checkmate

020 » THE MEETING

(tw: referenced drug use, referenced abuse, smut/dream sex, referenced self harm scars)

Spencer watches as you cross the parking lot, heading to your boyfriend. He tries not to make it obvious, but his gaze lingers on you as you speak to Jackson. He can't hear what is being said, but from the look on your boyfriend's face, it seems like an argument. He seems upset about something. He wonders what it is.

Forcing thoughts of you aside, he tears his gaze away and heads to his own car. Usually, he does not drive to work, but he had today. He had woken up a little late, and he did not want to risk missing the metro, so he decided to drive. Even though he hates it.

Sliding into the driver's seat, he breathes out a sigh. He rests his head in his hands for a moment, his mind racing. He can tell something is up with you. The way you have been acting, the way you have been talking. It just screams that something is wrong. And despite the fact that he does not like you, or he at least appears to not like you, he is persistent on finding out what the fuck is going on with you.

He does not drive home. Instead, he tosses his bag into the backseat of his beat-up old car, and starts up the engine. When he pulls out of the parking lot, he doesn't turn left, the way to his apartment. He makes a right.

The drive doesn't take very long, and he decides to make the journey in silence. He much prefers to drive in quiet, rather than having the radio or anything on. As silly as it sounds, music makes his mind wander, and silence helps him concentrate.

As he parks outside the church and turns off the engine, he allows himself a moment of hesitation before he unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out, leaving his bag in the back. He shuts the door and makes sure the car is locked before heading inside, wrapping his arms around himself against the cold of the night.

The church is a little warmer, but it it's still cold enough that the goosebumps along his skin do not ease. He makes his way to the church hall, where there is a circle of chairs, some of them filled up, some of them empty. He lingers in the doorway for a moment before heading to the circle and sitting down beside a middle-aged man with a neat beard and dark hair. After a few more people trickle inside, the leader of the meeting starts speaking.

"Welcome, everyone," she says brightly, a smile on her red painted lips. Her dark eyes flicker around the room, studying all the faces that sit in the chairs. "My name is Tiffany, I'm forty-one years old, and I'mll be fifteen years clean of morphine next month."

The room fills with responses of, "Hi, Tiffany."

She pats her thighs, smiling broadly. "Does anyone want to speak?"

A young, twitchy girl in her early twenties speaks up. Her voice is soft, and she brushes her dark hair out of her face every few moments. "I will," she says, and Tiffany nods at her in acknowledgement.

The girl clears her throat, keeping her gaze on the floor as she talks. "I'm Evie."

"Hi, Evie."

"Hi. Um, hi," she says, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ears. "I'm- I'm twenty-four. I'm only two weeks clean. I- I know it's barely anything, and I know that I shouldn't be proud, but- but I've been using almost every day for the past eight months. So, um, so being clean for two weeks is a, uh, a step forwards for me. Even- even if it's small."

Spencer's heart hurts for her as he listens. She is the same age that he was when he first started using, and he can't help but frown.

"Honestly, I- I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for my girlfriend, Rebecca," Evie continues, a small smile flickering onto her face as she mentions her girlfriend. "She- she's helped me so much, through everything. I owe her the world. I love her more than anything in my life. She's the whole reason I'm getting clean."