California Dreaming
Chapter 01
The room felt stuffy as Alyssa sat in a circle of about fifteen people, a few her age but mostly people that looked to be in their mid to late thirties. She shifted uncomfortably as the person next to her was asked to introduce themselves to the group. This was her fourth week in rehab and she'd lost count of how many times she'd had to go through this spiel.
"Okay, Jessica, that was great. Alyssa, would you like to introduce yourself?" The group leader spoke. His name was Jeff, and listening to him talk was like watching paint dry. She sighed, dropping her left leg from her knee, her foot making a gentle thud on the carpeted concrete.
"Hi, I'm Alyssa. I'm twenty-three and I'm here because if I wasn't, I'd be in jail."
She didn't elaborate and Jeff sighed, shaking his head and making a note on his clipboard. The person to her left introduced themselves and Alyssa tuned back out. Just eight more weeks, she told herself. Eight weeks and she could leave San Diego and go home to Los Angeles and put her past behind her.
Thirty minutes later, Jeff ended the group session. Just before she could leave the meeting hall, she felt a hand on her shoulder and she groaned, shaking her head.
"I'm not going to talk to them, Jeff."
"I really think it would help you heal, Alyssa. You don't ever talk about what happened."
"I don't need to," she answered him stiffly, turning her head to face him. Her features softened when she saw the look of concern on the older man's face. "Look, Jeff. I'm really thankful for the opportunity to be here. I am. But this whole opening up thing? It's not me."
He opened his mouth but didn't say anything, instead just giving her a halfhearted smile before patting her back. "It doesn't have to be anything deep, kid. Maybe next time just...mention your favorite movie or something, maybe?"
She chuckled and shrugged, turning to leave. "Maybe, Jeff. Maybe," she answered him as she walked away. They both knew 'maybe' wouldn't be next time, or any time soon. Four weeks in San Diego hadn't done much to help the woman with her loneliness and anxiety. Everyone here was something she wasn't - a mother, a sister, a pastor, a soldier. None of them, though, were a murderer.
Tears formed in the corners of her eyes as blurred memories flashed in her mind. Screeching tires and broken glass, headlights illuminating off glasses, the thud-crunch of her tire rolling over a small body.
She couldn't do this right now. Hands gripped into tight fists at her side, Alyssa walked down the brightly lit hallway, blinders on. She didn't want to see anyone or talk to anyone. She just wanted to be alone, in her head, away from all of this bullshit.
She turned into her room and closed the door, sitting on the edge of her bed. She hated this place, with its pink walls and cheap patterned carpet. The pamphlet her parents had given her when they'd booked the trip and forced her to come here - this or jail, Lys, remember that - hadn't done the Lasting Treatment Recovery Center justice. It had looked beautiful and tropical, promising lazy days at the beach with a virgin margarita in hand, cute pool boys with six-pack abs, and exquisite food prepared by world-renowned chefs.
Instead, it was a renovated former hospital, forty-five minutes from the ocean with an ugly brick exterior with very little in the way of greenery. Harsh white lighting shone down from ugly plastic-covered rectangles, leaving her feeling exhausted all the time and the beds were as comfortable as a pull-out sofa.
She looked out the large window on the wall opposite her bed, biting her lip. A small palm tree was within view along with a few flowers, a hummingbird hovering over them hungrily. As bad as this place was, she thought to herself, it was better than the alternative. Four weeks of forced sobriety had shown her that, at the very least, she needed to admit there was a problem. Two people were dead because of her. With a sigh, she stood up and walked back out of the room. Jeff was right, she did need to talk about the accident. The people here weren't interesting, and she didn't want them to know the personal details of her life. But they were a better alternative than going crazy with guilt. There was another group session tonight, and she was hoping Jeff would let her participate - really participate - in it.
"Okay, Jessica, that was great. Alyssa, would you like to introduce yourself?" The group leader spoke. His name was Jeff, and listening to him talk was like watching paint dry. She sighed, dropping her left leg from her knee, her foot making a gentle thud on the carpeted concrete.
"Hi, I'm Alyssa. I'm twenty-three and I'm here because if I wasn't, I'd be in jail."
She didn't elaborate and Jeff sighed, shaking his head and making a note on his clipboard. The person to her left introduced themselves and Alyssa tuned back out. Just eight more weeks, she told herself. Eight weeks and she could leave San Diego and go home to Los Angeles and put her past behind her.
Thirty minutes later, Jeff ended the group session. Just before she could leave the meeting hall, she felt a hand on her shoulder and she groaned, shaking her head.
"I'm not going to talk to them, Jeff."
"I really think it would help you heal, Alyssa. You don't ever talk about what happened."
"I don't need to," she answered him stiffly, turning her head to face him. Her features softened when she saw the look of concern on the older man's face. "Look, Jeff. I'm really thankful for the opportunity to be here. I am. But this whole opening up thing? It's not me."
He opened his mouth but didn't say anything, instead just giving her a halfhearted smile before patting her back. "It doesn't have to be anything deep, kid. Maybe next time just...mention your favorite movie or something, maybe?"
She chuckled and shrugged, turning to leave. "Maybe, Jeff. Maybe," she answered him as she walked away. They both knew 'maybe' wouldn't be next time, or any time soon. Four weeks in San Diego hadn't done much to help the woman with her loneliness and anxiety. Everyone here was something she wasn't - a mother, a sister, a pastor, a soldier. None of them, though, were a murderer.
Tears formed in the corners of her eyes as blurred memories flashed in her mind. Screeching tires and broken glass, headlights illuminating off glasses, the thud-crunch of her tire rolling over a small body.
She couldn't do this right now. Hands gripped into tight fists at her side, Alyssa walked down the brightly lit hallway, blinders on. She didn't want to see anyone or talk to anyone. She just wanted to be alone, in her head, away from all of this bullshit.
She turned into her room and closed the door, sitting on the edge of her bed. She hated this place, with its pink walls and cheap patterned carpet. The pamphlet her parents had given her when they'd booked the trip and forced her to come here - this or jail, Lys, remember that - hadn't done the Lasting Treatment Recovery Center justice. It had looked beautiful and tropical, promising lazy days at the beach with a virgin margarita in hand, cute pool boys with six-pack abs, and exquisite food prepared by world-renowned chefs.
Instead, it was a renovated former hospital, forty-five minutes from the ocean with an ugly brick exterior with very little in the way of greenery. Harsh white lighting shone down from ugly plastic-covered rectangles, leaving her feeling exhausted all the time and the beds were as comfortable as a pull-out sofa.
She looked out the large window on the wall opposite her bed, biting her lip. A small palm tree was within view along with a few flowers, a hummingbird hovering over them hungrily. As bad as this place was, she thought to herself, it was better than the alternative. Four weeks of forced sobriety had shown her that, at the very least, she needed to admit there was a problem. Two people were dead because of her. With a sigh, she stood up and walked back out of the room. Jeff was right, she did need to talk about the accident. The people here weren't interesting, and she didn't want them to know the personal details of her life. But they were a better alternative than going crazy with guilt. There was another group session tonight, and she was hoping Jeff would let her participate - really participate - in it.