Review Section

Krackerkat: Here you go! I'm finishing it. Well, almost.

Darksideme: Hey, now. I read all of my reviews. I'm glad I could do all of those things for you. I would offer up some advice, but I'm not sure it would do much good. But, hey, in this chapter, Ashley faces her past. Maybe you can, too.

.ashes.rising.: Aw, original alignments? That's so boring. I wouldn't be me without inflicting a little bit of torture… you know you liked it.

Myung: Yes, there is talking. Finally.

Author's Notes

Yay, last chapter! Well, if you don't count the epilogue. This has been a long time coming. I'm so glad to see this (almost) finished. It's been a long, hard road, but I managed to get there.

Disclaimer

Yeah, yeah… I don't own them. Yeah… that's shocking.

Anatomy Of A Tidal Wave

Chapter Ten

By Persephone's Nautical Nun

Ashley walked through the bleak, grey halls of the rehab center. Everything was grey. Maybe the doctors and nurses were afraid that color would cause a relapse, but she was itching to get coked up just to liven the place up a bit.

The first week and a half wasn't difficult. She had arrived with a conviction to get herself cleaned up, and it didn't look like that conviction was going to waver anytime soon. At least, until the withdrawal started to set in.

First came the cravings. That was okay. Her conviction to get clean, and the fact that there simply wasn't any around was enough to get her through that. After a time, however, she noticed a change in her behavior. She was irritable, and lashed out at anyone trying to help her, and had even managed to convince herself that the doctors were all out to get her.

It was only after her moods began to shift violently that she decided to ask for help; some kind of medicine to help stabilize her moods, and make her less jumpy. The response was always the same. A simple head shake was all she ever got. Her request wasn't even dignified by a verbal rejection.

Her therapy was a living hell, both single and group sessions. She was the youngest in her group, and all she ever heard from her "peers" was how she was just a whiny, spoiled brat. She supposed this was true. After all, she hadn't turned to drugs for some kind of release from her life. She didn't feel trapped. She had just used coke to feel good.

Her one-on-one sessions were much of the same. At first, her therapist worked diligently with her, trying to find the cause of the drug addiction. There was none, and he eventually just stopped listening. She wasn't saying anything of importance anyway.

Still, she talked. She talked more and more as the time went on. She fell into a deep depression, and thought it was the only way to keep her head above water, even if no one was listening, or even cared.

Sleep had become her best friend. She supposed it was one of the depression symptoms and that she should fight it, but she just didn't care. It felt good to sleep for hours on end, and just… not live.

Then, even that was taken away. She became restless and spent her nights walking around the rehab center. At least she wasn't alone. There were other random recoveries doing the same thing. She never spoke to them, but just being in their presence was enough to keep her from going insane.

I started to cry. I couldn't help it. I just couldn't talk anymore. I wanted to tell her about how much I thought about her, and missed her, and needed her in those days, but I just couldn't. The memories flooding back came at me like blows, and I just couldn't take it.

So, I cried. I let everything out, and clung to Spencer as though she was the only thing keeping me alive. Maybe she was.

And, Spencer. Oh, Spencer. I couldn't believe the way I had been treating her. She didn't deserve any of it. Yet, there she was, holding me just the way I needed to be held, and stroking my hair, and whispering something in my ear that I couldn't quite make out. It didn't matter. It calmed me down, anyway.

"I didn't know," she said, as I calm down a bit and look up at her. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

How could she have known? She couldn't. I never told her. "I should've told you," I said, shaking my head.

This had the potential to turn into one of those "My-fault-no-my-fault" kind of fights, so I did the only thing I could think of to keep that from happening. I kissed her. I kissed her, and I was reminded of the first time, because it was so gentle, and sweet. It was everything we used to be before we screwed it up so bad.

For the first time, I believed we'd be okay.