My Revenge Obsession

Chapter One- Helena

 I stared at the blank wall ahead of me and sighed as I flipped the latest issue of Scriveners in my hands. Shutting my eyes, I tried to pinpoint when exactly the last time I'd seen George was... The sad part was that I couldn't actually remember, though it had definitely been months. When he had stopped coming to see me, I had forced myself to accept it, believing he might have been too depressed to come all the way out of town. But he was fine to do an interview? And he'd been making plans for the future?

 I tried not to feel too hurt.

 It hurt really, really badly.

 A memory clawed its way to the forefront of my mind and I realised that the last time I'd seen George had been an anticlimactic occasion; my eighteenth birthday. I should be believed when I say that celebrating your eighteenth birthday in a rehab centre is an extremely depressing event. Legally old enough to do something you can never do again... it wasn't exactly the way I'd always planned to enjoy the milestone.

 Usually in the centre we were only allowed one or two visitors for a couple of hours on a Sunday, but for my birthday my brothers, my mum, Ms Foster and Bex had all been invited to spend the afternoon with me. The glamorous location: a vacant therapy room. My guests had arrived early to hang lame banners and place a hideous looking cake made by my brothers on the centre table.

 An iPod with a playlist of carefully selected 'appropriate' songs was playing softly in the background as I entered the room to cheers from my friends and family. I'd smiled because that's what you're supposed to do in those situations- not because I meant it. The afternoon was largely spent avoiding the topic of my treatment and nibbling hesitantly at the cake which my brothers had baked while completely baked. As soon as Jake had let this fact slip, a worried expression crossed his face and the room went quiet. When I laughed, they went back to normal and it was fine.

 It wasn't fine.

 Jake was really my main source of entertainment that afternoon. Rich was too busy making sure the other boys behaved to really talk to me, Bryan was trying- and failing- to get Bex to dance, George with his slightly longer but still bleach-blond hair and my mother with her weight loss and her worrying were both trying to make sure Ms Foster didn't think too much about Matt not being there... leaving me and Jake to sit in the corner and pretend like we were back at home. It was quite nice, I suppose, in some ways. But really it just made me want to go home.

 The issue of Scriveners slipped out of my hands and onto the floor. I stared at it, not sure if I had the energy to pick it up or not. Bedsprings squeaked beneath a stupidly thin mattress as I rolled over and sighed. They'd told me that getting clean and sober would make everything better, but some days I wasn't so sure. Some days I felt so depressed it was scary. That was why I'd been in rehab for eight months whereas people normally only stayed at Restoration for twelve weeks; my mental state was completely messed up. Plus, though I did not agree that it was necessary, I was being forced to attend anger management therapy- because apparently beating one guy up whilst slightly tipsy makes you a 'danger to those around you'. Please.

 There was a knock on my room door but I ignored it and shut my eyes. Outside my window the light was getting dark, and I knew the night was going to be a long one; tomorrow I was getting out.

 Tomorrow I was getting out...

Everyone was dressed in sharp, black suits and looked completely miserable. The sky above us was every dismal shade of grey imaginable as we walked up to the funeral parlour. I'd been allowed to leave the rehab centre for one day, just for this day- the worst day. Due to withdrawal symptoms screwing with my body I was weak, and therefore not allowed to carry the coffin.