The Guidebook To Sobriety

Chapter 2

A burly man who was hardly shorter than Ben stepped out from behind the woman with a similarly creepy smile. "I'll take your suitcase and put it with the rest in the bag area," he announced in a cheery tone that didn't match his appearance at all.

I frowned. I was wary about leaving my things with people, a normal human feeling but magnified by my family's very public wealth, making robbery attempts much more likely. I handed over the suitcase to Winnie the Pooh after my brief hesitation.

I figured I'd made a promise not to attempt bribes so the monetary value within the suitcase wasn't essential. Regardless, should I be the victim of a robbery from these wood-lovers they'd be jailed within 5 hours. Pros of fame and wealth.

The woman opened the door and made an inviting gesture that made me feel like I was walking up an altar to be sacrificed. Perhaps I was. A hallway greeted me with exotic-looking paintings all over the walls. The building seemed even bigger from the interior, resembling more a small art museum than a jail for adolescent drug addicts.

"Second door on the right," the woman informed me before starting to close the door behind me.

"Hold up!" A voice with a southern twang sounded from behind me. "I'm not too late, am I?"

I turned around to see a tall, wiry boy about my age with a messy mop and matching bright red clothes down to his shoes. Well, all the way up to his eyes which were bloodshot red and watery.

The woman cheerfully ushered him in, and Winnie the Pooh took his suitcase. I figured the two were so high on the Joker's laughing gas that it made them color-blind too.

I studied the boy carefully. Although clearly under the influence, he walked with a certain confidence paired with a well-built gym body that reminded me of boxers. It was important for someone like me to be able to observe individuals I'd benefit from being around me if trouble presented itself. Even if he wasn't a good fighter like I suspected, he could make a good meatshield.

"Hey," I called before he walked right by me in the hallway. He'd been so busy staring at the paintings through his bloodshot eyes that he hadn't noticed me. "Unless you're appearing as a representation of someone higher than Venus, you may want to rethink going in there with those eyes."

His eyes settled on me and his mouth contorted into a dopey grin. "My eyes are that bad?"

"Bad would be an understatement."

"It's just allergies; they're pretty bad in the mornings."

"Uh-huh," I responded with a raised eyebrow as the weed residue wafted off his breath and into my saddened nose, taunting me that I hadn't had a smoke since yesterday. "That's quite a foul-smelling allergy. Smells exactly like a remedy that would've made my kidnapping more pleasant."

The boy's face took on a mildly concerned look. "You were kidnapped."

"No, I'm in the middle of the woods by my own free will."

His face scrunched up in confusion. "That doesn't sound like a kidnapping."

Perhaps he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. All the better for me.

"Look..."

"Atlas."

I frowned at the unusual name but didn't break stride, "I'm not a cop, you don't need to be wary around me. If I'm being completely honest, I'm not fully sober either. Maybe that's why I haven't thrown a whole hissy fit yet. Point is, I've got Visine eye drops in my pocket and you're in desperate need of them, buddy." I held out the eye drops.