CHAPTER 1: YOURSELF

Here I am trying to live, or rather, I am trying to teach the death within me―this addiction―how to live.
-Jean Cocteau

Observing people is much different when you're an addict, a lot of the time addicts think in terms of value to themselves instead of a person's actual worth to the world. It's a what-can-they-do-for-me and a what-can-I-get thought process, instead of something that's fair to everyone around. When I was an addict, it didn't matter to me how much I cared about a person, if they weren't fun or brought the fun, I didn't care at all. It took awhile to learn, but I didn't think that way because I'm a bad person, because I'm also not worth anything. 

No, I thought that way because it kept me sane.

The point of drugs, of alcohol, is to lose yourself. If I had to face reality, to actually take into account hurting others, being hurt, and all the pain involved I would have gone crazy. When you're an addiction instead of a human, you tend to forget that not everyone's personality ends at the bottom of a bottle.

When I got sober, I had to relearn social skills. For a long time I wasn't good in the terms of being a functional human being, and relearning reality is a horrible process. Everyone that goes through it hates it, it's not loving drugs that gave them an addiction -it was hating reality. Having to learn how to talk, listen, observe...it's like you're in elementary all over again. For me it made me feel like the stupidest person alive, reality sucked me into a depression that was worse than my addiction.

But things change, addictions become human and they hate it.

Once the change kicks in, it's up to that particular human to decide- -subconsciously or not- -whether the change would turn them human, or into a monster. The aftermath can either be amazingly good, okay or terrible. The change itself always, always hurts.

And that's okay.

People like me and Kace are examples of addictions turning into humans, people like Violet are the cases where the change is lasting too long, drawing out the pain. Lovely Z-Town, the meanest person here Zane, is cases where the change is turning someone into a monster. He's not a monster yet, but we're getting at the end of our line here and if he leaves Grey Estate this way he will become one the second he walks out the door. I believe everyone has the choice to become a monster or a functional human being, but nobody knows how to pick the right way unless they're taught.

I believe that I can teach Micah right from wrong, and turn him human. 

Addictions are tough, I'll give him that. But so am I.

I won't deny there's some things I have no glue about, I don't understand everything, I'm not the smartest person around. But I understand a lot. 

I understand addiction, abuse in almost every terms of the word, self-harm, suicide and what it means to lose myself to something I willingly took. I understand everything about Micah in this instance, everything about how he became an addiction. He doesn't know it yet, but when he does he's going to hate me. 

Or, more accurately, he's going to be afraid of me.

If someone told me two years ago they understood every single thing about me, my mind, my pain, I would have laughed and spit in their face. Then, when they proved it, I would go pale.

"So we've covered all the rooms, and there's a map of the place in every main room if you forget. I can always give you more tours if you need," I smile at Micah, who is sitting on his bed staring at the ground. "Any questions? Or um, is there anything you need?"

He's going to fight me every step of the way. He's going to cling to these drugs and alcohol like they are what's keeping him alive, because they are. He's going to scream at me, he's going to cry, he's going to break. He's going to change, and he's either going to leave here hating with for making him change or he's going to be grateful, either way he's going to respect me.

"Got any cigarettes?" 

For being his first question, it's nowhere near a new one, and I'm not shocked at all he even bothered to ask -despite being at a rehab center.

"Yeah." Clearly this surprises him, as his dark eyes flick up to me. "But you have to smoke by a window and you can't leave ash everywhere. What kind?"

Grey Estate is...unique, to say the least.

"Why, you going to the store?" Micah- -who clearly thinks I'm joking, or not going to help him- -scoffs. Due to my sincere nod he says, "American Spirit."

"Alright! We let people smoke here, because it's easier that way but eventually, you won't even smoke." I say, smiling right up at him. "Just so you know."

Micah scowls at me, the left side of his mouth raised in a wicked look. "You're gonna make me quit that too, huh? You hold people down here?"

Biting my lip I shrug, about to be honest. "You're smart enough to sneak out in a week if you wanted to. The security isn't that tight here. And we don't make people do anything here, you'll find that out pretty quick. Everything you're gonna do here, you're going to do it for yourself." 

Stepping closer to him, I quickly grab his wrist and force it up -exposing his non-dominate right wrist. A surprised gasp comes from his mouth, but he's too slow to catch my hand when it was still in motion.

So, I expose him and his right wrist. When he was holding the rose it was with his left hand, which told me which one he prefers, which one to check first -though both have tattoos running along both in sleeves.

His right, cut, wrist. 

It's my job to check him every day, since he's code red. I'm not going to pressure him to stop self-harming, if he wants to hurt himself nothing I do is going to stop him. It has to be his choice, and I just have to prove to him he can choose differently and get better at the same time.

"And something you're going to stop for yourself as well." My voice is squeaky, and fast paced.

The second after I was able to roll his sleeve down and clutch at this wrist, he reacts and I'm being slammed against the wall, but my grip doesn't lessen and he can't slip out of it. Micah is clearly angry, and obviously feels more than violated. "Let me fucking go."

So I do, I drop his wrist but I'm still being painfully pinned to the wall by my shoulders, and one of his legs pressed between mine to immobilize me.

This time his boot crushes my bunny slippers.

It probably shocks him that I still manage to smile at him, before he can pull away I hold his face in both my hands and meet those dark green eyes. "I'm sorry you're in so much pain."

"I'm not in any pain, fuck off." Micah snarls, reeling back.

"Not depressed?" I question, staring right at him.

"No, what the fuck." He runs a hand over his face, tense all over. It's a guarantee that he wants to hit something, and that something is probably me. "Go away. Im serious."

Though I'm really tempted to be like, Hi serious, I'm AJ. I don't say that and continue with my questions.

"Not suicidal?"

"No." This time Micah grunts out the word, staring at the ceiling. "I don't want to fucking kill myself, leave me alone."

"I don't think I will, but thank you for the offer." Once again, my politeness doesn't slip and my smile widens. "If you don't want to kill yourself why do you want to die?"

"I don't want to die." His voice is strained, and I can tell he's close to snapping. "How many times do I have to tell people that."

"I take it your parents don't know the difference between wanting to die and want to just, poof! Not exist." His dark eyes snap down to me, they don't widen but I can still tell he's shocked.

Yet his face gives away nothing.

"I just think you don't know that difference between wanting to just be gone and wanting to actually start living. Can't blame you though Love, the difference isn't that big." I grin at him, ignoring how when I move away from the wall to step towards Micah my back stings with pain. "The first step to knowing the difference, which for me is mangoes."

"What the fuck is with you and mangoes, seriously what is wrong with you?"

Many things, which nobody notices.

"Mangoes taste better than drugs. And they're healthier than alcohol." I shrug, grabbing my smoothie off his desk to take a quick drink. "It's a healthy addiction. Like too many blue socks."

He just stares at me, and honestly, it's a little unnerving.

Micah is way to handsomely scary to be staring at me that way. I quickly go red, and try not to fidget but when he's not saying anything and just looking at me like that, it's hard not to.

"Would you, I mean -can you please, can you please just try the smoothie. Mangoes are, mangoes are really good and...they're, um yeah." I giggle nervously, then cover my mouth until I manage to speak properly. "I want you to consume that please."

"If I drink that will you leave me alone?" Giving him an incredulous look makes him sigh deeply. The large hand he has on his wrist is the only sigh that he's actually nervous, the only give-away he gives me to any emotion that's not anger. "Then fuck off."

Anger doesn't exist, and sometimes I wish it did. It always comes from hurt, pain or frustration. It feels real, and it can become the whole basis for someone's life.

But it isn't.

It's not real. It's hurt, that someone gave you or you gave someone, or from life's plan. It's pain, a constant human phenomenon. It's frustration. Feeling anger is a universal human experience. It's as basic of a thing as feeling tired, or smiling. It comes with people acting out, being hostile, screaming, red-faced, insults and injuries. Some people shy away from their anger, some internalize it, some suppress it until they explode and some just always express it -either violently, passively or harshly.

Personally, I believe anger is the most misunderstood emotion.

"How many times are you going to say that before you realize I won't go away, no matter how much you cuss, the words you say, the things you call me, the anger. If you yell. Even if you hurt me, I won't leave you." I pick up his smoothie, and hand it to him though his grip is loose enough the cup slips down a few inches. "So drink the mangoes, because even if you throw that smoothie at the wall I'm going to make you another one. And I'm going to keep making them until you try it, because I really do make amazing smoothies. Come on, drinking a mango smoothie is the same as popping a few Xanax after a nap."

Then Micah roles those gorgeous dark eyes of his before they land on me. "Next thing you'll say is that they also make someone shit rainbows? Why the fuck would I believe you?"

"Because mangoes have antidepressant and anti-anxiety effects on your brain, so you won't need any head meds -which I am willing to put you on. It helps you fight depressive states and irritability, both of which you have. Be lucky I'm not feeding you mango tree bark, because of it's affects on people with anxiety." He makes a face at this, I continue on. "But I do have some incense made from the stuff, and you're going to have to use that if you ever get a panic attack here...or something of the sorts." 

Trying to stay confident around him is a little hard.

Mainly because Micah reeks confidence, dominance and I can tell he seriously doesn't want to be around here or around me.

It's the almost perfectly hidden emotion in his eyes that draw me back into standing my ground, into fighting for him to change. Because I can tell that it's not that he hates being here, or that he wants to die, for him it's that he thinks he doesn't deserve to be here, to get help. He thinks he deserves to die.

And yet he still manages to get cocky about it.

"If you drink it I'll stop asking you to drink it, and now knowing that you're eventually going to have to drink it, that you only have an infinitely small amount of time before you do why don't you just get this over with?" I push the bottom of his cup up, until the straw is closer to his mouth. "I promise it tastes better than drugs."

"Why are you...I don't want your fucking mangoes." In a split second his tone shifts, and he shoves the smoothie into my chest so hard that the top pops off and spills onto my sweatshirt.

Gasping I stand still for a second, flinching as his arm moves back out away from me before I settle down and stare at my chest as I try not to cry. 

This is the second time today I've have a drink spilled on me, on purpose. 

Though it's because he's hurt, and not because he wants to hurt me it might be worse simply because it's mangoes.

Taking a shuddering breath I hold the grey fabric away from my skin. "I'll go change and make you a new one." My words are clearly a shock to his system, and probably unlike any response he expected. "You've already been given the full tour, so feel free to go anywhere else around. Just please don't mess with anyone else, everyone here is just as fragile as you."

"Don't fucking call me fragile." Micah snarls at me, the last thing I let him say before I get the courage to smile up at him and nod.

"Boundary noted. I'll find you again, and we'll play chess."