Dear Lucy,
I have news that I'm sure you'll be delighted to hear-they've given me a date of release: March 23rd, if all goes well.
It is, unfortunately, after your birthday, but perhaps you could consider it as a belated birthday gift. I don't doubt that my expedited release date has something to do with my sudden alacrity to actually attempt recovery, but Sam expressed to me that it was in part due to my father and your meddling as well. Conspiring with him, I see. You wound me, Baker. I've been tolerating this particular insipid mare in the therapy group, who has been bemoaning all of her problems outside of the center and you go behind my back and betray me with my father? Believe me, if I had no motivation to get out of here, I think I would have strangled her already with the amount of times she relays her same damn story. Even Bratwright's shallow insults towards me would be welcome, truly.
In the group today, we spoke of our motivators of getting sober and what it meant for all of us, since everyone here chooses to be here (mostly). I've tried to leave prematurely in the past, but my father always threw me back in since he has Barton and the whole Yard to utilize and managed to catch me every time. Never bothered escaping after that. That woman spoke of a child that was being cared for by her estranged husband, another of a career that he never got because his university days were plagued with the drug, and one more who expressed something about proving her family wrong. When it came to me, I was impressed at how easily I managed to relay the story of our correspondence and how that has become my new motivator.
If they had asked me prior to our letters, my answer would have probably been my career at the Yard and to see all of the innovative murders out there. That was my life, Baker. Murders, cocaine, and the Mystery Room. Sam smiled at me when I admitted my motivator and probably feels a sense of pride that he was the one who forced me to write that first 'Dear Whoever' to you. I scowled back but I have conceded to his victory here.
Everything has changed now.
I see no shame in telling you that I've never felt so...excited for something and that, much to my surprise, includes the times I've searched for my next fix. This rehab center is the very definition of a torturous hell for addicts like me, particularly during the first weeks. Every day, even during the lights out period back then, all I could think of was reaching for another needle. Six months, Lucy, of bags of white powder and a needle in every waking thought even as I trembled and had all the typical withdrawal symptoms. The itch is still present and will be for awhile but...there are other things on my mind now that I would have never thought of four years ago or perhaps ever.
The night nurse is calling for lights out, so I must cut this letter shorter than I would like if I want it sent to you in time. I await your next letter or phone call, whichever comes first.
Yours,
Alfendi Layton
