You Must Be the One

Gold & Silver 2/3

You could be my silver spring
Blue-green colors flashin'
I would be your only dream
Your shinin' autumn ocean crashin'

At the end of the meeting, the majority of the room stayed for coffee and conversation, neither of which she was big on, at least not in these specific circumstances.

Tonight, though, she lingered. She didn't have to ask herself why. As much as she should've bolted and she fucking knew it, that invisible pull made her unable to move a muscle.

But she was all raw nerves, fingers shaking and itching for a cigarette whenever someone came close, even if it was just to say a quick hello.

"Hey, Stefani," Regina saddled up to her, clutching a styrofoam cup of coffee and a muffin tucked into a napkin. "You having some?" She gestured to the pastries arranged nearly on a red plastic tray on the folding table.

"Um, no thanks, I'm good."

"You doing okay?" Regina tugs on one of her braids, moving in to whisper conspiratorially, "I know I'm not supposed to ask, but how's it going with Sam?"

Her bluntness had a tendency to get her in trouble, so she paused to think about her answer.

"Well, it was just that initial meeting yesterday. So, it's hard to tell."

Behind her tortoiseshell glasses, Regina's eyes were bright. "He's a great guy. Been at this a very long time. I have the feeling he's going to be very good for you."

She shrugged. "Guess we'll see."

In therapy, one of the things she was working on was her impulsivity. It'd already been a problem in so many ways and her drug use was a big factor in that; she tended to go forward without consideration of the consequences of her actions.

Knowing all of this, she was fully aware that even introducing herself to him, saying a single word to him, wasn't the best idea.

Never stopped her before, though.

Part of her wished that she looked better. A ratty sweatshirt and leggings, bare faced, hair thrown up in a make-shift bun wasn't exactly the best representation of herself, but whatever. Thankfully, she knew she was less haggard and skeletal, healthier than she'd been in awhile, so that had to count for something.

He wasn't hard to find, hanging out by the assortment of pastries and with amusement, she noticed he'd taken a large handful on his napkin, three things overcrowding each other.

"Hey," she heard herself say aloud. Her voice sounded weirdly tight and high, like she'd been sucking on helium and when it hit the air, she winced.

Bradley turned around, setting his snack and coffee on the table so that he could extend his hand.

"Stefani," she introduced herself. His hands were big and warm and unconsciously, she let hers linger. "Uh, your story..."

She searched for the right thing to say. Nice wouldn't be right; there was nothing nice about why they were all here. If she'd been able to express herself well like she used to be able to, she'd tell him how much it had moved her, how his honesty got to her because it wasn't poetic or flowery and she really liked that.

The words seemed to escape her, so she settled for simplicity. "You're a good speaker."

He smiled, ducking his head. "Thanks. I definitely wasn't always, though. I'm still not as comfortable up there as some people are, but I just try to tell the truth. My buddy, the one I'm staying with, he's been sober for a lot longer than me and he always says just talk from here," Bradley gestured to his heart. "Says that way you can't go wrong."