Saved By Steven (the first story)

20. I don't need rehab i'm F.I.N.E

A pale gray light slipped through the hospital window blinds, casting long bars across the tiled floor. Lauren sat on the edge of her bed, already dressed in dark jeans, a soft gray sweater, and a scarf Mick had brought her two days earlier. Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, still damp from her shower.She looked better — more herself — but there was a hollowness in her eyes she couldn't mask. 

The doctor came in with a clipboard and a forced smile. He had the exhausted look of someone who had seen too many people promise they'd change, only to walk back through his doors again.
"Ready?" he asked gently.
Lauren nodded. "Ready."
"You just need to sign this discharge form and you're free to continue recovery at home." He paused. "Though I strongly recommend you check into a residential rehab center. Your system's been through a lot.""I'm fine," Lauren said, not meeting his eyes. "I've got work coming up, deadlines. I need to move on."
The doctor gave a slow nod but didn't hide his concern. He glanced at Mick, who stood nearby, arms crossed and jaw clenched. They shared a look — frustration mixed with helplessness.
Outside, the wind had picked up. Winter was pressing in hard now. Lauren clutched her scarf tighter around her throat as they left the hospital. The city was awake and moving, loud and cold, but Lauren felt oddly detached — like she was watching herself through glass.

The car ride was quiet.
"Do you want to stay at my place for a while?" he finally asked.
Lauren shook her head. "I just want to go home. Sleep in my own bed. Be around my own things."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."

Mick didn't argue. He parked in front of her building, helped carry her bag upstairs, and stood just inside the door while she moved through the space like a ghost."I'll call you tomorrow," he said, hesitating before leaving.
She turned and gave a small, tired smile. "Thanks, Mick."
Outside, he lit a cigarette with shaking hands and immediately dialed Steven.
"Hello?" Steven's voice was hoarse, still clinging to sleep.
"Steven. It's Mick. Sorry, did I wake you?"
"No, no, I was up." Steven yawned. "How's Lauren?"
"She's out. I just dropped her at her place."
There was a pause.
"That's good, right?"
"Yeah. I guess." Mick exhaled a long breath of smoke. "She's refusing rehab. Says she's fine."
"She's not fine."
"I know that. So do you. The doctor knew it too. But what do you do? You can't force someone to recover."
"Yeah," Steven said quietly. "You can't. So what now?"
"I don't know. Hope for the best? Stay close. She's determined to be alone right now."
"Well, the tour's wrapping up. We're heading to Detroit tonight, then home in a few days."
"Maybe we'll see you when you're back."
"I'd love that. I'll put you and Lauren on the backstage list."
"Send tickets to the school, yeah?"

"Will do. Take care of her, okay?"
"I'm trying, man. I really am."
They hung up, and Mick stood outside her building a moment longer than necessary, watching her dark window, wondering if she was already slipping.

Lauren stepped into her apartment and took a deep breath. The air smelled faintly of dust and stale perfume. she dropped her bags before collapsing onto the couch. Her bones ached. Her mind, despite everything, buzzed with quiet urgency.

After a moment, she stood and went through the motions: opened windows, checked the mail, looked at the fridge, which was empty. 

Lauren didn't sleep. Couldn't. Her apartment felt foreign. Even the bed felt strange beneath her. Everything was too quiet. Too still. She told herself she was just adjusting. That she was tired. That she'd be fine tomorrow. But somewhere deep in her chest, something started to squirm.

The next morning she bundled up and went out to get groceries. She needed to restock the fridge. She needed cigarettes. She needed... something.  The city noise felt louder today. Her skin buzzed as if she wasn't quite anchored to her body.

The grocery store was almost empty. She wandered the aisles aimlessly, buying a little of everything, but nothing she particularly wanted. On her way out, a voice stopped her in her tracks. "Well, hey, doll. It's been a while."She turned. He was leaning against the brick wall, hands in his pockets, eyes sharp beneath his hoodie.Hey," she said, stiffly. "Yeah. I was... away.""Heard that. You look good. For someone who nearly bit it."She didn't respond. The grocery bag felt heavy in her hand."You need anything?" he asked. "Got the good stuff today. Real clean."Lauren's heart started to race. Her throat dried out. It was like her body heard the word coke before she even admitted she wanted it."I... shouldn't," she said, quietly.He pulled a small bag from his coat and shook it lightly. "Top-shelf. You can feel the sun rise again."Lauren looked at the bag. She felt the war starting — that awful, silent one between who she wanted to be and who she knew she still was.She had just gotten out. Just survived. People had been holding vigil over her, crying over her unconscious body. She remembered Steven's hand in hers. Mick sleeping in that awful vinyl chair beside her bed. Joe's grim expression in the corner.She remembered. But remembering didn't erase the craving."I'll just take the coke," she said, barely above a whisper.The dealer smiled. "This one's on me. Call it a 'glad-you're-not-dead' gift."She pocketed the bag and walked away before she could change her mind — or beg for more.
At home, she dropped the groceries in the kitchen. Didn't unpack them. Didn't even take off her coat. Instead, she went to the bathroom, set the little bag on the edge of the sink, and stared at herself in the mirror.Her eyes were dull. Her face thinner than she remembered. But there was a spark returning to her reflection — a cruel, dangerous little spark that whispered, Just one line. Just to take the edge off. She laid it out. Snorted it. Felt the rush hit her hard and fast. Her knees buckled, but she laughed. Just a little."Oh god, I missed this," she whispered, already laying out another.

The shadows in the apartment deepened as the sun set. The groceries remained unpacked. Lauren was floating again. Numb. Weightless. Detached.Exactly how she wanted to be.