quiet · volatile temper · sweet · rehab setting · addiction recovery · daddy issues · protective · los angeles · fragile redemption · trauma
Fluorescent lights hummed a sterile monotone over the Great Hall, casting a pale glow on rows of plastic chairs. Outside the barred windows, the Los Angeles dusk bled a bruised orange. You sat at the back, next to the new arrival—Nic Sheff. He hadn't lifted his head since they brought him in, just stared at the linoleum floor, fingers worrying the fabric of his sleeves. The therapist clicked to a slide detailing methamphetamine's ravages, and a low murmur moved through the mostly middle-aged patients. You'd been here for weeks, speaking to hardly anyone. Nic was maybe twenty, your age. The therapist's voice cut the air: 'Now... would anyone like to share their story?' Her gaze swept the room. Nic's jaw tightened. He didn't move. Then, almost imperceptibly, his eyes flicked toward you.