A burly man who was hardly shorter than Ben stepped out from behind the woman with a similarly creepy smile. "I'll take your suitcase and put it with the rest in the bag area," he announced in a cheery tone that didn't match his appearance at all.

I frowned. I was wary about leaving my things with people, a normal human feeling but magnified by my family's very public wealth, making robbery attempts much more likely. I handed over the suitcase to Winnie the Pooh after my brief hesitation.

I figured I'd made a promise not to attempt bribes so the monetary value within the suitcase wasn't essential. Regardless, should I be the victim of a robbery from these wood-lovers they'd be jailed within 5 hours. Pros of fame and wealth.

The woman opened the door and made an inviting gesture that made me feel like I was walking up an altar to be sacrificed. Perhaps I was. A hallway greeted me with exotic-looking paintings all over the walls. The building seemed even bigger from the interior, resembling more a small art museum than a jail for adolescent drug addicts.

"Second door on the right," the woman informed me before starting to close the door behind me.

"Hold up!" A voice with a southern twang sounded from behind me. "I'm not too late, am I?"

I turned around to see a tall, wiry boy about my age with a messy mop and matching bright red clothes down to his shoes. Well, all the way up to his eyes which were bloodshot red and watery.

The woman cheerfully ushered him in, and Winnie the Pooh took his suitcase. I figured the two were so high on the Joker's laughing gas that it made them color-blind too.

I studied the boy carefully. Although clearly under the influence, he walked with a certain confidence paired with a well-built gym body that reminded me of boxers. It was important for someone like me to be able to observe individuals I'd benefit from being around me if trouble presented itself. Even if he wasn't a good fighter like I suspected, he could make a good meatshield.

"Hey," I called before he walked right by me in the hallway. He'd been so busy staring at the paintings through his bloodshot eyes that he hadn't noticed me. "Unless you're appearing as a representation of someone higher than Venus, you may want to rethink going in there with those eyes."

His eyes settled on me and his mouth contorted into a dopey grin. "My eyes are that bad?"

"Bad would be an understatement."

"It's just allergies; they're pretty bad in the mornings."

"Uh-huh," I responded with a raised eyebrow as the weed residue wafted off his breath and into my saddened nose, taunting me that I hadn't had a smoke since yesterday. "That's quite a foul-smelling allergy. Smells exactly like a remedy that would've made my kidnapping more pleasant."

The boy's face took on a mildly concerned look. "You were kidnapped."

"No, I'm in the middle of the woods by my own free will."

His face scrunched up in confusion. "That doesn't sound like a kidnapping."

Perhaps he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. All the better for me.

"Look..."

"Atlas."

I frowned at the unusual name but didn't break stride, "I'm not a cop, you don't need to be wary around me. If I'm being completely honest, I'm not fully sober either. Maybe that's why I haven't thrown a whole hissy fit yet. Point is, I've got Visine eye drops in my pocket and you're in desperate need of them, buddy." I held out the eye drops. 

"You carry around Visine eye drops in your pocket?" He asked before taking them and double checking label. At least he wasn't a full blown nonce.

I gestured at the building we were in. "Last time I checked this camp wasn't for show."

"Fair enough. By the way, I told you mine, what's your name?"

I cocked my head to the side, looking at the boy curiously. "Are you joking?"

"Why would I be?" He replied with genuine confusion evident in his tone.

"Did you have a permanent internet outage in the last...I don't know, two decades?"

"My family thinks the internet, social media especially, is a brainwashing tool, so I don't use it a lot," he replied. I studied his build again. On second glance, his muscles seemed a bit more natural. That and his heavy accent...

"You're a farm boy, aren't you?"

Atlas' eyes widened in surprise...or well, widened to what would be their normal height if they weren't drooping in the first place. "How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess." I pointed to the drops still in his hand unused. "Better hurry up, a little birdie told me we're a bit late. My name is Mateo, but people I know call me Teo."

"You mean friends call you Teo?"

I thought about the addicts that called me Teo. They had their benefits; picking up packages from various plugs so if they got caught it wouldn't be linked to me while in exchange, they got free products and the prominence that came with being acquainted with me in party and club settings. That beneficial relationship certainly resembled a 'friendship'.

"You could say so."

Atlas handed back the Visine and offered his hand. "Where I'm from we do handshakes."

I shook his hand firmly. His palm was the roughest I'd ever felt, evidence of hard work on farmland. He'd make a good meat shield indeed.

We made our way down the hallway to the second door on the right. I paused by the door and turned back to my newfound companion, shooting him a wry smile and mustering up my most high-pitched, obnoxious voice. "Are you ready to begin your journey to sobriety?"

Atlas' eyes took on a faraway look as he tapped his chin, pretending to muse over the question. "Hell no!"

I chuckled. "That's the spirit."

I pushed the wooden door open without further hesitation. I'd learned at an early age it was better to approach an unwanted situation head on, since hesitation and doubt didn't make it disappear, only made it harder to tolerate. Thus, I marched into the room and threw up a mental middle finger at lady luck.

Eyes turned to us and lingered on me. When addicts saw a famous teen like me they saw the jackpot; someone they could get free drugs with just from hanging around. I could feel a number of familiar predatory stares as I surveyed the room. A man stood on a podium which chairs spread out infront of him in neat rows. My attendance at the camp hadn't been broadcasted for obvious reasons, so it was no surprise my fellow addicts were so caught off guard.

I tuned out the prickly feeling of intense stares and focused on finding a pair of empty seats. A celeb in LA got used to being treated like a slab of meat after all. 

"You must have something stuck on your face," Atlas leaned over and whispered to me.

"Yea, maybe, but this handsomeness can't exactly be wiped off," I whispered back.

Atlas started to laugh but his voice cut off suddenly. I followed his horrified gaze to a girl waving frantically next to some empty seats. Seemed Atlas may have stolen the show.

"Friend of yours?"

My question seemed to snap him out of his trance and he spun quickly on his heel to an adjacent row. "Found seats."

I followed Atlas as he scrambled to the very end of the row. Nervous and high wasn't a good mix, something I knew very very well. When we were safely seated away from the monster disguised as a girl I repeated the question. "Friend of yours?"

"God, no. Probably just some girl I hooked up with when I was seeing triple," he replied. I quickly noted the tells of when he was lying; the crease of his brow and his avoidance of eye contact. 

"Sure." I wasn't bored enough yet to start prodding into every little thing and I certainly didn't care enough. "Would only take double vision for me," I said, pretending to find the prosaic blonde girl attractive.

The man on the podium cleared his throat before Atlas could respond. "Hopefully that's the last entrance we'll have to pause for," he said into an annoyingly loud microphone with an unhealthy dose of feedback. He glanced at an expensive-looking watch with practiced elegance. His straight hair bore grey streaks at the temple which, paired with faint wrinkles were the only indication of significant age against his boyishly handsome face and toned physique. I figured he was probably the envy of many middle aged men, other than the whole living in the woods alongside addicts thing.

"As I was saying, welcome to the Sobriety camp! The first of its kind. I'm not sure you young pioneers understand how amazing it is to be writing history as we are; instead of the usual dreary hospital rooms that seem to suck the life out of you, we are surrounded by nature in all its glory." He paused, glancing across the quiet crowd. "I understand that currently we are not exactly in your good graces,getting in the way of your daily fix and such, but you will come to learn that your long-term health is more vital than short-term pleasures that lead to avoidable complications. All I ask is that you all approach this program with an open mind and atleast attempt to cooperate before considering it a waste of time or useless. Does that sound like a fair compromise?" 

Nodding heads and murmurs of agreement greeted him. Of course, they meant nothing. Just mere rapport created by a slightly motivational pitch that was enough to make these addicts feel hope for a split second, but as soon as they left the room it would all be forgotten with the first nag for a high.

Frankly, I'd prefer those 'dreary hospital rooms' anyday. 

The man smiled brightly. "Off to a good start then. My name is Amir and I am the head honcho of this merry operation. I'll now explain how the program will go. We will make full use of our surroundings through various activities and team-based games and events. These teams have already been decided based on your floor placements. They are two residential floors which each have ten rooms. Groups will be split into two sets on each floor, making it four teams of five. These group members will be the ones who join you for group sessions and make up your teammates in the games and events. Any questions so far?"

Instead of any questions, he was greeted by a chorus of groans. It seems I wasn't the only person who wasn't too keen on having to work with so many people. People were typically unreliable but addicts tended to take the syringe to different heights.

Amir chuckled good-naturedly at the reaction. "A lot of introverts among us I see. You might find that companionship from someone going through something similar to you actually helps a lot in your own fight. Now here comes the interesting part. Here in our camp, we'll use a currency called points in order to buy rewards."

The adults in uniforms all stood up in almost perfect unison as if on cue, handing a stack of what looked like brochures to the persons at the beginning of the row and instructing them to take one and pass the rest down. They moved efficiently and within seconds, everyone had a brochure in hand as Amir began speaking again.

"Here you see some of the rewards available to be bought with points..."

He continued speaking but I stopped listening as my eyes felt a magnetic attraction to a particular picture on the brochure that got my pulse raising. Like every helpless fiend in the room, I let out a breath I didn't even realize I had been holding.

"Is this for real?" A voice hollered, interrupting Amir and voicing likely everyone's question. "You can buy a blunt?" The boy asked in an incredulous tone. He had his hair cut down like he was about to be shipped to Afghanistan and serve his country, with a face containing ironed features that also matched the description.

Amir smiled as we all held our breath again, awaiting his response. He basked in our undivided attention, twiddling his thumbs with a thoughtful expression before finally responding. "It is real information, but perhaps you should wait and learn how you can earn these points before getting so excited."

Bit too late for that one I'd say.