Like always, thanks to my betas Sherry and Paige. I couldn't write this story without you two.

"I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut

My weakness is that I care too much

And my scars remind me that the past is real

I tear my heart open just to feel."

-Papa Roach-

EPOV:

I trudge toward the door, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. I don't know what my fucking problem is, but for some reason, the thought of being here makes me feel incredibly weak. I feel like some pussy who can't deal with their own problems. I felt that way with Howell at first, and it took me a long time to get comfortable going to my sessions with him. This is different.

What if I see someone I know? What if people judge my situation and don't accept me? What if being here only makes things worse for me? I stand outside the front doors and wish I had a cigarette. Something to ease my fucking stress. Jesus, just being here makes me want a drink. My hands begin to twitch at the thought of getting some nicotine. I need to call Bella, before I do anything stupid.

Just seeing Bella's face in my phone contacts calms me down. I put the phone against my ear and listen to it ring as I watch people walk from their cars to the door. They don't look like addicts, but then again, what do addicts really look like? They just look like normal men and women...just like me. I'm just happy I don't know anyone. I couldn't imagine running into someone I know at a place like this.

"Edward?"

Bella's voice makes me smile. God, I love her. I wish I would have brought her with me. She asked if I wanted her to tag along, but I didn't really know the rules of this place.

"Hey, baby. I just wanted to hear your voice."

I can imagine her smiling at my comment. Just the thought of her smile soothes me.

"How are things going?"

"I haven't gone inside yet," I admit.

"Edward, I'm sure your fears are unfounded. Everyone is nervous about these sorts of things their first time."

"I know you're right...it's just weird being here. I don't really think I have a problem."

"I know, Edward, but it might just be nice to talk about things. Get some things off of your chest."

I look at my watch, and it's almost six o'clock, almost time for the meeting to start. I swallow my pride and suppress my nervousness. "Fuck it," I say to myself. What's the worst that could possibly happen.

"I gotta go babe." I love you.

"Good luck, baby. You'll be fine. I'll be at home with Charlie, thinking about you."

I smile. "Tell Charlie I said hi."

"I will, baby. Good luck."

I hang up the phone, feeling much better than before. I'm so thankful for Bella. It's nice to know that I'm not alone in the world anymore. I don't know if I would be able to do this without her support. I wonder how I survived without her for so long. Since she's came into my life, it's felt as though she was always meant to be by my side.

My nerves return as I open the door and begin to make my way down the church halls. This was the closest venue from my apartment, but for some reason, being inside a church has always frightened me. I don't know when it started, but going to church with my mom always taught me to be fearful of God. She used to threaten me after mass, saying that if I kept up with my bad behavior I would go straight to hell. I hated myself growing up, which made it easier to believe her words.

I think I could have gotten better sooner if I had cared about myself. When you don't give a fuck about yourself, you don't exactly envision having a future. I honestly didn't think I would live this long. Considering the path I was going down, I should have died a long time ago. Now that I'm alive and healthy, there are so many new possibilities for my future. I can have a good job, I can have a family, and I can do it all completely sober.

The meeting is set up in a Sunday school room. There are kid's drawings all over the walls and bible verses on the whiteboard. These meetings aren't religious, they take place in locations like this because they are convenient and affordable, but that doesn't mean the idea of God isn't looming over me. I take a seat in the very back, away from everyone else. I don't look around, or try to make conversation, and sit in silence as I wait for the meeting to start.

Instead of looking at the people attending, my eyes scan the walls. I remember drawing pictures like these. My dad used to collect every drawing I did in Sunday school. He was always so proud of me.Regardless of the choices I made. I look at the verses on the wall, and come across one I actually recognize.

"The pain that you've been feeling, can't compare to the joy that's coming" - Romans 8:18

Fuck, how I wish that were true.

I look away from the verse and watch people take their seats. It's an interesting mix of people, from young to old and wealthy to poor. I guess addiction doesn't discriminate. I watch the door as the last people trickle through, and I'm shocked to find a face I know.

Paul walks through the door with his hands in the pockets of his jeans and his eyes cast down. What the fuck is he doing here? I didn't know he had a problem. Knowing my past, you'd think he would have mentioned something like that to me. I almost stand up, wanting to go talk to him to figure shit out, but the man who is leading the meeting comes through the door with a binder in hand.

Paul takes a seat a few rows up, and I'm surprised that he didn't notice me. The man starts the meeting, but I'm too busy wondering about Paul to listen to him. Paul looks so messed up, so different from the last time I saw him. Perhaps that was all an act before, and this is what he's really like. Or maybe these meetings just bring out a lot of emotions for him. Either way, I'm completely transfixed by him and I promise myself that I will try to talk to him after the meeting.

My thoughts are interrupted when the leader of the meeting invites a man to the podium. The man appears to be in his twenties, but he looks older. His skin is scarred from constant scratching and his eyes are sunken. It's hard to look at him. I know this is probably this man at his best and I can't imagine what he looked like at his worst.

"I'm Daniel, and I'm an alcoholic."

Everyone greets him and I remain silent, at a loss for words.

"My biggest excuse had always been 'tomorrow'. I always said 'I'll stop tomorrow. I'll get help tomorrow.' Tomorrow never came...until my father died. I hadn't seen him in years. I used to hate him. Once he stopped supporting my habits, I stopped talking to him. I had been drinking and using cocaine with my girlfriend and we would steal to support our habit. I pawned everything I had, and when I ran out of stuff, I would steal from my family and pawn that. I even pawned my mother's wedding ring, just so I would have money to support my addiction.

When my dad died, my world came to a halt. Instead of going home to mourn with my family, I decided to get drunk and I ended up wrapped around a tree. I was sitting in jail when my father's funeral took place. I was having withdrawals and the knowledge that my father was really gone begun to sink in. I would never get the chance to fix my relationship with him. I would never be able to tell him I loved him. My last words to my father were that I hated him. I'll never be able to take that back, no matter how much I wish I could.

I have been sober for four months now. I know that if my dad was looking down at me now, he would be proud of me. I'm doing this for him, but I'm also doing this for myself. I was tired of letting people in my life down...I was tired of letting myself down. I'm just so thankful I had the support and confidence to change."

I listen to his story and tear up as I try to remember what my last words were to my brother. I wish I hadn't been fucking high at the time, because the drugs have messed with my memory. I remember our conversation, but it's hazy. He had called me, asking me to come home for the summer and spend some time with him. Really, I think he was just worried for me.

"Man, it will be like old times," Seth says, trying his best to sound convincing.

"Dude, I can't now. You know I don't have the money to get back home."

"You still sleeping on your friend's couch?" Seth questions. "Man, just swallow your pride and come back home. I have a guest room and you're more than welcome to use it. Besides, I want you to meet your nephew. You're going to love Charlie."

"I'm not good with babies, Seth. I'll come home soon. I promise."

"Fine," he sighs, and I can tell he's disappointed. "I love you, man."

I've never been one to get all affectionate, and I really hate talking about my feelings, but something inside me forces the words out before I can stop them.

"I love you too, brother."

I'm so fucking thankful I got to tell my brother I loved him. I wish I could remember more. But everything is so fucking fuzzy.

A few more people speak after Daniel, and their stories are very similar and just as sad. I watch Paul, wanting to hear what he has to say. However, he doesn't rise from his seat and keeps his head down.

The meeting comes to a close and people begin to filter out. Some stay around and enjoy the refreshments, a bottle of lemonade and Pepsi and a few assortments of cookies from a grocery store. I make my way past the table and try to catch up with Paul, who is weaving his way around people and toward the door. I jog after him and try to keep up. I'm stopped a few times by other members, and I mumble an apology before continuing on.

"Paul!" I call out, as soon as we reach the parking lot.

He turns to look at me, but doesn't stop. Instead, he picks up his pace and practically throws himself into his car before taking off.

What the fuck was that?

A/N: Song- "Scars" by Papa Roach