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I hate my life—I hate so much about it. I hate my dad for dying and leaving me alone. I hate my mom for not being stronger. I hate that I have to constantly hide from everyone. And right now, I hate myself for crying like a little bitch.

“Is everything okay?” Greg, a staff member, asks when he opens the door.

I lift my head just in time to see Shanice walking by with her arm wrapped around Harlow, who’s also crying. She glances my way, her teary eyes meeting mine for a split second before she steps into the room across the hall from me.

“Could you get us an icepack?” Marcus asks Greg, but I can’t tear my attention away from Harlow, who begins sobbing into her hands right before Shanice closes the door.

“You need anything? Some water maybe?”

“No.” I kick my legs out from under me before scooting over and leaning against the couch. Wiping my face with the sleeve of my shirt, I ask, “Did she even call?”

“Who? Your mother?”

“Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

The door opens again, and Greg tosses Marcus the icepack. “Do you need anything else?”

“No.”

He steps out of the room, and Marcus passes me the icepack for my knuckles.

“We’ll get the doctor to come look at your hand, okay?”

I try moving my fingers and end up wincing in pain. They are probably fractured again.

“How do you feel?”

“Pissed,” I respond.

“What do you normally do when you feel this way?”

Keeping my eyes on my hand, I tell him the truth because I’m too drained to put up a front. “I drink.”

“Do you want to drink now?”

I nod, too scared to talk because I don’t want to cry again. This place has me unarmed and defenseless, and I hate it.

“How do you feel about that?”

From under my brows, I glower at him and scoff, “How do you think I feel?”

“Probably the exact same way I used to feel after I got sober.”

I lift my head and look at him.

“You seem surprised.”

He’s right. I am. I guess I figured everyone who worked here would have a squeaky-clean past.

“I have five years of sobriety,” he reveals. “I can still remember what it felt like to be where you are right now. You’re in the thick of it, and I know how much it sucks, but I also know that you can pull through this and get yourself to the other side.” I don’t realize I’m shaking my head until he calls me out. “You think I’m talking out of my ass?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“That’s what our addiction does. It manipulates us into believing it holds more power than we do.”

He speaks as if it’s the enemy, but he’s wrong. Alcohol consoles in a way nothing or no one else can. It isn’t my enemy; it’s my savior. So, if I have to spend the rest of my life on my knees in front of it, I will, because it’s the only thing that makes this life tolerable.

There’s a knock on the door, and when Marcus opens it, Shanice asks, “Hey, Unit C needs me really quick. Can you keep an eye on Harlow? She’s calmed down, so ...”