Addicted To You .L.S.

Thirteen.

Three Months Ago
(Seventeen)

It only takes a few days at rehab for it to really sink in: his killer's running free.
   Nothing has ever made less sense.
   So I sit in my room, on my cramped little bed and it's polyester sheets. I go to group and am silent. I sit on the couch in Dr. Charles's office with my arms folded, staring straight ahead as she waits.
   I don't talk.
   I can barely even think.

At the end of my first week, I wrote a letter to Gem. A pleading, cramped soliloquy of truth. Everything I've wanted to say for so long.
   It's returned, unopened. That's when I realise I'm all alone.

There's no one who believes me.
So I force myself to think about it, tracing back every second of the night. I ponder possible suspects and motives, both logical and wild.

My head is filled with one sentence, an endless loop of words he'd said right before he shot him: I warned you. I warned you. I warned you.
I let it push me forward, hour by hour.
I still don't talk to Dr. Charles.
I'm too busy planing.

On my fifteen day at rehab, my parents are called in for the first family therapy day.

My father hugs me, enveloping me in his husky arms. He smells like Old Spice and toothpaste, and for a second I let the familiarity of it comfort me.
   Then I remember him throwing me in the car. The look on his face as I begged him to please, please believe me.
   I stiffen and pull away.
   My mother doesn't even try to hug me after that.

My parents sit in the couch, relegating me to the slippery leather armchair in the corner. I'm great full that Dr. Charles doesn't make me sit between them.

"I brought the two of you in early," Dr. Charles says. "Because I think Louis is having some trouble expressing himself to me."

My mother pins me to the chair with her gaze. "Are you being difficult?" She asks me.
I shake my head.
"Answer me properly, Louis William."
Dr. Charles's eyebrow twitches in surprise when I say, slowly and clearly, "I don't feel like talking."
My parent leave frustrated, only a handful of words spoken between us.

Nineteen days in, I get a card. An innocuous thing with a blue daisy on it and the words GET WELL SOON in big block letters.
  I flip it open.
 
  I believe you. Call me when you get out. –Rachel

I stare at it for a long, long time.
It's weird what three words can ignite inside you.
  I believe you.
  Now I'm ready to talk. I have to be.
  It's the only way out of here.

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A/N: I don't even know why I'm still writing this. No ones reading it so what's the point? Not that anyone will see this, but still. It's so pointless and takes up a lot of time..
But whatever. Someone may read it someday and appreciate it, but I doubt it.