Saved By Steven (the first story)

27. Some stay, some leave

The first week in rehab had crawled by, day after grinding day. Some mornings Lauren could lift her head off the pillow; others, she stayed curled up and silent until a nurse coaxed her to the group room or offered her tea.

She didn't talk in group. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She just sat—arms crossed, sunglasses on inside, a cigarette between her fingers when they let her have one, she didn't listen to the others. 

Detox had left her bruised inside and out. The muscle tremors had faded, but in their place was a heaviness she couldn't shake. Her bones ached. Her head buzzed. Her chest felt like it was wrapped in iron. The counselors called it emotional withdrawal. Lauren just called it life without anything to dull it.

Steven had come nearly every day. He sat with her during her bad spells, brought her music magazines, and even smuggled in her favorite lip balm. But nothing seemed to help the emptiness.

She'd told him in a whisper, "I can't do this again." And she'd meant it. Rehab was always the same: talking, sharing, praying, confronting. She knew the steps, she knew the language. And none of it stopped the ache that came late at night when the world quieted down and her head filled with every terrible thing she'd lived through.
Family Day was looming—one of those weekends when people showed up pretending everything was fine. Lauren hadn't invited anyone. She didn't want to see Sydney. Didn't want the pitying looks or hushed conversations. She wasn't going to share her pain, her problems and certainly not her reasons for taking an overdose. 
So on Saturday morning, she planted herself in the relaxation area near reception, scarf wound tight around her neck, a borrowed T-shirt from Steven hanging loose over her baggy sweats. She looked like someone in hiding. Maybe she was.

She watched families come through the door: mothers with trembling chins, husbands holding hands too tightly, teenagers wearing headphones who didn't want to be there. It was like watching a movie in slow motion. And then—"Lauren?"She looked up. And blinked.Joe Perry stood at the front desk. Disheveled, rumpled, dressed like a rock star who had rolled out of a dressing room in 1986—but his face was soft, worried.
"Hello, baby girl," he said, walking toward her.
Lauren stood up slowly, her eyes wide. "Joe..."
"You look comfortable," he smiled gently.
"I wish I felt like it."

He didn't say anything else—just pulled her into his arms. She clung to him like a child. The weight in her chest cracked a little.
"I'm so sorry," Joe whispered into her hair.
"It's okay," she muttered. "It's not your fault, it's mine."
"No," he said, his voice fierce now. "It's not."

"Hey Steven! I didn't know you were coming today," Joe said as a familiar voice joined them.
Steven gave Joe a crooked grin. "Well, look what the cat dragged in."
"Been a while," Joe said, still holding Lauren. She hadn't let go.
"I've been here almost every day," Steven said pointedly.
Joe held Lauren a little tighter.
Steven looked at her. "Hey baby, you good?"
"Fine," she said, but didn't meet his eyes.
"I need to go talk to your doctor," Steven said. "You two okay out here?"
"Yeah, we'll go out to the garden," Joe replied.

Lauren didn't speak as they walked. She just slipped her arm around Joe's waist, leaning into him like he was the only stable thing left in her world. They found a quiet patch of grass by the water, where Joe pulled out a cigarette and lit one for each of them.

They lay in the grass near the pond, quiet for a few minutes, the water rippling gently under the breeze. Lauren's cigarette burned down slowly between her fingers. She didn't seem to notice.
Joe shifted slightly beside her, flicking ash onto the grass.
"You okay, baby girl?"
Lauren was still staring at the sky when she spoke. "I've been thinking about that night again. Back in L.A."
Joe tensed beside her.
"I know," she said quickly, "you don't want to talk about it. But I need to."
Joe let out a breath, slow and wary. "Okay."
Lauren sat up, pulling her knees into her chest. Her voice cracked but she didn't cry.
"You scared me. That night. You weren't yourself. And I know you've apologized, over and over. I know you were high and messed up and probably didn't even realize what you were doing. But it happened, Joe."
"I know," Joe whispered, eyes fixed on a spot in the grass. "I've thought about it every day since."
Lauren looked at him, her voice low. "I wanted to hate you. I did hate you. For a while."
Joe nodded slowly.
"But the thing is..." she paused. "You're still here. And maybe that counts for something."
Joe looked at her, cautiously. "You mean you forgive me?"
Lauren was quiet for a moment. "I think I'm learning to. I want to. But it's not just about you. It's about me. That night... it broke something in me. And I've been trying to glue it all back together ever since."
Joe didn't say anything. He just placed his hand gently on hers, and she didn't pull away.
"Everything I touch cuts me. Even Steven. I don't want to let him down. But I don't know if I'm strong enough to be who he thinks I am." Lauren sighed.

Joe looked at her, deeply. "You don't have to be anyone but who you are right now. That's who he loves."
Lauren shook her head. "He doesn't know this part. The part that wakes up in the middle of the night thinking about how easy it would be to just... not wake up at all." Her voice trembled. "There were nights, during detox, when the pain was so deep, I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I swear I could hear it whispering to me — the pills, the vodka, even the blade in the drawer. Just to stop feeling. Just... stop."
Joe went still, his face pale.
"But I didn't," Lauren continued. "I didn't. And I don't even know why. Maybe I was too tired. Maybe it's Steven. Or maybe part of me is still trying to stay alive, even if I don't know what for."
Joe pulled her gently into his arms, holding her tighter than before. "You stayed. That's what matters. You stayed."
Lauren exhaled, shaky and long. "But what if I can't keep doing it?"
"Then we keep doing it with you," he said. "Me. Steven. Whoever you let in. You don't have to fight this thing alone."

She nodded slowly, though the weight of his words didn't lift the darkness completely. But they softened the edge. Enough for now.