Hall 12

Support Group (REVISED)

"Hi, I'm Allison."

"Hi Allison."

The group surrounding me sounds less than interested when they greet me. I'm not offended; I'm sure I sound the same.

"I'm an addict. I used to abuse Xanax. I've been clean for two weeks now."

Two weeks. I've been here for two weeks. Two weeks of daily meds, crying at night, and new friends. I never thought I'd make it this far.

"We're proud of you Allison," they drone.

"Thank you," I mumble, sitting back down. The leader of the group, Nurse Coco, smiles warmly at me.

"You're making wonderful progress, Allison. Is there anything you think would help your recovery?" She asks.

I shrug. "I think I'm doing fine."

A girl across from me scoffs. "They all say that, 'til they wind up dead in the showers. Do you really think you're doing that well, Allison?"

"That's enough, Jess," the nurse says, low and threatening.

"What? Do we really expect a bone-thin bitch like her to make it through this shithole? She's gonna leave the way they always do, right down the trash shute-"

"Enough, Jess!" Nurse Coco snaps, face turning red and hand clenching in her lap. The room falls silent. Coco smiles and looks towards the girl sitting next to me. "So, Jillian, why don't you introduce yourself?"

It goes on for another hour. Introductions, heartless hellos, half-baked recovery stories and a whole lot of awkward.

But I can't keep my mind off of what Jess said. What does she mean by that? How long has she been here? Does she know more than she's supposed to?

I don't stick around for cookies and coffee when the support hour is over. I have to find Smokey.

Once I'm able to sneak past Coco and the rest of the group, I jog (painfully) to my room, where I find Smokey cuddled up next to Crack.

She waves when I walk in, taking Crack's hand off her thigh. "Oh, hey Shakey. Sorry, Kathy is patrolling and I haven't seen my baby in a while," she grins and presses a kiss to his jaw.

"It's fine, but I need to talk to you about something-"

"My, my, my, Shakey is back from her circle jerk of psychos," a voice says from behind me. I turn and see Blue standing in the doorway. I wish I could be annoyed but...it's Blue. (Who could be annoyed by her?) "Hey Shakey."

"Hi," I reply quietly, letting her walk past me gracefully and plop down on my desk chair.

"What do you need to tell me?" Smokey asks, sitting up and looking towards me with concern.

Anxiety courses through me and I find myself saying "oh, nothing" before I can even think. Smokey shrugs and leans back into Crack, already forgetting I was there. I look to Blue.

"Here, take a seat," she says, pointing to her lap with a smirk. I shake my head (trying my best not to literally throw myself on her) and opt for the floor instead.

Her hand comes to my hair, petting over the blonde strands and running her fingers through it. It's like something melts in me, like my brain stops resisting and fighting and lets me feel her, lets me feel like normal people do. I'm almost horrified, it feels like I'm being turned inside-out by her hands and I can't do anything, can't move or speak. Instead of scooting away, I purr and move closer. I close my eyes and lay my head on her knee, and my anxiety doesn't dare to flare up when her warm knuckles graze my scalp, and she starts to brush locks of hair gently.

"Me and Crack at gonna go to the Island for lunch, are you guys gonna meet us there?"

I look up and Blue is nodding, answering for both of us. I don't mind.

The two exit the room and Blue stands up, taking two steps before sitting on the edge of my bed. My body feels cold since she stopped touching my hair, and I long to have her touch again. I get up and sit next to her.

"How was support group?" She asks, laying down so her head is next to my thigh and she's looking up at me.

"It was okay, I guess," I say, "boring, and I'm pretty sure we all lied to the Nurse, but okay."

Blue laughs, perfect smile soothing my nerves. "We all do, that's why we don't go anymore. Maybe I'll show you my own little 'support group' someday."

I nod, reaching out and touching her hair, gently running the pads of my fingers over the silky black strands. "Maybe."

Then, I remember what I wanted to ask Smokey. "Do you know Jessa?" I ask curiously.

Blue suddenly stiffens, jaw locking. She sits up and stares at me. "Why? What's she doing?"

"I...nothing, I just-"

Blue snatches my hand from my lap and grasps it. "Shakey, listen to me," she says frantically, "you don't hang around girls like Jessa. You're gonna get into shit way over your head and you're not gonna know what to do. Listen, I'm not gonna let her fuck with you. Understand? Shakey, answer me."

"You're holding my hand," I whisper, oblivious to the question. Blue smiles softly, but I can still sense her panic. "Yeah, I'll steer clear of her."

Blue goes to move her hand and something...strange happens. I grab it. I hold it tighter.

My anxiety doesn't fight me, my depression doesn't convince me it's not worth it, my addiction doesn't ask for more.

She made me something I haven't been in a long time.

Free.