Saved By Steven (the first story)

30. Leaving

The days after the group session dragged on like punishment. Lauren had bared her soul, shattered in front of a room full of strangers and people who mattered—and still, nothing felt lighter. She thought the pain would evaporate once she let it out.
It didn't.
It stayed.
It dug in deeper.

Steven stopped coming.
Joe hadn't sent a message in days.
Even Mick— who had shown up a few times in the beginning—had vanished without a word.

The silence from all of them echoed in her head, louder than the therapists, louder than the soft chimes signaling group time. Every ding was like an alarm: They're not coming. Not today. Not ever.

Nights were the worst. Her sleep was broken by vivid nightmares—sweaty, suffocating memories. Sometimes, the men had faces; other times, they were just shadows, faceless and laughing.  The memories tore her awake in sheets soaked through.

She'd write in the journal she was keeping every day, filling the pages with angry, tired questions.

Why did I tell them everything if nothing changed?
Why does it still hurt?
Where the hell are they?
Why is nobody coming for me?

That morning was unusually bright. The kind of day the therapists would call hopeful. The sun broke through the trees, blinding, mocking. Lauren sat alone on a peeling green bench, a cigarette trembling between her fingers. Her journal rested in her lap like a weight she couldn't shake. She'd just written: Maybe I'm the one who needs to go to them.

The thought hit like a slap. Why wait? She wasn't a child. Why sit in this graveyard of hope, rotting, when she could breathe her own air again?

She flipped to the back of the journal, where she'd tucked a note she hadn't looked at in days.Sydney's handwriting—small, careful, with a little flower doodled in the corner:
Dear Lauren,I don't know what to say that hasn't already been said. But I wanted you to know that I still think about the classes you gave. You made me believe I was capable of things no one else saw in me. I hope you can believe in yourself the way you made us believe in ourselves. You're not alone. I still believe in you.—Sydney
Lauren read it twice. A lump rose in her throat and burned there. It meant something. But it didn't change how alone she was feeling.  She folded the note again, tracing the worn edges with her thumb, then slid it back between the pages. For a moment, her pen hovered like it might write something back. But what could she say?
She stood. Lit another cigarette. And walked straight to the doctor's office.Minutes later, she was gripping the edge of his desk, journal still clenched in her fist.
"I need to go," she said.
"Lauren," his voice was soft, measured. "You're not ready. You're just beginning to process. Leaving now could set you back months—maybe years."
"I don't care." Her jaw tightened. "I can't sit here one more day. I need air. I need life."
"What you need," he said, leaning forward, "is safety. Honesty. You're still detoxing—emotionally and physically. This is a delicate place."

But she wasn't listening anymore. Her mind was already outside these walls, already walking toward the world. Toward them. That night, sleep didn't come. When it did, it dragged her under like a rip current.
The memory came, raw and alive:"You're a little bitch, you are. Stop moving. Just take it. I'll kill you if you do that again."The smell—stale beer, sweat, mildew—clung to her skin. Her stomach scraped concrete as he shoved her down, pressing his weight into her like a punishment.
She screamed. A chorus of laughter erupted in the dark."Yeah, screw that bitch. Do it for all of us."
Hands gripped. Pulled. Pushed. She moved and he slammed her flat, his breath hot against her ear, whispering words like sweetness, like a promise, while his body made a liar out of every syllable.
The tear burned. The fullness ripped through her like fire. Then something snapped.
Was the condom broken? Was there even one?
She screamed again.
Lauren jolted awake with a strangled gasp, sweat slicking every inch of her. Sheets twisted like ropes around her legs. She sat up, chest heaving, heart a jackhammer. Her mouth was dry, her skin cold despite the thick summer air. The shower was scalding. She stood under it until the trembling stopped—though the shaking was inside, and it never really went away.
By midmorning, she was in jeans and a black sweater, walking the familiar street toward the café. Rehab already felt like another planet. The sunlight was too bright, the air too real.She pushed the door open—and froze.
Mick.
He looked up, blinked, and in the next breath was striding toward her."What the hell are you doing out?" His eyes swept her from head to toe, like checking for cracks."I was done," Lauren said flatly. "I had to get out of there.""It's good to see you," Mick said, and it almost sounded like relief. "I've missed you at work."Lauren narrowed her eyes. "Then why did you stop visiting?"He looked sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. "Because of my girlfriend. She... didn't like you."Lauren let out a sharp laugh, all edge. "Mick, you idiot. She was the best thing that happened to you in a long time.""She was with me for the house. And the money. Not for me."Lauren exhaled slow. "I'm sorry to hear that."
They ordered coffee and a Danish, sitting outside under a pale sun. Lauren lit another cigarette, the first drag stinging her lungs in the best way."So," she asked, flicking ash into the tray, "what's new?"Mick leaned back. "Not much. Summer break's almost over. We're still looking for someone to cover your classes until you come back. Steven's back on tour—he'll be home next week. And yeah, I broke up with the girl."Lauren stared across the street, voice low. "I can come back, if you want. I need to do something. Anything."He looked at her carefully. "Are you strong enough, darling?""No." Her honesty was sharp, almost cutting."Then why come back?""If I don't do something with my life, Mick... I'll go crazy."He studied her for a beat, then nodded. "Alright. Come with me today. We'll talk to the director. Just... feel it out.""Sure," Lauren said, flicking the last of her cigarette. Her mouth curved into something that almost looked like a smile, but wasn't."I just need to feel like I exist again.