Stitches

A sigh fell from my chapped lips at my formidable surroundings. The seemingly desolate building-- what with it’s bare trees, brown lawn, and peeling metal door-- that stood before me (barely) made me want to just go back home. I dismissed the thought though; I wasn’t welcome at home.

I took a deep breath, the crisp air burning my lungs. I let it out slowly, taking small steps to close the distance to the door. My suitcase bumped and rattled as it rolled over the rubble. I rang the door bell and waited, checking my hair in the peep hole glass. I ran my fingers through my greasy strands, trying to make it presentable. I was in dire need of a shower.

I pondered my circumstances-- a bit cliché if you ask me-- while I awaited my welcome. Although I wasn’t as thrilled to be here as most of the people looked on the brochure. I’m almost positive no one is actually happy about coming to a hellhole like this. I heard that they take away your shoelaces. Or was that only mental institutions? I laughed a bit to myself. Why would they confiscate our shoelaces? It wasn’t like we could get high or drunk off them.

My mom had found me trashed. My buddies, Scott and Kyle had convinced me it’d be fine to smoke some weed in my back yard. After all, my mom and her most recent boy toy were at a housewarming party for our neighbors. Kyle supplied the weed, I supplied the space, and Scott supplied the laughs. Well, everyone was laughing until my mom showed up. Scott and Kyle jumped the fence once they heard the slamming of our front door, leaving me to fend for myself. I was too out of it at that point to even realize what was going on, so I stayed put, allowing my lovely mother to find me.

It wasn’t like that was my first offense though. I was an alcoholic. Long story short, I started when I was 14 and I wasn’t too happy about quitting. Alcohol had blacked out the worst years of my life, my mom’s worst boyfriends, and their worst fights. It had become a habit. When mom and some guy were being disturbingly loud, I’d curl up with a bottle of whatever I could get my hands on and drink myself to sleep. Yeah, I knew it wasn’t healthy for me. But did I have a mom to stop me? Of course not, she was the one driving me to kill off all my brain cells.

She raved and ranted to her boyfriend for a few weeks until, finally, he got tired of it. He magically dispensed a brochure to this dump. My mom made the payments straight away, and here I was.

“Come in.” A young woman said, not even bothering to look at me before ushering me in. She shut the door behind us before retreating behind her desk. Her manicured fingers tapped at her keyboard, the computer light illuminating her face in the poorly lit reception area.

“Lorraine Simmons?” She asked, peeking at me over the higher countertop.

“Yup.” I replied.

“Room 587.” She told me, handing me a card. Like the kind they give you in hotels. With the number written on in black marker. I laughed to myself again. This was no hotel. Nothing like it in fact. Hotels were meant for relaxing and rehab was for whipping druggies and alcoholics into shape. Like fat camp for the troubled.

“Good luck.” She added, pointing in the direction of my room. “Be wary of your roommates.”

I groaned internally. Roommates? You’ve got to me kidding me. Next thing you know, I’ll be sitting in a cabin sharing candy bars and lip gloss, talking about cute guys. Save me!

As I set off to find my room, I found myself surrounded by people who looked even worse than me. People who stunk worse than me, too. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a sign that alerted me that my room was on the next floor. Great.

It only took about 5 more minutes until I was sticking my card in the slot in the door. I stepped in and was about to shut it when a pillow flew at my face. I dodged it, making it hit the door. I eyed each of the girls around the room, trying to look intimidating. It didn’t work.

One girl approached me. She was wearing a ragged sweatpants and t-shirt which each had holes in them, revealing little specks of skin.

“Welcome to Hell.” She said, inspecting me as I had her. She extended a hand to me and I took it. “I’m Jenn. Call me Jennifer, and you die.” A cloying smile, then vicious shaking.

“Lorraine.” I replied.

“I’m Annie.” An innocent looking blonde told me, stepping forward. Her eyes turned dark. “Touch my cookies, and I’ll paper-cut your eyes out.”

“’Sup?” The last girl greeted, jerking her head up. “I’m Camilla.” She flopped onto her bed and picked up the magazine next to her.

“Where am I sleeping?” I asked, glancing around the room.

“The bed in the corner.” Jenn said, pointing to said item. I dropped my suitcase and my sweatshirt onto it.

There was a brief knock on the door before the handle twisted and a short brunette stuck her head through the cracked door. “The bus is leaving in 45 minutes. Get ready, you guys.” She informed, sounding like she was on a sugar high before shutting the door lightly and leaving.

“What bus?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. I flopped down on my bed, bringing my knees to my chest.

“Being out in public while controlling yourself is part of the program.” Annie explained, leaning back and nibbling on a chocolate chip cookie.

“It’s movie night.” Camilla informed, looking anything but impressed.

“Is it mandatory?” I asked, mentally scolding myself for seeming so interested.

“Yeah. But I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to go.” She replied. “It’s the only time we get outta this place.”

I couldn’t help but imagine how embarrassing it was going to be. Picturing all of us, fucked up in our own rights, swarming one, poor movie theatre. Everyone was sure to stare at us like we just got off the short bus.