Saved By Steven (the first story)

31. Coming Back

The school looked exactly as she remembered. Brick walls baking in the late-summer sun, the smell of freshly cut grass mixed with cafeteria grease. For a moment, Lauren felt almost normal. 

She received a warm welcome. Too warm. Colleagues hugged her. Voices sweet with a mix of relief and curiosity. The fallen star returns. 

She smiled where she had to, made small talk where it mattered. They didn't see the cigarette tremor in her fingers or the dry ache in her throat that had nothing to do with nerves.
"You're back!" someone gushed.
"Thank God—we missed you!"
"You look amazing!"
Lies, all of it. But she let them wrap her in it. Let it feel good, even if it was fake.

By lunch, the headmaster announced she would resume her classes part-time. Applause scattered the room like confetti, and Lauren clapped along, hiding the knot in her stomach. This was happening. She was back.

That night, the teachers decided to celebrate. A new club had opened downtown, and somehow, Tom knew the right doorman. Free entry. Half-price drinks. Music loud enough to shake the dust off their lives.
Lauren wasn't supposed to drink. Everyone knew that.
But when the first round arrived, and Tom shoved a shot glass in her hand—"One won't kill you, babe"—she didn't fight. The burn down her throat felt like an old friend. She'd missed this warmth, this lie that everything was fine.
One drink became three.Three became a blur.

By two a.m., the group was still dancing like college kids, laughing too hard, breaking things they'd deny later. When the club closed at three, nobody wanted to go home. They roamed the streets like a pack, feral with freedom.
A liquor store glowed like a beacon on a quiet corner. The most sober among them stumbled inside, came out with bottles clinking in a plastic bag.
"Hey, Lauren!" someone yelled. "Have some Jack!"
She took the bottle.
Half-emptied it in one go.
Cheers exploded around her like fireworks.
No one cared about the fact that Lauren was already off the wagon. 

Later, they ended up at McDonald's, grease and salt soaking up what little control they had left. Fries. Milkshakes. Ice cream melting in sticky fingers. Somewhere between laughing at spilled ketchup and singing Aerosmith lyrics off-key, Lauren slipped to the bathroom and threw up. Her reflection in the mirror was a stranger with mascara bleeding down her cheeks.

When she came back, her smile was crooked. Her stomach hollowed out. But she kept drinking from the bottle they passed. And there was what felt like a bottomless amount of bottles. 

There isn't any lasting damage, maybe some emotional harm. She'll be fine when she works through this.
So the pregnancy is terminated?
Yes, I don't know how you can accept this, it was your child.
The suicide attempt is a clear sign she doesn't want the child, I respect that. I'm not willing to loose her over that. 
Anyway, we are going to keep her here for the night, then we'll send her home.

The next morning was a massacre. Her skull pounded so hard she wondered if something had cracked. She woke in her own bed, fully clothed, makeup smudged, mouth tasting like a graveyard. She didn't remember the ride home. Didn't want to.

She rolled out of bed on shaky legs and reached for the first thing that might stop the spinning—another drink. Just a little, just to take the edge off. The bottle was cold against her palm when the doorbell rang. She quickly had a few sips. Then shoved the bottle back under the counter and staggered to the door.

"Good morning." Mick's voice was a knife in her ears. Too loud. Too real. He looked at her—hair tangled, skin gray, last night's eyeliner hanging on for dear life. "You look... a bit disheveled."
"Bad dream," she muttered.
"Shall I make coffee?"
"Please." She vanished into the bedroom, dragging a brush through her hair like it might erase the night. She pulled on a short black dress, flat boots, a jacket, and one of Steven's old scarves. Sunglasses to hide the truth. Armor for the day.

The drive to school was quiet. Lauren nursed her coffee like a lifeline, Mick keeping the radio low so the sound wouldn't stab her temples. Then—of course—it happened.An Aerosmith song slid through the speakers.
When it ended, the radio host chirped:"And now, we've got Steven Tyler on the line!"Lauren's spine locked. Her grip on the cup tightened."Steven, thanks for joining us!""Sure, no problem," came his voice. Warm. Easy. Too close."Well, you're back in town this weekend for two shows! After that, what's the plan?""We've got a week before Europe. I'd love to see my family. Some friends. One of them just got out of rehab—I think I'll visit her if she's up for it."Lauren's lungs forgot how to work. The sound of his voice dragged her backward—

White walls. 

Plastic chairs. 
Steven sitting across from her in that stupid leather jacket, eyes soft but steel underneath.
"You need this, Lauren. You can't do it alone."
She had laughed then—a bitter, broken sound.
"Funny. I managed before you."
"No, you didn't. Look where that got you."
And then the worst part—the promise in his voice, like shackles clicking shut.
"I'll take care of everything. You just stay."

Her jaw ached from clenching. Steven on the radio, laughing that easy laugh like nothing between them had burned.
"That's sweet," the DJ said. "Rock star, former addict, and caregiver."
Steven chuckled. "You can say that."

Mick parked but left the engine running so she could hear. Lauren stared out the window, throat tight with something sharp and hot."You okay?" he asked."He might visit?""Sounds like it.""Fuck.""What?""I just... I never thought I'd see him after I escaped rehab." Her voice cracked on the word escaped. "He said I got out. I didn't. I ran.""You ran because it wasn't working. You're fine now, aren't you?""I guess." A hollow laugh. "I'll get there."I don't need him coming here like some savior. I don't need his hands on the wheel of my life."Wanna go in?" Mick asked.
Inside, the conference hall buzzed with first-day energy. Teachers laughing, coffee brewing, the headmaster preparing his speech. Lauren sat next to Mick, sunglasses still on. Her skin prickled with heat and shame.
When James launched into his "new year, new energy" speech, Lauren's chest constricted. Her breath shortened. The walls closed in.She whispered to Mick: "I need air."Outside, she lit a cigarette with shaking hands, dragging in smoke like oxygen.

"Hi Lauren." James's voice startled her. The headmaster stood beside her, his own cigarette glowing.
"Hi, James."

"You okay? You ran out of there."
"I'm... overwhelmed. Just got out of treatment, back where it all started, and now the one man I thought I'd never see again might show up."
"That's a lot." He studied her. "You sure you're up for this?"
"It's part-time."
"For now."
"I'll manage."

James stubbed his cigarette and left. Moments later, Tom swaggered out with his grin.
"Baby, welcome back!" He hugged her hard.
"Thanks, doll. Haven't seen you in a while."
"The wife didn't want me to. You're a bad influence."
Lauren smirked. "Seems to be a theme with the women in my life. Anyway—I'm cleaning up my act."
"I heard. With Steven Tyler, no less."
"No. Paid for by Steven."
"Well, rumor is he's in town this weekend."
"Tom, I love you. But I don't want to talk about him."
"Fine. Let's grab lunch!"

He left. Mick lingered. His eyes lingered longer.
"You good?"
"I'm fine."
"You're not using again, are you?"
"No," Lauren lied.
"Good. Eat something with me?"
"In a minute."
He walked off. And the second he was gone, Lauren pulled out her phone. Dialed fast.
"Get me a couple joints and some coke. I'm at work."