ROAD TO RECOVERY | K. HARGREEVES

CHAPTER ONE

He still remembers the first time he saw Klaus Hargreeves.

Westley Hawthorne just wanted to help people. He became a nurse, graduated early, and decided to work at a rehabilitation center. He was good at his job, he cared for the people. His life was a confident one.

With a dramatic air, roughly his own age, Klaus Hargreeves enters. His file says he's been to other rehabs before, and it intimidates Westley, just a little. The man is roughly his own age, just a couple years younger, and already, he had been to five rehab centers. It was astonishing.

They got him checked in, and Westley got assigned to his case, as his main nurse.

With a smile, he showed Klaus around, with a schedule. All the rooms, where he'd go, ending at his own room.

"Can I just go to sleep?" Klaus asked, a tired look on his face. Withdrawal would start soon enough, and he knew that sleeping through it would help, at least a little.

"Of course, sleep well,"

As time passed, Westley spoke with the others. Klaus was a problem case, with hallucinations and a not great attitude.

"Dude, I'm sorry you ended up with him," Another nurse laughed, patting Westley on the back, "I'd offer to take him off your hands, but I'd rather die,"

Westley scowled, moving to sit down in one of the comfier chairs that lined the nurse lounge room. "That's not true," He said softly.

Another nurse, an older man named Kyle, laughed. "Yeah, right. Give it a week and you'll be begging to have him unassigned from you. He ain't ever gonna get sober,"

Westley took that as a challenge.

Determined, he was more supportive than he could've ever been. More cheery. More optimistic.

"Can you like, turn it down?" Klaus said on his fifth day, hand on his forehead as he glared down at his food, "You're so happy, its giving me a headache,"

"Noted," Westley took a sip from his coffee cup, writing something down on his clipboard. Really, he was just doodling, but that wasn't important. "You got group therapy today," He informed Klaus, earning a groan from him.

"What? What's so bad about group therapy?" Westley asked, looking up at Klaus, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Klaus rolled his eyes, poking at his food. "Its full of dicks, that's the problem," And before Westley could ask more, he got up, tray in his hands, "I'm going to my room. I know my schedule." He walked away, and Westley swore that he saw him speak with someone, with something, that wasn't there.

A few people turned and looked at him as he left, and maybe Westley felt upset. Klaus wasn't that bad, he was about as normal as anyone else. The only difference was that he didn't try to hide it. Yet everyone seemed to act like he was some circus freak.

Progress was made. Every step was a victory, in Westley's eyes. He was going to get Klaus sober. No matter how many people told him it was impossible. No matter how strange he was.

The less cheery Westley acted, the more Klaus seemed to trust him. Another day, they were in the common lounge, a colorful room filled with junkies playing cards or checkers. Sitting across from each other, they were playing go fish.

"I have a question for you," Westley said.

"Then ask it. Got any twos?" Klaus was sprawled in his chair. While he had his usual makeup, the rehab clothes looked out of place on him, a drab look on a such a person.

Westley handed him a two, which Klaus immediately placed down. "Most people here, they're so against being here, why aren't you?"

Klaus hummed in response, "I have no idea what you're talking about. I've told you my issues with this place. Any fours?"

"Go Fish. And yeah, but you hate the way things work, but you're not like, making a plan on how to break out,"

"Maybe I'm just crazy,"

"Klaus..."

The cards were forgotten about. Placed on the polished wood table between them. Once again, he looked so out of place it almost hurt Westley. The centre reeked of upstanding-ness, of scrubbed clean floors and walls and colours added just to make sure no one goes insane. It was too normal. It was a place where Westley fit in, but Klaus, Klaus was like a burst of colour in a fancy, commissioned mural.

A tense silence, causing Westley to worry, but it seemed Klaus was just gathering his thoughts.

Klaus shifted in his seat, a laugh leaving him. So fake, it was so obvious to anyone who paid attention. "Why, Westley, I thought you could figure that out. I got nowhere to go! All these fools, well, they got a place, whether a friend or a family member. Where would I go? The streets? At least here, there's some food,"

"I didn't know, I-"

"I have a therapy session in five," Klaus interrupted, leaping from the chair and leaving before Westley could put another word in, waving away something that he couldn't see.

It was a strange response, one that Westley kept thinking about as he gathered the scattered cards and put them back in a deck. In theory, Klaus was so loud, so open to telling people things, but what he said was so obviously not true.

Even the homeless people desperately try to leave, to not be under control of the doctors and the nurses. How desperately he wanted to find out more about him, but Klaus was a slow case, and soon enough, he was sober for 90 days, and left.

Westley, as he had done with all of 'his' cases, gave him a hug as he left. "I'm proud of you, Klaus. Good luck," He said, earning a shocked look from him and a soft, "Yeah, you two."

After he left, the others seemed glad, happy, to have Klaus away, but Westley just couldn't get the strange junkie out of his head.