Boys.

SEVEN

*Mention of rape and abuse*

Time skip of 3 months...

NICK POV

I checked myself into a rehabilitation center two months ago and for the past few weeks, I've been staying in a group home for recovering drug and alcohol addicts or someone who's recently gotten out of rehabilitation. It's kinda like a sober living home but I'm not in the position to live independently. I stay at my own house with my mom twice a month.

Ma is just waiting at home for me to come back fully whenever I feel I'm ready.

Actually, all my friends and anyone who may be fond of me might be waiting for me to come back home. I haven't been to school and have done my studies online or my therapists have checked in with my teachers to oversee my work.

I've mainly been focusing on myself and not touching those drugs ever again. If I relapse, then all of this wouldn't matter. I'd just waste my time here for nothing and I don't plan on that happening. Not to mention, I'd disappoint my mom more than I've already have.

When I came to her about everything, she cried and prayed for me to overcome this. Immediately we went to go see someone and got advice from a few doctors. And after I gave my mom that last hug for a while as I stood outside this building, I knew I had to straighten out.

I couldn't leave her alone or break her heart. It wouldn't be right for me to leave her so broken whilst I'm around laying on the floor from a high that lasts only so long.

One thing I can admit is that this was harder than anything I've ever done. I knew there would be struggle getting off the drugs completely but the temptation of smoking or snorting something came every day. I remember one day I acted out so bad because I couldn't even smoke one blunt and they had to restrain me.

It was out of character and all to get something in my lungs. I lashed out and that was my first setback. Then it was talking to my main therapist about why.

Why am I like this? Why did I do this? Why am I constantly hurting myself in this way as if the drugs were gonna be my way out when all they did was close me in a box even more...

"So Nick, we know what we're here for. Is there anything you want to share beforehand?"

I just looked up at her before returning my gaze back to my lap. Of course, there's something I want to share but not completely, not to a stranger. I know she's here to help me but imagine how shameful I feel to share all of my issues like this. To let a random in on my issues. She may have a license that says she knows what she's talking about or that she can appeal to what I feel but it's too intimate.

"Nothing. Can we go ahead and start?", I replied shortly as I heard a short chuckle.

"We have nothing but the time. I just ask for your cooperation."

She didn't get much cooperation out of me that day and it took two weeks to be able to get completely comfortable with speaking. Over time, two sentences turned into our entire session with me ranting and her writing things and interrupting when she could to try to translate all my feelings. She'd sometimes put things in a simpler expression than I could or make me take a whole new outlook on things.

"Nick dear, we've discussed the relations between you and Zion. We've discussed how you feel as though Zion is one of the reasons for your continued usage of drugs. We've also brought up many topics that you classify as a possible stigma to you getting better and therefore reverting your direction of health. It's time to get past those now. These happenings in your life—drama if you will—it only fuels so much and glosses itself over as your reasons for your actions but that's not entirely true."