Cashed » Lip Gallagher [2]

»part 38 » pretty girl

"I'm sorry, but I fell in love tonight..."

-

Recovery is like flipping a coin.

On one side of the coin, you have your heart. The weak organ that pumps what blood is left throughout the rest of your remaining body that craves your once-beloved vice. You see, despite the consequences, your heart loved your addiction. Or at least, that's what you wanted. You trained your heart to make room for the foul substance that took over your life, and sooner or later, it learned to love it. And now It's cursed with the touch of addiction that kissed your skin.

If you flip the coin and it lands on the heart, then temptation is stronger than ever. You were trained to listen to your heart, because it wanted the sick and twisted love. Your heart mourns the loss of the love it can't handle. And if you listen to it, it will push you back into addiction's arms. Relapse.

And on the other side, you have your brain. You see, your brain works like your senses. While your heart cries and begs for the lover that's lost, your brain witnesses first hand what that love has down to you. It sees your bones break, it sees your shaking hands, it witnesses your tears that drown your face. Not only that but it hears. It hears your heart crack with each day it goes without. It hears the endless sobs that fill the air. But most haunting of all, it feels. When addiction left, it felt the pain that overtook your body.

Your brain didn't ask for your heart to fall in love with the devil. It was simply collateral.

If you flip the coin and it lands on the brain, then you will be reminded of the consequences that the heart wanted because this time, your brain will be in charge.

Your heart wants what it craves, but your brain teaches what's best.

Recovery is like flipping a coin. There's half a chance that you'll fall back in love with addiction, but there's another half that will push you to be resilient.

It's all up to fate.

My mind continued to run as I sat nervously on the cold metal chair with my hands in my lap. I spun my rings around a million times on my fingers as my eyes wandered around the other visitors and prisoners. On the other side of the glass, there were grown men with track marks and shiners. Tattoos would either lace their face or trickle down their arms, but there were few with naked skin. With their hard exterior, they sat across their loved ones on the other side of the glass with the biggest smiles. Tears fogged up glasses and angry voices thundered.

It didn't matter what was waiting for us on the outside, because this moment we shared. This cold moment in an open room that stunk of musk and sterilizer. Some were educated, and some weren't. Either way, we were all here for the same reason.

My leg bounced as I took note of the brightness of the orange jumpsuits. Why orange? Was that supposed to be a netural color? Was it supposed to be like a caution cone? Watch out, these guys are locked up but they're hazardous. Why orange?