It is not I who became addicted, it is my body. – Jean Cocteau

So, apparently Whispering Pines enjoys the color white quite a bit. Especially white rooms. Not particularly surprising, but insanely unnerving. See, I can't even form real sentences, just fragments. Well, okay, that was a real sentence, but still. At any rate, I entered the room directly behind Kallias – I mean, Specs – and saw pretty much what I'd expected: about fifteen kids, girls and boys between the ages of sixteen and twenty, sitting in plastic chairs which formed a circular cage, looking bored and unhappy.

The woman, however, was something else entirely. Her frizzy red hair probably could have beat me in a fight – she could have been a smuggler, her orangey locks easily could hide at least two guns. Hell, illegal border-crossers could have fit into her mane. Her shirt, a horrid Vaudevillian-style affair, was the same shade of pink as most of the medicines in my cabinet back home. Fortunately, she wore a simple jean skirt underneath, so only half of her was frightening and overwhelming. Despite the multitude of make-up, however, I remained content with my assumption that the smile on her face was genuine.

"So, boys and girls, welcome to your first day of a new group counseling series. As many of you may know, every month with put you in with a different set of guests so you receive a different perspective. Assuredly you don't know everyone in the room since most activities are done with your counseling group, and there should not be anyone in here who previously shared a group. Knowing this, I prepared accordingly with a getting-to-know-you game." A groan resonated from seat to seat as the once unhappy kids now looked downright dejected; however, Medda managed to carry on without once allowing that grin to falter. "On this sheet of paper are statements. Your job is to fill in the name of a person who relates to each and have them initial beside it."

My eyes quickly scanned the page so that I could process the statements:

7. I know someone who has died from a narcotics overdose.
11. I have served time in jail.
12. I know all the words to the Fresh Prince of Bel Air theme song.

I almost laughed – it was good to see humor wasn't outlawed entirely at Whispering pines. But it also seemed like nothing was private information in the "community," either. Certain questions I just did not want to answer:

14. I am a virgin.

"But first, standard introductions! I'll begin. My name is Medda Larkson, and I'm your main advisor here at Whispering Pines. I've never polluted my body with any sort of toxin, nor have I ever harmed myself, or had an eating disorder; however, I've worked with many children who have so I'm sure I can answer all questions and help you completely until full recovery." I stared, a little overwhelmed by the haughty attitude. But then she smiled again and whispered into my ear, "Sorry, they record the sessions, and we're required to say these pre-memorized speeches." Then I noticed her finger aimed directly at me and chuckled nervously. "Sorry, but you're seated on the right hand of death," she informed me, unable to feign remorse due to her growing smile.

"So, my name is Jayce Taylor. Everyone calls me Dutchy which, while I'm not a fan of it, is what I'm used to, so you can use that name too. I'm seventeen and should be in my senior year of high school back home in Oak Lawn, which is a suburb of Dallas, Texas. I guess my main vice was E, but I've tried pretty much any other drug except heroin, though – something about needles really gets to me. I can't think of anything else of any real consequence." I was about to pass it along to the girl beside me, but I decided I had to get one more fact in. "And, I like to kiss boys."

A young-looking girl with ink-colored hair and almost cloudy green eyes was in the chair next to me, her legs folded oddly up underneath her. She took her cue to start talking, "I'm not entirely sure what I'm here for; I'd been in rehab for drug use before, and in an attempt to avoid drugs at parties I took up alcohol, and consequently I'm currently here for alcoholism, though they keep telling me it's an extension of the same issues, so I'm really just trying to figure out what those are. The name's Aidan Marten or Chicago, though, and I'm twenty-one years old as of last week." Her age was a surprise, though it made a bit more sense of her obvious lack of faith in any rehabilitation center.

"Well, Miss Marten, I hope we can help you out and get you back on the right track without driving you through yet another painful ordeal," Medda said honestly. She motioned to the next person, who happened to be a blonde boy in an eye-patch. Yes, an eye-patch.

"Louis Ballat. I'm nineteen years old a week from tomorrow. I'm missing an eye, what the hell do you think my problem is? Do I need to spell it out for you? C-U-T-T-I-N-G." He paused for a second from his rant, and it was evident Medda was about to interrupt. "Sorry, I came off as a bastard when I said that. I'm just tired and worn down, don't hate me. I promise it won't happen again." Okay, that guy was definitely a bit off. And when I say a bit I mean miles off. Then again, we are in an all-purpose rehabilitation center, so who am I to judge?

Before Medda could comment on this outburst, the next girl cut her off. The dye job was very noticeable on her raven black hair – in fact, it was probably done in a bathroom sink somewhere. "Cheri DeWolfe. Sixteen years old, and not exactly pleased with my current location." People laughed in agreement. "But of course, the police made me, so here I am. Yeah, you want to know why I'm here? I'm here, and that's all you need to know." This entire speech was delivered with an intimidating glare of her dark brown eyes, daring someone to question the lack of information.

Even Medda attempted to avoid confrontation by simply refusing to speak until the next person started speaking. "I'm not even going to get into my real name, just call me Specs." Apparently, Medda had given up commenting on everyone's introductions. "Cocaine was my downfall, in case you were wondering. And my father shipped me off here so it would seem he only had to deal with a spot of teenage rebellion. Wouldn't want to tarnish his precious reputation in society, now would we?" Ah ha, so my suspicions of Specs were correct. He was indeed a rich little boy snorting coke. But he spoke with a bitter edge, proving the other comment I'd made; he definitely did not like being the hoity-toity boy he'd been raised to be. "Oh, and kissing boys is fun, now ain't it, Dutchy?

And while I must say I'm a very well coordinated boy – after all, fencing does do something for your ability to control your body's movements – the instant those words freed themselves from Specs' mouth, which was now plastered with a devious smirk, I definitely lost all of that. My chair tipped backwards, crashing to the ground with an intense bang. Noting his smirk widening, I couldn't help from imitating the facial expression – this was going to be an interesting living arrangement, I could tell.

"Moving right along…" Medda said, but I could see a sparkle in her eyes as she hurried us into introducing the next girl in the room.

"Sli, Slider, Katrina, Kat, whatever you prefer," she said rapidly. An awkward shimmer was present in her brown irises as she spoke. "I'm one strange little cookie, that's for sure. I'm eighteen, messed up, and in desperate need of sugar." With that, she reached into the pockets of her tight jeans and pulled forth a red package of Starburst and began to help herself.

Speed addict, I could tell. And obviously fresh in, seeing as even though her physical dependency had waned, she was still psychologically craving the drug. Made me glad I'd never gotten actually addicted to anything; dealing with weaning yourself from a drug addiction seemed to be the worst part of rehabilitation. Unless, of course, she was doing it for dramatic effect, which I began to suspect when I saw a huge smirk she was hiding behind her hand.

A few more people were introduced, and I can scarcely remember their names. After these lovely little introductions, we proceeded to scamper around the room trying to get someone to fill out their name next to the forms. Apparently, we weren't allowed to use our own names in an effort to make us communicate, but it made this much more difficult – you couldn't just walk up to people and ask them a certain question.

"Oi, Dutch boy, are you a virgin?" Elizabeth Petty, I believe, though I'm pretty sure I was supposed to call her Serial, was standing before me, her sense of humor shining as she amused herself simply by asking me a question on the sheet. Despite the fact that I towered over her 5'3 frame, I couldn't help but feel slightly intimidated. Green eyes sparkling, she tapped her foot awaiting my answer.

Unsure of what to do, I followed my first impulse; I turned and walked away. The rest of the game carried on without incident and Shot let me be, though she smirked at every opportunity – in a jesting manner; she definitely knew the reason I'd walked away. After about twenty minutes of filling out the form, and getting ridiculously sidetracked, I looked down at my sheet:

I have a tattoo. – Accidence

I am of legal drinking age. – Chicago

There are more than seven televisions in my house. – Specs

My "issue" started before the age of fourteen. – Blink

I've been previously sent to rehab. – Chicago

In my mind, my parents are to blame for my "issue" – Frenchy

I know someone who has died from a narcotics overdose. – Serial

I'm the one who checked myself into Whispering Pines. –

Paying for my vice required me to do something illegal – Daniel/Snitch

I can't stand to be by myself for more than a few hours – Lost

I have served time in jail ­­– Sli

I know all the words to the Fresh Prince theme song. – Specs

At my old school kids used to beat me up. – Blink

I am a virgin –

I secretly enjoyed this exercise – Specs because of you, Dutchy

My reaction to the response for fifteen probably wasn't my greatest moment. Either way, I wasn't seeming to have much luck finding a virgin. Or someone who had checked themselves into rehab. And of course, since I was refusing to answer question fourteen in a relatively conspicuous fashion, that question was pretty much left blank throughout.

And on that note, morning group therapy was over, and fortunately there was an open hour to unpack and get around to meeting everyone before lunch. Fortunately, my roommate had already taken care of setting up his half of the room, so I could maintain some dignity while I unpacked. However, I'm not going to lie – I changed into what I considered to be one of my most flattering shirts, which happened to be a lot less flamboyant than most. It was a simple yet tight black t-shirt with a silver design, but the strip of stomach is showed off was impressively toned, I must say.

I headed in the direction of the large mass of kids, assuming that they were headed for the cafeteria, since I had no idea where I was going. But as I walked I noticed that a certain brunette beauty was walking off another way alone. I hastened my step and veered to the left to join him. As I walked up behind him I whispered in his ear, "Going somewhere?"

"I was hoping you'd follow," was all he said as he continued to lead me up a flight of stairs and back towards our bedroom. I was sincerely hoping that wasn't our destination, since I wasn't sure I could control myself around him now, and my wish was granted. We instead headed through another doorway past our own and up a small set of spiral stairs. Just the close proximity of our bodies sent chills through me; I feel the need to point out that it's not fair that non-virgins just don't seem to react to tension the same way. The steps carried us up two stories, and outside onto the roof. Maybe my expectations involved less than a brilliant seduction on the roof, but I was surprised to see what must have been nearly thirteen kids sitting on the roof eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and, evidently, arguing over whether Johnny Depp was hotter in Benny and Joon or Pirates of the Caribbean.

"Specsy, who's the new kid?" questioned a short Italian I hadn't seen yet. He grinned mischievously through a mop of curly black hair. Without waiting for a response, he continued, "He's pretty cute. You two can stay." Something about his face confused me, he didn't seem nearly as young as I initially thought; it was like watching someone's inner child invert itself, so that he looked young but was acting old. If that managed to make any sense.

"His name's Dutchy, he's new today. He's my roommate, so don't scare him off too soon," Specs responded. Somehow, despite hating having other people introduce me, just hearing the brunette say my name contented me.

I decided not to appear mute by asking, "What is this anyway? Some sort of secret society?" I laughed, but only slightly because it was impossible to determine the accuracy of my guess. However, one very tan, very beautifully sculpted boy stole my attention. He wasn't wearing a shirt, which was really quite distracting to me. However, little bitterness came over me when I saw him kissing that guy Blink from earlier today, I mean, I had Specs. Technically, I didn't have Specs, actually, but I would.

"Oi, new kid, focus. What we were trying to tell you is basically just that this is our safe haven. The counselors know we're up here, of course, which is why it's unlocked. But really only the ones who trust us enough to know we're not toking up. Basically, at the end of the day, it's relaxing to know you have somewhere you can come home too," the Serial explained once she gained my attention. I nodded, understanding the sentiment. "Anyway, I know introductions may be overwhelming you today, but you're going to hear them anyway. The one having his face practically mauled by Blink's tongue is Matthew, though most people call him Mush for reasons unknown. Our vertically challenged Italian friend would be Racetrack Higgins, while the girl sitting next to him is Artemis, or Art…" and so the introductions continued and Serial was right, I was overwhelmed. My brain probably retained about five names overall from that day, but I'd have quite a while to figure them all out. But the main reason why I remembered so few names involved a certain boy deciding to sit down next to me and set him hand on top of mine.

I lied earlier when I said that Specs seemed unable to smile; he seems to be downright grinning whenever he knows he's getting the better of me.

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A/N: Ok, here's the deal. I'm having trouble with female characters SO if you want to be in it let me know through email and mayhaps I'll kidnap your characters. Yeah. That's still allowed, right? Whatever. Don't report me.

Disclaimer still holds that anything you recognize probably isn't mine.