"About birth, as a man I could say, that I'm thankful for understanding these worries, cause I'm sharinging them with Sokkas character. You've described almost perfect the way I would feel in this situation in your answer." You're welcome! I feel like in parenthood both partners and their feelings should be acknowledged and respected. "It's is a bit like watching Mai (and the others too) hanging on a cliff and someone is breaking one finger after another until no more fingers are left and she will fall down in her doom." That's actually a pretty good analogy honestly. Tbh parents can either really help or make everything so much worse. "Cutting could be so hard to uncover, cause this silent cry for help often stays hidden until really bad things happen." Exactly, it's a really dangerous thing.
"But Toph too. Whatever this "doctor" has done, I fear she will not recover completly." Yes, her parents took a risk in going to someone who was less qualified but cheaper." "Maybe Mais parents would change minds about putting pressure on the BeiFongs after this shocking twist, but I think Ozai wouldn't let the leave the line." Tbh I'm still deciding how Mai's parents will approach things.
Zuko was furious, he thought that the man cared for him. But now he was sending him packing—in a sense anyways. He hadn't any belongings left to take anyways. He looked up at the building with nothing but distaste. And he looked at his uncle with more resentment than he has looked at anyone in a long time.
"You can't leave me here." Zuko asked. "You just started talking to me again." He was acting like a child and he knew it. He considered that this was exactly why Iroh had distanced himself from the family. Because of the drugs and the physical abuse. Because of the drama and the hatred. In a way Zuko understood, he had tried to run from it too. "I'm not going in there." He wanted to stay with his uncle. Even though his uncle was the source of his distress this time. "You can help me, I don't need them." He motioned to the building.
"Zuko, I have seen a lot of things in my time. I have learned a lot of things. One of the most important things that I've learned is to admit when there is something I don't know." He placed a hand on Zuko's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. "I don't know how to help you. I don't know anything about heroine."
"But you were a member of the White Lotus." Zuko protested.
"A group that did LSD to write music and make merry." Iroh replied. "I was in the group, yes, but I was a one-time user. Mostly, I supervised, made sure everyone was safe during their trips."
Zuko's face went red, it was bizarre to think of his uncle as a sort of designated driver at some wild party. It was weird to think of his uncle as anything but wise and introspective. "Can you at least stay with me on the first day?" He didn't want to be a wimp about this, but he was more afraid than he had ever been. "Can I have one last dose, just one more before…"
Iroh cut him off. "Zuko, I have watched you inject yourself for almost two weeks now. I can't watch it anymore and—more importantly—your body can't take much more. I want you to have a chance to succeed. Don't you want that for yourself?" He didn't give Zuko time to think. "You can't succeed if you are spending your money on drugs and getting mugged on the way home."
"One more injection! That's all I'm asking, I'm not asking to take three!" He snapped as Iroh tugged him towards the door. It had been nearly eight hours since the last time. Eight hours and he was already achy and anxious…and, as it would seem, agitated. The three A's of suffering. He thought of Azula. Why did all of the worst things start with A? "You can't make me go!" By then he had worked himself into a full on rage. How could Iroh, good-natured, caring, Iroh send him off like this without a second thought!?
"Zuko, you have to calm down." He followed his uncle's gaze to the officers on patrol. He could tell that they had zeroed in on his outburst. "You can either be an adult and go in there without a fuss or they'll force you in."
He didn't know what to do. He truly didn't want to go anywhere near that rehabilitation center, not on his own accord. But he sure as hell didn't want to be dragged in there like a barbarian waving a club. "I can't do this." He mumbled. He was much closer to tears than he wanted to admit. Because his muscles cramped all over, his stomach was lurching, and he knew it was only going to get worse. And because he knew that he'd be going through it in the company of strangers.
"Please let me do this at home." He tried one more time.
"I will be honest with you, nephew. You are an incredible man with more potential than I've seen in a while. But I can't trust you to refrain and I can't keep you from the needle if you really wanted it."
He knew that those were the words that would whisk him away to rehab. To deal with the worst of himself in the company of people he didn't know. He wanted to protest more, but Iroh had him by the arm and was leading him inside.
.oOo.
They had said that the first night would be the worst. He couldn't bring himself to believe them. Six or seven days they guessed. Six or seven days that he would suffer. Maybe at. Likely afterwards the feelings would come back months later. Maybe years.
He found it hard to warp his head around how terribly he'd fucked up this time. He clutched his abdomen as another round of cramping set in. He was going to be sick, but he didn't have the strength to actually move. He didn't have the motivation, his trips to the bathroom were frequent as it was—a far less savory symptom of his withdrawal. He may as well have popped a few laxatives. He didn't know which would be more humiliating, wrenching right then and there or not reaching the bathroom in time. If either played out, at least he wouldn't have a roommate to witness his mortification. No, he was alone in the room.
Just as he was alone in his torment. Sweating profusely and shaking all over he fought to keep himself together. But he can't, his world—as small as it had grown—was crumbling. Crumbling more than it already was.
He didn't have uncle anymore.
And those people, those dreadful people down the hall wouldn't let him have his fix either.
They wouldn't let him stay close enough to the bathroom.
They wouldn't let him have his phone call.
They wouldn't let him have anything.
Anything but suffering.
He wondered if they were getting kicks out of watching him struggle. With trembling hands, he felt for his phone. He remembered that he hadn't even brought it along for them to confiscate. Her recalled that he had left Mai hanging. He had been scared to answer her calls and now he wouldn't get the chance.
His chest constricted in fear and distress. Part of him thought that he would die there.
Alone.
In a rehabilitation center.
With his muscles cramping and his body drenched in sweat.
He would die as he lived; a complete mess. A screw up. He would die without having any achievements to his name and a novel of regrets. He would die a disappointment of a son and as an absent brother. And perhaps as an abusive ex-boyfriend.
He contemplates it for a moment, had he been abusive?
To some degree he is certain that the answer is yes.
And for it he decided that he was getting what he deserved. A shitty death for a shitty person.
Someone entered the room. "Zuko, this is Hahn. He has been clean for over a year now."
Zuko's eyes went wide at the thought of someone sticking around to witness him at his absolute lowest. But before he could tell them to take the boy away the nurse continued, "he is going to help you through this."
He didn't want help. He wanted his heroine. He wanted this all to stop. Most of all he wished that Iroh would have told him what he was in for before convincing him to get rid of the needles. He knew that he was in for a sleepless night and many more after that.
And he began to hate Iroh for manipulating him like so. Uncle, caring, sweet, uncle said that he was trying to do what was best for his nephew. He hardly thought that the hellish state that he was in was what was best.
"He can't help me." Zuko snarls through gritted teeth.
"The first night is always…"
"The worst!" Zuko filled in sharply. The crazed crack in his voice scared even him. A new painful pressure resonates about his entire body, finding the harshest intensity in his abdomen and he fell back against his mattress, clutching at the sheets as though they can muffle the pain.
"Once you fight through the first week, you'll be better off." Hahn assured. "Trust me. I had been doing heroine for about four years before I tried to get off of the stuff."
Four years.
Four years.
Zuko had only started about a year ago. He couldn't fathom having the strength to give it up after four years.
"Can I…?" He pointed at the bed across the room.
Zuko nodded.
"So, you got any bands you like?"
Desperate for any form of distraction, he replied.
Sweating violently, shaking, and terrified. Terrified and betrayed, he still felt safer and more comfortable that he was did with in his own home with Ozai only a few doors down. Drugs were safer and more comfortable than his father.
Withdrawal hurt less than his father.
He wondered, again, just why the world had dealt him such an awful hand.
He wished that he didn't push Mai away.
He wished that he could return her call.
He wished that he had listened to Azula's nagging. That he had listened to his own nagging conscious, the one that had screamed at him not to turn to heroine in the first place.
More than anything, he wished that his mother never left him.