WARNING: A disturbing story will be told when Bella is in the "Circle" meeting. I will also post a warning within the story in bold font. I will also write when that story ends, I will write "END*****" so that anyone who did not want to read it can pick back up.

I'm posting a chapter today because I wasn't able to post last Thursday. I will also be posting again this upcoming Thursday.

If you are fighting to overcome an addiction or disease of any kind: keep fighting. You are in my prayers. It will all be worth it and you have the strength inside of yourself even if you think you don't. You are not alone. At least one other person in this world believes in you and that's me.

"I can't help you if you don't want to help yourself, Isabella," doctor Margaret whispers softly.

"It's not that I don't want help. I'm just angry. I can't see past what they did to me."

"What did they do?" she asks

"They left me here. They betrayed me."

"Isabella you are in a recovery facility. How is it betrayal if they wanted you to get better?"

"They did this on purpose. They locked me away so I could be together."

"Do you really think that's true?"

I know it's not true. I know it's not true. Rose is our sister. That's what Edward and I were always saying, but I don't fucking trust them anymore. I can't after this.

"No," I confess

"They brought you here so you could get help Isabella. They were willing to accept that you would hate them if it meant you could get better. I want you to think about that today."

"Whatever," I snap.

It's all I think about all damn day.

Fuck you, Margaret.

"I want my ring back. I don't want to see you, but I want my ring back. It's you and not you at the same time- and I don't fucking know, but please just send me my ring back."
"Okay," he whispers gently.

We just sit there listening to each other breath. I close my eyes and get lost in him.

Circle time makes me feel some kind of way. I hate that they call it "circle time". It's embarrassing. We're not in the third grade.

"Welcome to circle time, everyone! We are here to discuss anything you guys want: goals, struggles, loneliness- and it all stays in this room. Remember you can't talk without the talking stick." When Crystal finishes her daily speech she smiles at all of us for an awkward amount of time.

I'm surprised when someone raises their hand for the talking stick immediately. It's usually a solid five minutes before someone works up the nerve.

It's this girl named Beth. Her hands shake as she grabs the stick. I hate when people are embarrassed because it makes me embarrassed too.

"Hey, guys."

"Hey, Beth." We all say.

"I'm having a really terrible day. Today marks two years-"she sucks in a harsh breath and her eyes start watering." She takes some deep breaths and starts when she's ready, again. "A year since I lost my daughter Samantha." Her sobs are ugly and harsh and they make my stomach twist.

(Warning: Beth's story will be disturbing) Start****

"Whenever you're ready, Beth" Crystal says encouragingly.

"My ex-husband was an asshole. I divorced him after I had Beth because I didn't want her to grow up with an alcoholic in the house. But one day, this one day, I was so fucking ready to binge and there wasn't a babysitter or a family member I could call to watch her. So I called her fucking dad. I called her fucking alcoholic dad. He pulled up in his red mustang. He was sober when he picked her up, as he usually was in the morning. But I convinced myself that he was fine. I remember exactly what I ate. So much fucking pasta and so much fucking ice cream. I binged and I purged and I purged and I binged. I felt so fucking far away and it was fantastic. I lost myself for 5 hours. "

She stops to wipe her face, but it's no use. There is snot everywhere, and wiping it just makes it worse.

"I live about five minutes away from a hospital, so I always hear when the ambulances go by and I'm so used to it that they don't bother me. But this day I knew. Something told me this ambulance was for my Sammy." Now she's jabbing the talking stick into her leg over and over again.

"And there was that red mustang. Shiny and all twisted around a tree. My ex was dead when I got there, but I didn't care. I kept asking if Sammy was okay and they kept telling me they hadn't found her yet and it didn't register to me that her car seat was empty. He didn't strap her in, so she was ejected."

Cries of agony erupt around the room. I have to cover my mouth so I don't throw up.

"I went to the police and told them what I did. They kept telling me that there was no way for me to know that he was still a drunk since we hadn't been in contact since that, but they were wrong. A part of me fucking knew. They just kept playing it down because they thought I was blinded by grief and that I was trying to blame myself. But it definitely was my fault and I should have gone to fucking jail!"

End*****

"Sammy is dead because of me. I chose this disease over Sammy. I want everyone in this fucking room to listen up: This shit doesn't just hurt us, it destroys everyone around us. I will never get to see my little girl again, but I fucking owe it to her to become the woman who she should have had as a mother. I'm going to fight the fuck out of this thing. "

My hand flies into the air for the talking stick and I know everyone thinks it's so inappropriate. With a shaky hand Beth passes it to me.

"I'm going to fucking fight with you, Beth."

For the first time in months, I feel strength. Just a sliver of it, but it's fucking there.