What a fucking mess. I finally find a group where I can perhaps be of some use. Maybe even fulfill some purpose, and their little charity case just has to meddle.
I recognized her for what she was at the audition. Her behavior was far too odd for her not tobe a drug user. She kept standing and staring at the band, at me. Her face was nearly blank. She’s this little waif-like thing, and her hair is fucking pink. I couldn’t help but stare at her. Everything about her was screaming addict at me.
Then, to add to the dysfunction of it, I caught her spying on us. Of course, I lost my temper, wouldn’t anyone if they caught some nosey girl spying on something so fucking important. We can’t risk having her impact our livelihood or our work to fight back against our out-of-control government.
Anyway, I shouldn’t even feel bad. Of course, she tried to manipulate me with her tears. What is an addict without their denial when confronted with the cold, hard truth. If not me, someone else would have called her out like this. She’s lucky it was me because I know what I’m doing, and this is for her own good.
When I talked with the guys, I discovered that she’s been a mess since they took her in. Even though the band was kind enough to give her a clean, warm place to stay, she’s been difficult from the beginning. When I talked with them as I was moving in, they admitted they’d even bought her clothes, and they’ve been feeding her and providing medical care for her. Clearly, they’re all too soft.
After I learned all that and caught her spying, I knew something needed to change. They just shouldn’t be taking the risk. Still, it took me putting my foot down too damn firmly for them to see sense and agree to send herto a treatment center where she can actually get help. At least it took a lot of convincing with Lent and Fem. They both tried their best to defend her. Reem seemed to see the sense in this. I think he was already worried about the risk to the band.
In the end, though, reason won out with all of them as it always does. Really, it’s the best thing for all of us. It’s not like the other guys are truly experienced in helping someone recover from addiction.
I need to let that go, I guess, but it’s tough when people I’m starting to let in made such a poor choice. Hopefully, those won’t continue, or I might need to move on. It’s so hard for me to trust others, especially in this particular area. I did set a clear boundary that I wouldn’t be able to stay if we didn’t send her somewhere that she could get help.
Also, I decided to pay for the treatment. It’s not like the others are poor, but I have ample resources for something like this. If I’m going to align my actions with what I say is important to me, it’s right for me to pay for her treatment. Call it a gift, a gift which is more than she deserves.
Of course, we’re not sending her somewhere fancy, just clean and serviceable. I guess I knew something like this might happen when she caught my attention at my audition. In fact, after that night, when they told me how they’d found her and taken her in, I did some research and found a place with a good reputation that is nearby. It's not like I’m going to visit, but I guess theothers can if they want.
We just put her in a carriage that will take her to Piquory Treatment Center. When we told her this morning, she cried and acted as though she didn’t know what we were talking about. Just more manipulation, clearly. Fuck. I hate cleaning up other people’s messes.
Thankfully, with that dealt with, we can get back to the important work of trying to even the stakes and give this world a fighting chance. I hadn’t thought I was cut out for coven work, but it will be good to learn a new skill, and I’m happy to help however I can.
Our shit government isn’t doing anything about any of the issues we currently face. Thankfully, this demon the other guys have been working with has a plan to fight back against our government. If we’re going to see it through, we really need to make as much progress with our coven work and group magic as quickly as possible.
PART III
PIQUORY TREATMENT CENTER
The carriage ride is a blur. Hours ago, when I arrived at the breakfast table, it was clear something was wrong. There wasn’t any food set out, and yet all three of the boys and Dio were standing in the back corner of the room. Their words were too quiet for me to make them out. They were so distracted they didn’t seem to notice I was there until I said something. When I asked about breakfast, they all turned to me, their faces like different pieces in the same puzzle. In this case, one that pictured dismay.
Well, that is, other than Dio, who just had a self-satisfied expression on his face.
I froze for a moment, but then offered to get myself something to eat and began to make my way to the kitchen, carefully ignoring the feelings in my stomach that were clearly not hunger.
As I turned to leave, however, Fem told me to stop and sit. I hesitated, partway out of the room, before I was able to make my feet listen to orders and take me back to a chair at the table.
When I sat down and the boys began talking, though, Ihoped I was still in some dream. Although this dream was clearly a nightmare.
Dio and Fem led the conversation and shared with me that they had located a place for me to move to that would “help [me] recover from [my] addiction.”
Even as I tried to ask what that meant, Dio became visibly frustrated and interrupted me.
I finally stopped trying. Clearly, whatever this thing is, it's common enough that everyone but me knows what it is.
Then they told me that the carriage was waiting outside and they would go with me to gather my things before I left.
While I put on my shoes, they were already packing clothes and things in a bag. I was too numb by that point to say anything else.
Pulling myself out of the memory of this morning, I turn and rest my forehead against the cool glass of the window in the carriage. There are two people with me. One who introduced herself as Ethel. Another man whose name I don’t remember shared that he is a healer at the “Piquory Treatment Center.”
Ethel has acted with kindness, but her words of comfort don’t reach her eyes, and other than occasionally glancing at me and looking up and down my body, the healer doesn’t say anything. He also regularly stares at my pink hair until I want to scream at him that I also don’t know what to do about it.
I have just one bag with some clothes and one book I had previously left on the table beside my bed. I think Lent packed it for me because the clothes are thrown together chaotically, but the book speaks of someone kind who loves to read.
At this moment, it feels as though the only hope I possess is that the other books remain hidden in my room. Something in my head still urges me to review the knowledge in thosebooks, and right now it feels like the only thing I have to hold onto.
Eventually, the carriage comes to a stop in front of one of the generic-looking buildings. The healer exits, and then Ethel ushers me out while the healer watches. I hear him speaking quietly with Ethel behind me before they both catch up.
