Detox

Limerence

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Steph

The day I walked out of that hospital, could possibly be recalled as one of the most liberating days of my life.

Although it may have been a result of my determination at getting Dr Rose a promotion. I've known Guard for too many years to count on my fingers and I knew that sueding that man would come with a price.

His negotiation was concise and simple: carry on with the meds, keep a diary of my moods and visit him once a fort night. "Stay out of trouble, not just for your own sake, but for me." Steph could just imagine Guard's worried eyes examining her for before he'd set her free.

In comparison to the living, breathing straight jacket I'd been stored away in. It didn't really sound that challenging, even for me. I was relieved to be breathing air that hadn't been disinfected to such a degree that on some days, breathing was my main priority.

I've tried to keep off the wagon, looking for other methods to display my addictive personality. It was harder than I had imagined.

I read this saying somewhere in a magazine last year, but ever since then its stood by me. "This diary is my kief, hashish and opium pipe. This is my drug and my vice." I knew that everything I did in the hospital was monitored, so I never dreamt of manning a journal. I just stored it all up there, inside the brain box which usually was vacant.

A downside to victoriously escaping my captivity, was that fact that I was no longer blessed with the image that taunted my dreams.

It was this forbidden love that I felt purring in the pit of my stomach, whenever his eyes were on me. Sometimes I didn't even need his attention, just hearing him utter my initials to the nurses gave me hope that he might have felt something for me.

I impressed myself whenever I was in his company, I would make sly remarks to test his boundaries. Although he usually never rose to my level of immaturity, I noticed that a smile would flicker across his face in amusement.

Obviously, I was trying to impress him. I'd never had the opportunity to feel for someone of the opposite sex in this situation. In fact, I'd never felt much for anyone.

I got a job in the shopping district, I'm a barista. That means I work my ass off serving coffee, to customers who usually complain that my brewing skills are in need of 'refining'. Or in my words; 'you're shit love', they're all just so up their own arses that the pretend to be polite.

As you can tell I work in one of the most prestigious tea rooms in South Kensington. Full of all the loud mouths and their families, who never questioned the bill, even when Steph had to make up their receipts because she's gotten side tracked. She could get used to this.

Full to the brim of rich bastards who like to pinch my button, whenever their wives are looking away for the briefest of moments. Who knew that even the lavish gits like to get a buzz from living up to their stereotype.

I could ramble on about how awful it was being objectified by these lonely old men, but they tipped well, even if it was a bit of a taboo.

I haven't had much attention from anyone in a while, sometimes it's nice to just be recognised as attractive, even by figures you'd rather not see in the light of day.