To The Moon and Back

𝟏𝟎 | 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

I know.

I shake my head, thick brown locks falling into my eyes as I fumble with the sheet of paper in my hand. "No, not really." I say truthfully, clenching my jaw as I do everything within my power to avoid the countless pairs of eyes watching me, but I have never been one for self-control. "What the fuck are you all staring at?"

In an instant, they all turn their attention back to the front of the room and I inhale deeply. 

"This is a safe space." The woman says, a tight smile on her red painted lips. "We are all here to help each other."

Still, I shake my head, and she sighs. I refuse to speak in front of any of these people. I showed up, that should be fucking good enough. 

Suddenly, the boy next to me stands up. He is tall, probably my height, with dark hair and blue eyes. "Hi, my name is Phoenix, and I am an addict."

Everyone, except for me, choruses. "Hi Phoenix."

His gaze shifted to the people around him, preparing to listen to his story, before he speaks. "Up until three years ago, I couldn't go two hours without a hit of something. A few lines, a joint. . .fuck, it was bad, like really fucked." he explained, and unlike everyone else's stories, it wasn't fucking cliché. "I have a daughter—she's nine now, and three years ago, I almost lost her. So, I quit. And as of today, I am three years sober." 

I thought his sob-fest had concluded, but fortunately for me, he kept going.

"Her mum—my ex left recently and things have been difficult again. It's so hard not to relapse, but she keeps me sane. And, yeah. I'm just taking it one day at a time, I guess."

Amidst reaching his proper conclusion, he seats himself back down and the meeting comes to a close. Half of the group was eager to leave, whilst the other half hung around, rather for the bland food stacked on the table near the back, or to get a form, much like mine, stamped.

Walking over to the secretary behind the cheap table, I place the thin sheet down on the paper, filling out all of the details, before sliding it back over to me, but I slide it back. "I forgot to get the sheet filled out after the previous meetings, could you just do it now?"

Poor excuse but I never came up with any better of one.

Glasses propped on the tip of her nose, she looks up at me through her long, thick eyelashes, shaking her head as she scoffs disapprovingly. "I'm sorry, but I cannot do that."

Balling my fists, I inhale sharply, before saying: "And why the fuck not?" my tone is clipped and sharp and the lady doesn't shy away from flinching at the sound of it.

"Because, unless you get this filled out on the day, we cannot be held accountable for doing so after that meeting that maybe you did—or did not, attend. It is illegal to forge this with no knowledge of the other person actually attending." her tone is soft, delicate. She wants to sound kind, but whenever she insinuates that I did not attend—which I didn't, but what the fuck is it to her?—I want to fucking tear her apart.

Slamming my hand down on the table, I growl lowly. "I did attend." I spoke through gritted teeth.

"Well, maybe you did," she says. "but I cannot fill this out. I'm sorry." 

As she slides the sheet over to me, I snatch it from her, sending her the deadliest glare I can muster, and then I storm out of the building, making sure to slam the door as loud as humanly possible.

I step onto the footpath and businessmen rush past me, and I am quickly drowning in a crowd of London's city life. I hate the fucking city. The rush, the people, the sense of being so work-driven.