I suck at updating. I am so sorry. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! I hope it was awesome for everyone! Now onto this new chapter! It was a bitch to write, and editing was even worse. I really dont like it. I personally hate writing a lot of dialogue (just a personal goal of mine, don't do a lot of dialogue. Ish strange :p), and this one needed a lot of talking... :/ Also, any errors are all my own! Sorry in advance :)

Thank you to Layra (Thank you so much for the review! Hope you enjoy this one! It means alot :) And Happy New Year! ), AkireAlev (I hate Evan too! He's a dick! But he brings a lot of angst, which does make me happy, personally :p so he evens out for me :p Thank you for the review! I hope you like this Chapter! Happy New Year!), Barbed Wire Halo (Thank you so much! Hearing that it's good means so much! And yah, me neither! He's a dick, but he brings angst = me happy :p. Thank you for he review! Hope you like this chapter and Happy New Year!), annabellex2 (It is sad, but the subject topic is sad, so I wanted to keep it realistic = situation is sad :( BUT, it does get better, quite soon actually! Yay! I hope you're liking it, and I hope you like this chapter! Thanks for the review, and Happy New Years!)

Disclaimer: I do not own Big Time Rush

(Kendall's POV)

"Hello, Kendall. I'm Dr. Conner. If you follow me down the hall, we can begin our session."

The chirp of the woman's voice starts off so merrily, it's ridiculous. She's only using that kind voice so I will allow myself to 'trust her', only so she can later weasel her way around my brain and figure out all the problems that is 'Kendall'. Oh joy…. I don't even know this woman…. She could be an elderly psychopathic killer for all I know…. Or a man…. She could be an old blond, skinny woman disguised as a man, who is secretly a psychopathic killer. Thinking about that, I have a sudden urge to watch 'American Psycho'. Haha, that's a good film.

The older woman stares at me with a polite grin while she rolls out her hand for me to shake. I take it, but I roll my eyes at her immediately when she turns. I have to hold in my annoyed groan as I walk behind her into a small professional room with one of those damned, little, stupid ass couches that the victim lays on while the psychiatrist repeatedly asks, 'And how does that make you feel?'.

Awesome.

It's been a week since Logan and Carlos practically black mailed me into doing this. I was drunk, and I couldn't have made a proper consent to allow 'my friends' to force me through this hell hole that is called recovery, which I really don't think I need.

They forced me into an AA group a few days ago. Carlos practically laid himself over top of me like a seatbelt so I wouldn't walk away mid therapy session. Even with his, umm… help? The AA group didn't do much for me.

The next day, Logan thought it would be a good idea for me get a check-up, just in case the years of drinking really have taken a toll; thus, he took me to a doctor, who after a few minor 50 questions, and a full body check (body reactions and stupid shit like that), decided to get me an x-ray.

... Yah. Those pictures didn't come back too positive, but, hey! I'm still alive! I just have a high risk of liver failure when I'm older (and by older I mean it could happen when I'm two months older from now if I keep drinking…) But anywho, with the risk of death lingering around, my life is going fan-fucking-tastic right now, isn't it?

But, on the positive side, I'm sure there's plenty of reasons as to why my liver looks the way it does! I mean, I have been hanging out with James a lot. And he has smoked at least two cigarettes in front of me.

That could be the problem, right?

Right?

The older woman gestures me to sit down on the large comfortable arm chair that's always used in movies for these types of scenarios. She sits opposite of me, legs crossed and just over all way too professional. Truthfully, she reminds me of those creepy ass cougars from our BTR days.

My mind is inwardly yelling at me, "Psychopathic killer! Psychopathic killer!"

She smiles sweetly, her ponytail waving to and fro. Looking at me, she begins the session.

"It says here you're in today for a possible addiction to alcohol?" The idiot psychologist says, cutting right to the chase. Well, that leaves little to no room for discussion.

"Possible, yes." I start off slowly. I cross my legs, and begin to chew on my bottom lip warily. My eyes wander away from this creep in front of me, almost like I'm ashamed to even be accused of being an alcoholic. But in mere seconds, an idea comes to my mind. Instead of looking weak, I straighten my back and uncross my legs. With a pleasureably wicked smile, I say, "My friends are worried because they think I have a problem, and I'm just here to get clarification that I don't and so I can stop their worrying." I reply also way too professionally. Two can play at this game, Mrs. Conner.

She looks over the sheet of paper of my recommendation. "Yes, well, Dr. Mitchell is a very busy and stressed out man as it is. It would be kind of us if we could relieve some of his stress. But, on that topic, may I ask how you and Dr. Mitchell are friends, Kendall?"

... Now that just seems a little too easy.

My eyebrow arches with confusion, wondering what kind of information she could withdraw from me talking about Logan.

"O-okay. Well, me and Logan, along with our two other friends, were best friends back in Minnesota. Logan joined our group in grade 3. He moved to town and we saved him from being beaten up the town bullies. We've been friends ever since. Oh, and our other friend, James, he always wanted to be famous, get out of town, travel the world and have the biggest show in Singapore ever." I end the sentence with a smile.

"Singapore?"

I laugh at that one as well, the look on her face is priceless. I understand, I mean, out of everywhere in the world, just- Singapore?

My Diamond buddy has always been a strange one.

"Strange, huh? Anyways, this record producer came to our hometown, and we brought James to an audition, but I was the one who made the cut. He wasn't very happy about it at first, but after a lot of thinking and an argument with Gustavo, I managed to convince him to bring us all to LA and make us a boy band. I mean, it was James' dream, not mine, but still; if we all could live it, why not?"

Dr. Conner nods her head, her blond ponytail continuing to sway as she writes down some notes. She bites her lips and glances back towards me, putting the ball-point pen down on her sheet of paper.

"Can you describe your other friends to me, Kendall?" She asks politely, and, albeit a little bit hesitant, I nod in agreement. Slowly, I start with an intake of breath and looking down while I fiddle my thumbs.

"Well, Carlos is our crazy friend. He'll do anything for a rush, but he's also really innocent, so he doesn't understand much. He can definitely be the rock for us at times. Let's say if I'm in a fight with Logan and James, he's the one we go to. He can be really good at listening when we need him to be, he's good for that."

"And you keep mentioning James' name. Can you tell me more about him?"

A sad smile appears on my face as I giggle yet again and the mention of his name. "James. How can you even begin to describe James? Well, for one, he's always wanted to be famous. He loves attention, his reflection, his hair, his body, his clothes, his lucky comb. He loves anything that is about him. He could be selfish, and arrogant, and an egotistical bastard at times, but he was also one the best friends a guy could ask for. No matter what he was doing, he always dropped a date or a practice to help one of us. He was the one I always went to first for advice. We met before preschool, and we met Carlitos in Grade 1. So me and James have been together the longest."

I sigh, placing my hands against my kneecaps and rubbing the jean cloth thoughtfully.

"I, he- There's just so much to him, you know? He loves to cook, he's a great chef, but he's always worried about calories. He was constantly called a girl or gay during High School, and it hurt him but it never brought him down. I always found that admirable. He loves to run, sing, dance and act. He loves to cuddle, and he loves chick flicks, but he's changed into somebody that I don't know anymore. He's living with us now, and we still have to go pick up his stuff from his old house, but he's different now, more sad and depressed. It's like all the rude comments finally got to him... I don't know. I just really miss my old friend."

The woman is writing a vast assortment of things down with that stupid little black pen, glancing between me and the clipboard. As soon as she finishes whatever the hell she's writing, she glances towards me, and suddeny switches the topic away from my friends.

"And what about your parents, what can you tell me about them?"

I don't want to. I really don't want to. But if I'm trying to prove my insanity and sobriety, I have to answer all of these damned questions being thrown my way. So, I take a gulp of breath, trying to round my thoughts away from my friends and towards my family. It comes slowly, and Dr. Conner waits patiently to come up for an answer.

"My parents are great people, they really are. They love me and support me through everything. My Mom is always phoning me, asking me if I'm getting enough exercise and food. She worries a lot. So does my little sister, but not nearly as much." I say with a casual laugh, which only forces Dr. Fucking Conner to arch an eyebrow at me strangely.

"And what about your Father?"

At this, I simply shrug.

"My Father is the exact same." I say quickly. "He's a well known pilot, so he was away a lot growing up, which is why he couldn't come to LA with us. But he came to as many shows as he could, and he phoned me every night. He's great, he's just upset that he couldn't be home as much as he would have liked to have been."

"Any grandparents? Cousins? Aunts or Uncles that may have impacted your life?"

I shake my head, glancing towards a window. "N-no. Not really. I mean, I saw my family at every special occasion, and my Mom is very family oriented, but when Big Time Rush came out, it just became more difficult. And for my Grandparents, well, both sides are very religious and are very passionate about their beliefs. They're the type of people who like to shove their ideas down your throat. Like, they completely believe that homosexuality is a sin, tattoos are a sin, shaving your head is a sin. They HAVE to have wine and crackers every Sunday along with a three hour long service and read the bible immedietly afterwards. They devote their life to God, and while I'm okay with that, because that's their beliefs, it's not my life. I never really got into religion myself."

Dr. Conner watches every move I make while I speak, her hardened gaze never faultering. "Mhmm, and what can you tell me about your latest job as being a part of the Minnesota Wild?"

I perk up at this change of topic; this is something I could about for hours.

"Now that was always my dream. I've always played hockey, ever since my Dad first taught me how to hold a stick when I was 6 months old."

Dr. Conner quirks an eyebrow at me quizzically so I just laugh while I explain.

"There are pictures. But yah, hockey has almost always been my life. If I ever have a bad day, I head off to the rink for a few skates around the arena and practice some slap shots or new moves."

"You seem like you love it."

"I do,"

"And what about your team? Do you get along with them?"

"Oh yah!" I say with exasperation. There isn't too much to complain about there. "They're great. I mean, they call me pansy or fag once in a blue moon because I was in a boy band, but it doesn't get me down, it's just playful teasing."

'Liar! Liar! Liar!' The voice in my head yells at me.

I give a sheepish laugh, shaking my head and blink a few times, trying to regain my own thoughts. "I remember when I first started on the Minnesota Wild; I wasn't much of a partier. I always thought that if I wanted in the big leagues, I could never drink, smoke or do drugs, or else my dream would have been thrown away. I just couldn't risk it. But when I started with my team, the guys always took me out for drinks after every practice, every weekend, after every game. It was a celebration. I didn't understand how people could drink that much every day, but they did. And eventually, I got used to it as well."

The woman nods, seemingly to understand. "How much did you drink before you started your position on the wild?"

I only shrug. "Once in a blue moon. Maybe a party or two a year? It was never something I liked doing. I liked having control. With alcohol, all of that control just seeps away, and it scared me."

"And how much would you say you drink now?"

I shrug, once again crossing my legs and biting my lip. "I'll admit that I drink fairly regularly, but nothing to an alcoholics standards. I'll have a glass or two a day of anything. It's just a nice way to relax." I blink a few times timidly, and once again, the voice yells, 'Liar! Liar! Liar!'

I glance at the clock and sigh loudly, realizing that I only have 10 minutes until I can leave.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Conner, but what does this have to do with helping me?"

The woman sighs, crossing her legs and putting down her abundance of notes that she had taken during the 50 minutes I've been talking. It was almost scary how many she had taken. I mean, is that normal?

"Well, Kendall," She begins slowly, rolling her wrist as if she just needs something to do while she talks to me. Or maybe she has arthritis and needs to do that…. You never know, this woman is old.

She's like 55 or something.

"Right now I'm just trying to get to know you better. Understand you and where you're coming from. You can learn a lot from a person in an hour."

I nod, wanting her to continue on, since her answer was not the one I wanted. Do I really have to spoon-feed her to get her to tell me the information? I just want her to tell me that I'm not an alcoholic so I can shove the news into my friends' faces.

She glances at me with confusion, and I only become more flustered in my seat. God, how did this idiot of a woman get a degree and is working? It just doesn't seem right. "Right, and what have you learned about me?"

"Plenty. You become almost giddy when you talk about your job, and it's obvious that you love it and miss it very much. It's a passion. You flinched three times when I mentioned your family, specifically anything focusing on religion. You cross your legs and bite your lips when we brought up alcohol, each and every single time, as if you needed it right then and there, that you wanted it subconsciously. You act natural when you talked about Logan and Carlos, but you brightened up immensely when you talked about James. You played with your fingers whenever I say your own name, as if you're embarrassed by it. And you blinked three times every time you lied. Like when I asked about the drinking. You can learn a lot by just simple observations, Mr. Knight.

I blink again, this time noting my blinks.

"... What?"

Is that really all I can say? 'What'?

"Kendall, you can take what I say with a grain of salt, but from everything you've told me today and everything I've been told by Dr. Mitchell, I do believe you have an addiction to alcohol. I believe that you became physically addicted when you tried to drink alongside your teammates on the Minnesota Wild, and after a while the alcohol changed your brain chemistry, forcing you into this change where nothing seems good or positive. The alcohol changed you, you yourself had nothing to do with it. I would like to recommend you to a specialist and possibly an AA group, but I can't force you to do anything. This is your choice, no one else's. If you don't agree with me or your friends, then that's alright. But I do think it would be for the best."

When I make it back to the apartment after the session, the first thing I do is avoid Logan's and Carlos' hesitant stares as I make my way to my room. James is probably just finishing the end of his shift, stripping and teasing men, so I have the small room completely to myself for now.

The fact that I get riled up and angry when I even mention his job makes what Dr. Conner said a little bit more truthful.

I grab my cell phone from my back pocket, dialing a number that I haven't called since I left.

The phone's ringing blares into my eardrums, and the instant someone picks up, my heart stops.

"Kendall?" He asks gently.

"H-hey, Coach. Listen, I have something to discuss with you."

I can hear the man sigh from the other end of the line. He begins yelling at my team to continue doing laps before he removes himself from the loud environment of the rink. A few minutes pass, and a door shuts on the other end, signalling that he's now in his office.

"Okay, Knight. I'm open ears."

I stammer. I fucking stammer while trying to tell him what needs to be said.

"C-coach, I-I've been doing some thinking." My voice is stuttering like a fucking scared child's would if they were attacked by the boogeyman. What the actual fuck!

"I'm taking the season off." I state, slamming my foot on the floor to get some damned courage into me and stop that fucking shaking.

"What?" He yells incredulously, but there's a hint that this isn't surprising. It's almost as if he's trying to fake his astonished tone. "You're on the top of your game right now, why would you want to eave, Knight?"

"Coach, it's just- my friends are worried about me. They sent me to a shrink today, and what she says, I guess, sort of makes sense. I think I'm addicted to alcohol, and my health is my main concern. I don't want to do anything that's going to end up putting me in a coffin earlier then I have to be, so to make sure that never happens, I'm going to stay with my friends for the time being. I'm taking up some classes and my friend recommended a psychologist. I'm getting help, Coach... And as much as I want to play this season, I'm more worried about myself right now, instead of my job…. Do you understand where I'm coming from?"

Oh please, please understand!

I hear him take a few breaths on the other end. They almost sound like sighs of relief.

"I'm proud of you, Knight. I was hoping this little trip would get your act together. I hoped it would be shorter, but you do what you gotta do. You'll always have a spot on this team as long as I'm around."

I shell-shocked. I can barely move. "Wait- What?"

The older man laughs kindly on the other end of the line, and I can tell that he's cleaning up his work desk at the same time. The man always has to be doing two tasks at once to keep his attention occupied.

"I figured you were having difficulties, and truthfully, I thought you lied about your friend's death. Don't worry, I've heard worse from people in your situation, so it could have been valid. I thought you were actually just going to rehab in secret, but apparently I was wrong. But, that's besides the point. You're getting help now, Knight. You have no idea how proud I am; just remember, Minnesota Wild is the light at the end of the tunnel whenever the going gets tough. Alcohol addiction isn't an easy thing to conquer."

I turn my head when the bedroom door slowly begins to open. I see James peek his head in, tired yet happy. He tries to remain quiet as he tiptoes into the room and begins to raid the wardrobe, looking for one of my overly large shirts to wear for the night before quickly changing. I sigh in relief as I turn away to give him privacy.

I'm just happy he's home.

And since he's grabbing a nightshirt, I assume he's going to try to sleep sooner earlier than 5 am in the morning, when his usual shifts end.

Is it sad to say that I kind of love how he uses my clothes for nightwear?

Logan must have told him to keep quiet, since I'm usually blantantly loud when I'm on the phone, and hate when others interrupt me. But it's kind of cute how James is trying his hardest to stay quiet, even as he bangs into the side of the desk, he tries his hardest to his yelp down. I notice how my nightshirt falls lazily off his skinny shoulder.

I really need to take him shopping, my outfits are like, 8 sizes too big for his skinny-assed little body.

While I listen to my Coach go off about how he'll miss me this season, how he's so proud, and please, just remember the light at the end of the tunnel, I can't help but smile as I watch James move into our bed and underneath the covers, almost looking healthier then he has in a long while.

Watching James close his eyes, I say with a truthful smile, "I have multiple lights at the end of my tunnel, Coach. I have plenty of reasons to get over this, but thank you for understanding. I really appreciate it."