Fascination Street

eight : georgia

        There was a tree outside my window. It was old and curled to the right and was probably self-conscious about me staring at it all day. There wasn't anything to do in the yellow room they had stuck me in; it was either watch the news or stare out the window. My window just happened to stare out at an old palm tree.

        The door creaked open. I put my elbows on the window sill and leaned my face against the glass just so they would have to clean it later.

        "Dakota?" A female voice questioned. When I didn't answer, she continued on, "The bus to take you to the rehabilitation center will be here in forty-five minutes. Please pack your things and come to the lobby." The door clicked shut.

        One hell to another. I peeled my eyes away from the tree and walked over to my tiny bed. Everything there was depressing and tiny, often in shades of white or yellow. I never understood why people thought the two colors were "cheery." I just thought they were depressing.

        Everything depressed me, though. The pills they shoved down my throat did nothing for that. They just turned me into a broody robot like the rest of them. Just trying to talk made drool come out of the corners of my mouth. My body wasn't even mine anymore.

        I shoved the whole other outfit I had into a tote bag the facility had given me. The therapists suggested I return home for my things, but I refused. Old things meant nothing anymore. What would be the point? My things would just remind me of what I would be doing if I didn't kill Moore.

        I grabbed the bag and headed out the metal door. The hallway was too bright and the nurses were too happy. I sighed and found my way to the yellow-and-white lobby. Three other people sat in the uncomfortable chairs, glancing down at suitcases or bags without paying any mind to the others around them. I followed their example.

        What if I hadn't shot Asshole? What if I had never met Derik? Would I have still been home, whoring around and snorting cocaine? Mom and Mike would still be okay. Derik could have taken down someone who deserved to be taken down. Who had we been hurting? I felt tears stinging at my eyes.

        I knew I wouldn't have ended up a little crying bitch if Derik had never came into the picture.

        "Time to go," somebody said in a monotone. I picked up my bag and followed the small line of people out the door. A white bus sat outside, ready to take us farther down the path of "healing." I sigh at the thought.

        The other people got on before me, but there were still plenty of seats open. I sat in a middle seat, setting my tote next to me. The bus started down the road. I could have been driving down the Strip in Canary, but I was sitting in a bus to rehab. Fuck me.

        The ride was short and we arrived at a boring one-story brick building a few minutes after taking off. It reminded me of a jail. I got off the bus last and followed the others inside.

        It was nice. There was the same eye-killing white design as the detox facility, but at least the workers there tried to brighten things up with colorful paintings and flowers. It still looked like a doctor's office, though. Some too-peachy lady with blonde hair motioned for us to sit on the grody white chairs lining the wall. Evidently they were expecting more buses to come, so we had to wait. I don't know why they couldn't have just assigned us rooms and sent us on our way. I wanted to get rehab over with.

        I wanted it all to be a nightmare.

        The other buses arrived soon after us. Once everyone had been gathered in the lobby, the peachy blonde started jabbering a "welcome to rehab" speech. I tuned her out. I really didn't feel like listening to how I was going to be tortured over the next step of this god-awful process.