? I believe I did, actually. Not to say I told you so, but…c'mon!" He laughed alone at his words as Jason, Chad, Ryan, and Zeke sent him hateful glares.

Chad rose from his seat and walked up to Blake, "What is your problem, you inconsiderate jackass?"

"Whoa, did he die or something?" Black raised his open hands up by his shoulders in defense.

Zeke spoke, "No," annoyed yet calmly, "He's just in rehab."

"Then what's up with all this damn sensitivity?" Blake scoffed.

Jason spoke up from his place across the table, "He's our friend!"

"Well," Blake began as he made his way around the table to a seat next to Jason, "What good friends you are, then."

Unsure of exactly what Blake was insinuating, Chad opened his mouth to challenge Blake to dare repeat his words, when his father and Jack entered the conference room along with three other older business men.

"Good morning, young lads!" One of the older three men greeted them with a thick Irish accent.

"Top of the mornin' to ya!" Blake proudly exclaimed in a mocking accent. To this, Jack and Charlie sent him warning looks. Blake brought his pinched fingers up to his mouth and dragged them across his closed lips, and then pretended to lock them.

From his seat across from Blake, Chad sent him a seething glare for his playful, almost celebratory attitude in wake of Troy's rehab.

Charlie addressed the room "Alright, this morning we will all be collaborating on the Chicago Holiday Inn account. After that is dismissed, we will part our ways and continue on with our team's work. As I'm sure you're all already aware, Jack will be leading our secondary team, and I will be leading the primary for the next couple months due to a temporary leave of absence. Without further ado, let's begin."

...

"So whatever happened to Donny?" Troy asked in curiosity to Jimmie as the rest of the group left, the sound of sobs from the emotional session finally ceasing.

"I'm not entirely sure, to be honest." Jimmie responded while stretching out his jean-covered, long legs in front of him.

"Don't you guys stay in touch?" Troy lifted his chair up underneath himself and scooted over in front of Jimmie to speak more face-to-face.

"It's hard to. Life gets in the way." Jimmie said with nonchalant shrug, but a certain regret in his eyes as they fell down to the floor spoke differently.

"Sure, but you guys were inseparable in high school." Troy pushed the matter further.

"That kind of all fell apart when I started hanging out with another crowd in college." Jimmie continued to reminisce while casually crossing his arms over his chest, "They were all partiers and Donny wanted to keep his nose clean. So he refused to hang out with me if they were around. I thought he was just being jealous at the time, but now look at where we are. Maybe he was just looking out for me," The regret in his tone was no longer concealable as the indifference in his voice was exchanged for genuine remorse, "Damn, hindsight really is twenty-twenty."

After a short pause, Jimmie batted the thought away with a wave of his hand and said, "Anyway. That's enough about me. It's my turn to play Barbara Walters." Jimmie picked one of his long legs up and rested its ankle on the other knee. Loosely folding his hands over his lap and peering intently at Troy, he encapsulated a perfect interviewer. He began to question, "With your college performance and already having teams fighting for you as a sophomore, why the hell didn't you and the other wildcats go pro?"

"My knees hurt." Troy answered plainly and they shared a short laugh, "Really though," Troy continued, "Professional basket ball would require a lot of traveling. I had a girlfriend who I planned to settle down with and have a family. So a near-by job was a necessity." Troy concluded, "That's why I didn't go pro. I can't speak for why the others were dumb enough to follow me to the firm, however."

"If it's any consolation, pro isn't all the glamour it's cracked up to be."

"Really?"

"Yeah, there aren't as many free lap dances as you'd think."

"Nice," Troy chuckled.

"Seriously, I'm thinking about getting out of it soon. The whole party scene behind it has really tainted the sport for me."

"Well, here's a nice incentive for you," Troy bargained. "If you get yourself cleaned up and somehow find yourself interested in architecture, give me a call and I'm sure we can set something up."

"I'll keep it in mind, thank you."

"No problem. The firm could always use another Wildcat."

"Wildcat?" A familiar voice said from behind them, causing duo to jump and turn around.

"Rocket Man?" Chad gasped as Jason, Ryan, and Zeke entered the room behind him.

"Hey," Jimmie replied quietly. Zeke, Ryan, and Chad looked around the small, plain room at nothing in particular uncomfortably. Needless to say, this was not the most ideal place to run into an old classmate.

Jason, on the other hand, looked elated to run into his late teammate, "Rocket Man! What have you been up to, man?" The awkward question hanged in the air for a moment while Jason still had a dumb, excited smile plastered on his face, oblivious to the inappropriateness of his question.

"Jason," Zeke quietly sighed, exasperated. Meanwhile, Chad just face-palmed in embarrassment and frustration.

"What?" Jason asked.

Troy apologized for the interruption, "I'm sorry. You know how he is."

"It's alright," Jimmie said. "I'll give you guys some space."

Troy nodded to Jimmie in farewell as his three sheepishly entered further into the room.

"You guys can sit if you want." Troy offered.

Chad responded quickly, his voice nervous with his hands buried deep into his pockets anxiously, "We won't be long."

"Oh," Troy said, his tone slightly disheartened. He stood from his chair and walked behind it towards the guys. "I didn't know you guys were coming."

Zeke explained, "Just wanted to make sure you got settled in well."

"Well, here I am. Settled."

Jason stated casually, "That's good."

An awkward silence lingered in the air before Troy finally broke it, saying, "So, is that it?"

Chad said, "I suppose so. Unless," he shifted his weight to his other side, the discomfort for the situation still written on his face and movements, "I don't know…you wanted to talk?"

"I just did an hour of that." Troy shook his head decidedly, "So not really, no."

Zeke said, "Well, if you ever want to, you know how the cliché goes."

"Got it. Thanks, guys."

"No problem." Chad said as he spun on his heel towards the door in a quick fashion.

Jason said, "Hope you feel better," with a cheeky smile as he exited right behind Chad.

Troy waved goodbye to Ryan, and then turned around to push his chair back into the circle.

"Troy," Ryan spoke as he walked closer to Troy.

"Yeah, man?"

"Look," He glanced behind him to ensure nobody else was within earshot, then quietly, he spoke, "Chad's really concerned."

"I know."

"No, you don't."

A tense moment passed as Troy's eyes glared at Ryan's challengingly before Ryan continued, "You didn't see him earlier today. He's holding it in well now. But he's really, reallyconcerned. I mean, we all are. But you know, you two have always been the closest."

"Ryan," Troy raised a flat palm to him as he shook his head, "I know Chad." He said confidently, "I know he's concerned. Okay?"

Determined, Ryan pressed on, "I just wanted to make sure that you know that you're not the only one affected by this. You're not the only one you're hurting by being an alcoholic."

"Alright." Troy responded, not restricting the annoyance in his tone at all as he turned his back and crossed the room away from Ryan, evidently finished with their conversation.

"See ya later then," Ryan mumbled in defeat as he left.

Troy's eyes peered out the window and fell on a fellow patient as he flopped his chubby body into the outdoor pool with a splash. Not too far off, a counselor relaxed by the pool while reading the newest edition of a high fashion magazine. Two more patients were situated underneath the patio's cover, playing chess just right outside of his window.

His finer tips gently brushed over the thin layer of dust on the window seal as stroked the wooden frame. Flicking over the window's lock, he then cranked it open a just few inches. A warm, humid gust of wind maneuvered its way into the crisp, air-conditioned room. Breathing in the air from the Los Angeles suburbs was significantly lighter than that of the murky inner city air. It reminded him of what it was like to breathe in real fresh air, laced with the subtle earthiness of roasting campfires and dewy fallen leaves. Regardless of how clean and refreshing the air was that day, Troy could barely breathe the entire duration of the funeral.

Suddenly, saving him from the dark, resurfacing memories, he heard a crying woman entering the room. He turned around and immediately recognized the woman, "Mom?"

"Troy!" Lucile yelped out.

"Mom," he didn't sound comforting, but rather demanding as he said, "You don't need to cry."

The two met in the center of the room when suddenly, Lucile wrapped her arms around her son caringly. Troy was almost rigid underneath her embrace, evidently uncomfortable with the situation and attention.

"Oh Troy," Lucile spoke dismissively of his distant demeanor. "What ever happened?" Her hands gently lied over either side of Troy's face to gather his full attention. Her blue eyes, red where they should be white, pierced into his nearly identical eyes with intent and love. "What ever happened to my little baby boy?"

"Mother," He coldly spoke, grabbing her hands by the wrists and pulling her arms down to her sides, "Don't be so melodramatic."

"I'm worried sick about you! I'm your mom, Troy. I care about you!" She said, the actual worry gone from her voice and replaced with defense.

"Well, I'm fine," he said dismissively. "So there's nothing to worry about."

"That's such a lie, Troy!" She yelled in frustration for her son's rejection of her care and concern, "Stop acting like you're okay because obviously you're not or you wouldn't be in here. Alcoholics are not fine by definition."

Troy rolled his eyes at her words and begged, "Can you just stop making everything some big scene?"

"This isn't drama, Troy!" She snapped. The patience and love she once held in her worried eyes traded for fury as she reprimanded him, "This is emotion. Try showing a little sometime. You can't just deny them or chase them away with a bottle!"

"Oh my God, mom," he shook his head in disapproval. "You're so loud and theatrical, it's giving me a headache."

"You know what, Troy," Lucile began, the disappointment thick in her tone. "You push everyone further and further away everyday, Troy."

"No, it's not everyone. Anyway, I think visiting hours are over." Troy impatiently hinted for her to leave.

"Like father like son," Lucile gave her one final shot before leaving.

...

As he lay motionless in the dark room, his muscles slowly relaxing beneath the warm blankets, and he entertained the thought. If he were really being honest with himself, he could admit it was true. He was actively pushing his mother away and today was proof of that. But she was the one who abandoned him first. She filed for the divorce all those years ago, moved out, and relocated hours away from him and her ex-husband. It was she who started this distance, who commenced severing their attachment. And now she shows up in tears and expects to be welcomed back into his life with open arms?

Out of curiosity, Troy glanced over at the alarm clock on his nightstand after he felt that he was pondering far too much into the night. To much of his surprise and disappointment, the clock illuminated the numbers 2:31AM into his squinting, dry eyes. Habitually, Troy's mouth suddenly felt dry and yearned for nothing else beside a long swig of whiskey to quench his thirst and lull him off to sleep.

3:49AM. Troy repositioned himself and flipped around restlessly beneath the messy bundle of blankets. Grunts of frustration escaped from his dry mouth and into the warm pillow as his cravings for a drink grew stronger. But rolling around his bed and whining about his situation wouldn't make alcohol suddenly appear for him to enjoy, or rather, abuse. With the clock quickly approaching 4:00AM, Troy's harmful cravings were finally washed away by pure exhaustion. His body finally allowed relaxed into a deep sleep without the aid of alcohol for was the first time in nearly half a year.