❝You have to want this for yourself.❞
THE LINOLEUM harnesses coils of forest green, sunkissed gold, and fiery red. Shades that are supposed to bring about a sense of positive energy while Ashton sits in Dr. Rosenberg's office. Each color is supposed to say 'You're strong! Stay drug-free! You can do this!'
All it reminds him of, as he waits in an olive cushioned chair, is the colors and shades that create Ria.
Sunkissed skin with flecks of gold dusted across her nose and cheeks. Fiery hair, rippling like flames in the fall breeze as she gazed at the starless skies. Hazel eyes that reflected the swirl of the earth and forests. Being in this office reminds him of her. Everything reminds him of her.
So whenever Ashton waits in this office, he lets his gaze wander to the ceiling like today and ponders over whether or not he should mention the crack in the egg-shell colored paint or the cobwebs collecting in the corners.
He thinks of anything but her until the familiar twist of the knob and swish of the door graces the silence.
"Ashton!" Followed by the click of the door closing releases him from his aerial thoughts. Rosenberg's usual over joyous voice attempts to lure Ashton from his dismal musings. "How are you?"
"Not good." He wastes no time getting to the point while adjusting his spine to sit straighter as Rosenberg approaches his desk.
Concern creases the lines of his face cracked from age. Moss-colored irises find Ashton's as he takes a seat behind his desk with mountains of paperwork and binders nearly concealing his face. He parts through the mess like Moses parting the Red Sea and rests his arms in the center.
"What's going on?" Though his eyes read: Have you relapsed? Are you staying in your safe places? Remembering your exercises? It's almost like disappointment is just waiting to creep into his gaze, hovering in the back, waiting to pounce and guilt Ashton.
"I'm struggling...to not want to use." He throws his hands out as electricity zips through his fingers. "Every day, I try and try all of these methods and I'm still fucking depressed and I still want it. Even if it's just the smallest hit. In the back of my mind, I think I won't fully relapse. I know I will if I do, but I just don't fucking care. I just want it." He becomes breathless. His veins tingle and buzz as he tries to express his struggles. Insects crawl and scratch his skin. The roof of his mouth and pad of his tongue dries and yearns for a taste of ecstasy.
It's like his body needs it in order to survive. He knows that's not true. Five months clean is proof that he doesn't.
"Why do you think you're struggling?" Dr. Rosenberg speaks softly and carefully. Carefully because it's been established that Ashton in an irritable state is difficult to reason with. There have been countless times where he unintentionally snapped during a meeting or session with other patients.
"Your methods aren't working." He grips the armrests to his chair and attempts to mirror the tranquillity oozing from his advisor. "I need to try something new."
"Okay." Rosenberg fans weathered hands atop the table. "Let's bring it all back and start from the beginning. Why did you first start using?"
"Vivian introduced drugs to me."
"She's not the reason," he stresses while creases collect above his arched brows. "She may have influenced you, but there was something else that pushed you...still pushes you."
Ashton leans back and peels back layers of memory until he reaches the core. The place where it all began. "My family...or lack of a family. Growing up in that house was awful."
Dismal fragments of him lurking across dim halls and vacant rooms rip at his memory and plays like an ancient videotape. Meals where he either sat alone or in the heated silence of his parents flash before his glass eyes.
"Life was so shitty back then," he recalls in a near monotone. "I...I found out I had depression when I was fourteen. You would think it might encourage my parents to love me."
"You don't think your parents loved you." It's not a question but more of an assessment. "Did you take medication for your depression?"
A cold laugh erupts from his chest. "No. My parents constantly fought about it...whether I should take it or not. Whether I was worth the time and money to take therapy sessions and medication. My parents are fucking rich and the only time they ever thought about me was when debating over whether it was worth putting in the effort to take care of my mental illness." Another laugh, acrid and sharp. "I fucking hate them."
Understanding flickers through Rosenberg's gaze. It's no secret the animosity Ashton holds for his parents. "And how did this lead you to use?"
"When I met Vivian, she told me that there was a way to escape the pain. I wanted it. I wanted that escape." He still remembers the first time he took ecstasy. It was the most exhilarating moment of his life. Nothing compares to that first time. Not until he started to experiment with mixing. Goosebumps crawl up his arms as he recalls that blissful night. Disgust immediately follows realizing just how sick it is that deep down he longs for the sensation of that first high.
"How long has Vivian been clean? She's come to a few of our discussions and lessons, but she doesn't seem to be struggling as much as you."
"It's been ten months. She...she struggles with different things now."
Vivid scars clawing up her arms is her way of coping with pain.
"Addiction is partially psychological but also a chemical...physical inability to stop consumption. Everyone's a little different. Some people have to fight harder than others. Some addictions can be curbed by other addictions or methods."
"And none of these methods are helping me." Disdain bleeds into his voice. The fabric of his armrests attempts to resist as his nail dig into them. "I still feel like breaking every day."
"And that's normal." Calm. Collected. Understanding. "You're going to deal with the dangers of relapse for the rest of your life. What's important is that it's out of your system. You no longer rely on it physically. Yet you still cling to it on a psychological level. That is what I'm afraid might push you to relapse faster than anything else."
"S-so what do I do?" Ashton shifts forward and doesn't bother hiding his urgency. "How can I make this...easier to live with?"
"Ask Vivian what keeps her away from using. It's just an idea, but you two seem very similar to each other."
"How?"
Dr. Rosenberg finds Ashton's gaze with eyes that peer into his soul. He folds weathered hands over his mouth and leans forward. "There's something dark surrounding you two. Something darker than any of my other patients. It's almost malicious," he muses. "It's not hard to see that your pasts were harsh. Your histories are intertwined. You used the same methods of escaping. It might be worth trying the same methods of healing."
"I guess." Ashton drives shaky fingers through his hair. "We've lived apart for so long though. I'm sure our motivations in life are different now."
"How so? What motivates you? What was the thing that pushed you to make that first appointment with me? To join this institution?"
A delicate smile, almost angelic, touches his memory and stabs him directly through the heart.
Ria.
"A woman..."
"Ah." Dr. Rosenberg grins as if they are about to indulge in lockerroom talk. "A loved one. Many patients enter this institution with the goal of healing for them. Getting better for them. It's always nice to have someone you love as your inspiration. But what about yourself?"
"I-" He scowls and loses himself in the space above Rosenberg's peppered hair. He's never thought about himself. Never cared about himself. If it weren't for Daniel, Ashton would have given up on life years ago.
He's always lived for other people. When he had Vivian, she was the solar to his galaxy. After they were separated, he lived in a void of nothingness. A fragment of time where his life was spent painting his demons and getting high whenever they decided to crawl from their canvases and dig their talons into his mind.
After he met Ria, everything changed. His future changed from bleak and alone to luminous and ethereal. With her by his side, each passing day was an adventure of falling in love. She inspired so much change in his life. She gave him a reason to live.
Now he has nothing again.
"You have to want this for yourself, Ashton. You need a deeper more solid purpose. Love for others can easily become hate because we put so much of ourselves into that person. At the end of the day, you'll always have yourself before you have anyone else."
Ashton blinks rapidly and comes upon the reality of his advisor's words. "B-but I've never cared about myself." He doesn't know the first step to wanting something for himself.
A smile breathes across the older man's face and he tips his head forward. "Then that's your new method. Your new lesson. This journey is for you before it's for anyone else. Your mental health is vital in this process. Never forget that."
At a loss for words, Ashton just stares and stares at nothing and wonders how it would feel to care about himself for once. Put himself first. His health...can it be important to him? It's unclear how to desire something like living when life is so cruel.
"Also, Ashton, I suggest seeing a doctor sometime. Maybe when you're ready to handle the next step of conquering your demons. It may be smart to try taking antidepressants. Some with non-addictive components. I believe your mental health is what pushed you towards addiction on a psychological level. The older you get without treatment, the more your mental health will deteriorate. If you don't do something about it now, I'm afraid you'll be forever fighting a losing battle."
Those words alone are enough to haunt him.
As always, Vivian is writing poetry when Ashton arrives from his appointment.
She resides in their now furnished living room with the curtains open, allowing the California sun to spill over the floor. Her head perks at the sound of the door closing behind him and she turns to find his gaze across the entryway.
Her smile, one that's always riddled with melancholy, greets him. "How was the appointment?"
"Good...I think." He makes his way to the living room and joins her on the sofa.
She scoots closer, cross-legged, with her notebook resting on her lap — the third one she's filled up front and back since they moved here. "That's great."
"Yeah. How's the poetry?" He nods towards the pencil held loosely between her fingers. "Are you going to need another one soon?"
She nods with vigor and a rosy smile. "I think so. I just can't stop coming up with ideas or jots, as Jared would call them. I almost have as many books as him and he has a lot." Childish glee livens her delicate tone as if the thought of writing as much as him brings her joy.
Joy. Someone else besides Ashton can bring her joy. Something besides drugs can help her escape. He wonders if the same can work for him.
He angles himself towards her and shifts close enough to catch the wild fruit in her fragrance. "Viv...how did you...stop?"
Confusion cascades her stormy eyes and she cocks her head to the side. "Stop what?"
"Using. I mean, you couldn't have just stopped on your own, right?" He grabs her fragile wrists. "It's impossible."
The connection of their skin is foreign. Touching Vivian is still a sensation he's trying to get used to. Feeling and seeing her over Ria. Talking to her every day instead of talking to Ria.
Ria. Ria. Ria.
Even after so much time has passed, she still conquers every part of his mind. Even when his first love is sitting right in front of him, trying to give him all the love he's ever wanted.
So much has changed in the years that they've been separated. It's like they're no longer the same kids who fell in love in those days of unbearable solitude.
"Camilla helped me," Vivian says. She drops her pencil and notebook and slides her hands over Ashton's. "After I killed Nikolai, she found me and sheltered me from my brother."
He blinks in surprise and tries to ignore how his fingertips graze over the scars along her wrists. "Camilla did?"
A humbled smile blesses her lips. "She has a secret hideout upstate. During those months, she helped me detox. It was difficult..." Her voice softens as darkness bleeds into her reminiscing eyes. "Those months without using... It was hard to go through all of the pain."
"Withdrawal," Ashton mumbles. He's gone through withdrawal several times and it's never easy. The physical and mental agony is nearly impossible to go through. It's unclear even to him how he suffered through it.
"It was awful. Sometimes it's still so hard. Temptation lingers in the back of my mind...but Camilla was there with me every step of the way."
"I'm surprised she cares that much to help you," he grumbles while recollecting distasteful pieces of the woman. "She's sleeping with that bastard."
"I know." Vivian stares at their joined hands. "But I wouldn't be here without her. After I was clean and she trusted me to be in the outside world again, she gave me three options. She could help me disappear and be free of my brother forever. I could go back to my ways and probably end up dead... Or I could go to you. Clearly, I chose the best option." A smile blooms across her face, nearly as luminous as the sun. "You're the reason I wanted to live, so I picked to find you."
Ashton bites back his doubts. Guilt shreds his lungs and he has to tear his gaze away from her merriment. He's not sure if he was worth her choice or the risk. Loving her like he used to still feels like an impossible task.
"So you just stayed clean because Camilla helped you?" he mumbles.
A scowl touches her delicate features and she raises her gaze. "No. I don't think so. I think...I think that I want to live. That's what pushes me to not go back." Sudden tears fill her eyes and she blinks them back as if shocked by her own emotions. "The drugs remind me of my past. They remind me of how awful things were. How dead I was back then. I don't want to go back to using. Even if I think it might feel good. I can't. I want to exist on my own someday."
Her emotion hits him with an intensity that collapses his lungs. Something dawns in the murkiness of his mind, something fathomless and unreal.
Ashton has never wanted to live.
As he stares at the passion of life burning in Vivian's eyes, he can only wonder what it feels like. How should he feel?
The desire to wake up every morning is a blessing he's never been granted.
Do I want to live?
It's a question he yearns to know the answer to. The answer could change everything he ever knew. Everything he's lived by for twenty-two years.
"Thank you, Viv." He smiles and leans over to kiss the corner of her mouth.
A tinge of ruby caresses her soft cheeks and she looks down almost bashfully. "F-for what?"
With one endearing touch, he strokes her cheek and raises her gaze to his. "You may have given me one of the greatest gifts to life."
Purpose. Ashton must find his purpose for existing in this world.
-bri💕